The Tap and Other Incidents

Isaac Singer woke up only to find it to be one of those days where it didn’t really matter when and if he woke up at all. So he went back to sleep.

But fifteen minutes later he was wide awake, it also happened to be one of those days he couldn’t sleep off.

Sitting up, he looked around the room. It was rather late in the morning, he could tell from the brightened colour of everything, and the angry pool of light that fell between his legs. Other than that the room was exactly as he had left it last night. Of course, that was to be entirely expected since Isaac lived all by himself.

Standing before the basin, Isaac wondered whether thinking what would be appropriate to think at a particular time, counted as a legitimate thought.

He set aside that question and turned the tap before him.

The Tap.

It was an ordinary tap. But so old that even after water stopped flowing through, you could twist it five times around. Seven times, if you really wanted to. It was what ‘arthritis’ did to taps, quipped Isaac. Of course, he could share this only with himself... He always only turned it around just so that the water would stop.

And then he splashed his face several times before wiping it dry. And while he did this he realised he’d never really cared for the towels. Ordinary towels and so old that a single drop could almost soak them. It was what being threadbare did to towels...

Once again Isaac found himself quipping.

Sitting by the corner of his bed, Isaac considered it hugely comfortable to already be in the clothes he could spend his day in.


Yes! Yes, Isaac Singer concluded after three or four minutes of fierce deliberation. His ‘thought’ for that morning was going to be that he didn’t really know or understand what it was that he should spend time mulling over.

He wasn’t stupid, Isaac Singer as a matter of fact, knew of many important things to consider, but it happened to be the sort of day where it would make no sense to abide by the logical. His predicament was essentially silly and Isaac Singer had come to terms with that.

Or had he?

No. That was exactly the kind of debate Isaac had no time for.

And hence a crowd of a thousand ‘irrelevant’ arguments and ‘futile’ recollections from the past were screaming in disappointment, begging to enter, but Isaac kept them out.

They wouldn’t be..

And then, all of a sudden, he noticed the creepy-crawly insect for the first time. It was a giant Beetle, Isaac guessed, though he couldn’t say for sure. It was definitely a large insect, half the size of his fist, albeit a small fist.

Immediately Isaac sprang up, bent over his bed and waved his arm across the blanket. The insect was flung into space and traveling right across the room in a single brilliant arc, it crashed its back on the floor. Bouncing and spinning, it proceeded to slide below the cupboard.

Ordinarily Isaac would pay this incident no further attention; beyond the disappearance of the beetle below the cupboard. But the insect had crashed rather loudly and Isaac was curious to know what became of it.

The cold floor touched Isaac’s neck, jaw, cheek and finally his ears; but by then the neck was warm once again. And then his jaw, cheek and again, finally the ears.

Stressing his eyes, he saw the insect.

Like Isaac Singer, the poor beetle was stranded in a ridiculous situation. It was lying on its back; Isaac vaguely remembered having read that beetles couldn’t return to their feet once they fell on their backs. He definitely remembered reading that this was a difficult job for them.

But then he couldn’t have read…

In this case even if it could, the insect wouldn’t be able to. There was only a single inch of space between the cupboard and the floor and the beetle was broader than that. All it could do was madly and in total futility thrash away its tiny legs.

What was the insect thinking then? Did it know it was going to die? What would it think if and when Isaac rescued it? Did insects think at all? Was that the only way to get around the absurdity of, inexplicably and most suddenly finding oneself trapped in that obscure fashion? If it had one, what would be its final wish?

Isaac got up. He knew there was nothing slim and long enough in his room to pull out the insect. Even though a simple newspaper would do perfectly.

***

"What a strange man! An idiot, actually."

“What does the day’s news mean to him??"

"Why would anyone waste his final wish on a damn newspaper and five minutes with himself in the same bloody cell?”

“Beats me! He also asked for his tap to get fixed!”

"At least, he didn't ask to eat lobster. They always do that. Bastards!"

"Ya, lobsters. But that would make some sense!"