"What's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet." - Shakespeare, William (Romeo & Juliet)
After having finished his soup and having licked his bowl clean, our hero gathered the courage from what little hope he had to make an overture of a little chit-chat.
"Excuse me, Madam."
Calm. Cool. Collected. Like a professional of an unnamed profession. Like a hunter.
"Yes?"
Slightly puzzled. Slightly Caught off-guard. Slightly overwhelmed. Like a pretentious prey.
"Are you expecting any company? "
And he thought, not so calm and not so cool. Too fast and too early.
"No, I am not... uh are you the manager?"
Still unsure about the purpose of the dialogue. She wondered if she had done something wrong, after all she was a stranger here.
"A manager I am not. Though if you expected company, a dog in the manger I would be..."
Words not character. That's the key, he thought to himself. Feeling proud of his witty-self.
"Je suis desole, je nes comprends pas. Ma anglais nes bien pas."
She understood the words, but not the meaning of the words. It was like reading a newspaper and still being unaware of what had happened.
"Pardon?"
Just my luck, he thought. Ma francais nes bien pas.
"Oh, I am sorry. My English is not very good... Were you calling the manager a dog?"
"Haha! No no! Do not misunderstand me. The manager and I are good friends. In fact, I run most of his business." Awkward pause. Words not character! How now? "So,I gather that you are new here?"
"Is being new a crime?"
"Quite the contrary, in my opinion. Though some would consider it to be so. Though, before you start feeling unwelcome, might I ask you if you have decided what you'd like to have?"
"You say that you come here often, what is it that you would recommend?"
"The special for special people of course. I myself just had..."
"Fool's hope soup? My English is not that bad. Do you take me for a fool?"
"My dear madam, it is I who is the fool. Fool enough to try and make your acquaintance after but a glimpse of your graceful person"
"Quite the charmer, aren't you?"
"Like I said before, the special for special people..."
"Indeed. And by what name do the special people address you?"
"A man lives one life under many names. My friends call me Affable, my enemies call me something inappropriate. My team-mates call me Captain, my colleagues call me Ambitious. The beggar calls me Rich, and the rich call me poor. The women call me a Romantic, the men call me Reliable. The public calls me a socialist, whereas the politicians call me a Vote. If I were to wake up on the other side of the bed one day, I could be something else altogether. A name is but a word with no meaning. Call me an adjective that suits my person. Bestow upon me your reason, or what would you have me be?"
"What do you call yourself then?"
"Sylvester"
"Then Sylvester you are."
"And you would be?"
"I am nobody. Nobody you've met until now. I might remain that way, in fact I probably will. I beseech you, coerce me not into revealing what I call myself. Cajole me not, you do not know how deep this well is. For the time being, I am Nobody."
"Would Nobody like to go for a walk?"
"What was it that you had? Fool's-Hope soup? Aptly done."
And so, like a hunter who's run out of bullets, Sylvester had run out of words. A prey in the dark is just as dangerous as the hunter. So, when the hunter runs out of firepower, the balance of power shifts and the roles change; the hunter becomes the hunted and the prey becomes a beast. If the hunter's (now hunted) smart he will realize this change of position.
And so, Sylvester turned around to look for a friendly face. None. A familiar face? No where to be seen. Dmitri had left, he realized. He was in the jungle alone, in the dark. He felt vulnerable; she knew his name. Nobody knew his name. Ever.
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