Such men (and, less often,women), he knew, believed that, at most, such superfluous disciplines aswere represented by the dying dinosaurs of the human...ties--philosophy,art, and the like--were, if anything, tentative explorations of theinner self, the subjective aspect of the conscious being that wasmankind (and, less often, it seemed to Percy, womankind). The humansoul was, in the words of the idiot Soren Kierkegaard, science's"unscientific postscript." The self itself was "left over," to use. And where in the coffee shop she'd felt like she could have asked him anything, somehow here, she felt like it would be intruding. Like she was already in the way a little, and shouldn't tread any further. Maybe this was what his ex-wife had felt in this place. Or had she even ever lived here? Maybe he was the only one who had ever called this home, even for a night. It seemed that way.It didn't surprise her that when she created the opportunity for him to sit with her in front of the fire with. After a few bars, we locked into the feel of the song. The slowdown approached. We were slightly ragged at dissipating the energy into the silence, but maybe it was close enough. Then we watched Tommy; despite my earlier warning, he waited so long that even I thought the song was over.“Naw,” he finally said. “Naw, this won’t work.”We released the held chord.“What do you mean?”“It’s the fecking climax of everything we’ve ever done. Why on earth do we slow down? It’s like a balloon shriveling up. "Esther interrupted, "Ben, there's nothing complex about why my marriage failed. I was unfaithful. Oh, I may not have had intercourse, but I was unfaithful none the less. What happened never should have occurred and the fault was entirely mine. Period, end of story."Ben waited for her outburst to end and then took another swallow of his tea. "Esther, I want you to do me a favor. You're here now so it should be a bit easier. I want you to relay to me all of the events leading to your divorce. I.
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