Three
Things and people do not simply appear, they reappear
as being the same, and it is in accordance with this sameness
of reappearing that we remember them.
—Paul Ricouer,
Memory, History, Forgetting
p. 23
Quiet Time
27 April 2009, 3:07 p.m.
49° 19' 15.74" N, 8° 34' 8.40" E
It’s “quiet time” here in the minivan, as we head south from Hockenheim on the A6 autobahn, and all the adults in the car—Bruno and Lambert and Bertha and myself—are being super quiet and careful, because Conrad just fell asleep, after crying it seemed like forever when he got strapped, for the first time, in his kindersitz.
Well, I’m not being completely quiet. I'm actually writing this blog, right now! You see, what I’m doing at the moment is speaking softly into a digital recorder with voice-recognition software. I’ve got a hands-free Bluetooth mic stuck in my left ear—it makes me look like a cyborg, but who cares—and it does an amazing job of screening out the road noise, and the transcripts, so far, have turned out to be pretty darn accurate.
You know, now that I think of it, the underlying technology must be really good, the way it detects the signal of my voice amid all the noise of the autobahn, because it sure seems that for the human ear—at least the ears of all the other humans in this minivan—my voice blends in perfectly with the rumble of the road. It’s like my companions can hardly hear me, even when I'm talking directly to them.
Maybe it’s my Midwestern accent. Somebody told me once we sound like passing traffic.
Anyway... my system is turning out to be just about perfect for blogging.
Although... it’s not so perfect for getting to know these people. I wouldn’t mind having someone to talk to.
Where the heck is Henry? I figure he’s commandeered that motorcycle and he’s out there riding around someplace. I keep an eye out for him in the rear-view mirror, but so far, nothing.
There’s this big race track off to the left of the autobahn, and I try to ask Lambert if that’s the Hockenheimring I saw a sign for, but of course he doesn’t hear me the first time, so I have to raise my voice, and then I get all these outraged shhhh sounds from the wayback seat, so I shut up.
I will remain shut up, apparently, for the duration of Conrad’s nap.
Except for my mumbling, that is, which doesn’t seem to bother anyone.
Am I doing this trip the right way? Maybe I should have started at the other end. In Italy. Maybe I should be down in Tuscany right now, hanging out with Matilda and Gregory.
Naahhh.… I’d rather be driving than waiting.
Next episode: The Oldsmobile
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