When I was at high school my Russian teacher, Mr. Meijers, told us a Chekhov story, “The Bet.”
A rich man wagers a poor one he can’t spend five years in solitary confinement without going crazy. He can ask for books, or fancy food, or anything else he wants – but he’s not allowed to talk to anyone, or go outside his room.
I do remember wondering what all the fuss was about. A few years on your own, with books and entertainment of your choice – what could be wrong with that? In fact, after that, every time I bought a book I had that in the back of my mind – being stuck in my own room under house arrest.
As the years roll by, the man in the room studies languages and learns new skills; he leaves little notes asking for more textbooks. What he isn’t told is that his host has lost most of his money, and can no longer afford to settle the bet without going bankrupt.
The rich man lives in fear of his former friend.
The night before the five years are up, the man in the room escapes through a window, leaving no note behind. Perhaps he’s found out about the loss of his friend’s fortune, and decided to let him off out of pity. Perhaps all these years of enforced confinement have finally taken their toll.
Five years is an awfully long time – a scarcely conceivable weight of days. Until now, that is.
Our present lockdown, the fourth for Tāmaki Makaurau, began at midnight on Tuesday, 17th of August. As I write, at the beginning of November, only 77 days have actually gone by. But five years adds up to – give or take a leap year or so – 1824 days!
That’s almost 24 times what we’ve had to put up with so far.
And what have I done with this time?
I boxed up my father’s remaining books and carted them across the road for a church fundraiser.
I edited a webfestchrift for my friend Michele Leggott.
I wrote some posts on my blog.
I went on a diet: I’ve lost 20 kilos so far.
Oh, and I did take the trouble to look up that story. It turns out that it isn’t five years he has to spend in the room, it’s fifteen. Not 1824 days, but 5472. Not 24, but 71 times what we’ve just been through.
No doubt we’ll soon be back to normal. It hasn’t been five years – let alone fifteen – but you can’t really call it nothing, either.
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(1-3/11/21)
'Poetry Shelf: Writings from lockdown.' Ed. Paula Green.
NZ Poetry Shelf: a poetry page with reviews, interviews, and other things.
[Available at: https://nzpoetryshelf.com/2021/11/12/poetry-shelf-writings-from-lockdown/ (12/11/21)]
[431 wds]
Poetry Box: Paula Green
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