We throw hardly anything away—it’s impossible to get rid of anything with the land frozen solid most of the year. So garbage is thought of differently here. It’s what remains, what waits to be reused. Literally. Isn’t it delicious?
It’s good, said the man. But it has a strange flavor.
And how could it not?
The man put down his spoon. Despite his attempt to convince himself otherwise, it was not a very nice soup at all.
You don’t like your soup, do you? asked Livia Pinheiro-Rima.
No, said the man. The only good thing about it is that it’s warm.
So eat it up. You’ve got a long chilly walk back to the hotel.
Is it true about the bridge? I can’t believe we’re stuck here.
As far as I know it is true, said Livia Pinheiro-Rima.
Everything has gone wrong, the man said.
Everything?
Yes, said the man. Everything. Or everything that matters. Matters to me.
Well, that’s not everything. It’s not even close to everything.
The man said nothing.
What’s gone wrong? Tell me. I mean beyond the ordinary things I already know.
My wife has lost her mind.
How so?
She thinks she’s been cured.
Oh—that. Why are you so opposed to the idea? Don’t you want her cured?
Of course I do. How can you ask that?
Because I don’t understand. If your wife thinks that she has been cured, and you want her to be cured, then what’s gone wrong?
But she hasn’t been cured. She cannot be cured.
You seem very certain.
I am.
And what, other than ignorance, makes you so sure?
Ignorance of what?
Oh, it’s not that you don’t know something. It’s that you know nothing.
And you do? You think that quack has cured my wife of stage-four uterine cancer?
We’re all quacks, you know. Hardly what we pretend to be.
Okay, but do you really think this particular quack has cured my wife?
It’s possible. I’ve witnessed occurrences more miraculous than that. But what’s the point of all this? You wife is either cured or not cured. It all remains to be seen. So what’s the point of debating it now?
You’re observing from a great distance. It’s different for me.
Of course it’s different for you. But you asked me what I thought so I told you. Usually when one person asks another person a question it’s because they want to know what that person thinks. They are seeking a vantage point different from their own.
I’m sorry, said the man. I do value your opinion. It’s just—I don’t know. I’m feeling very discouraged. And tired. And defeated.
All the more reason for you to eat your soup. It’s a very healthful soup, because it combines so many different ingredients.
I don’t like the soup, said the man. I don’t want the soup. He tried to push it away from him but the plastic placemat it rested upon prevented him from doing this, and he only succeeded in causing the soup to throw a bit of itself up over the rim of the bowl.
It’s all become too much for you, I expect, said Livia Pinheiro-Rima. The baby, and your wife, and the soup.
You’re right. It has. Last night I wished she were dead.
Who? You wife or the baby?
My wife. The baby’s a boy.
If everyone I wanted to be dead was dead, it would be a very lonely planet, said Livia Pinheiro-Rima. Wanting people dead is one thing. Killing them is something else entirely. And now, if you really aren’t going to finish your soup, pass it over here. It’s considered sinful to not eat every drop of this soup.
Why?
Because leftover garbage soup is garbage. There’s nothing to do with it except throw it away. And so it must be eaten.
Can’t it be reheated?
No. Don’t be ridiculous. Would you like to eat day-old reheated garbage soup?
No, said the man. But then I didn’t care for it when it was fresh.
It’s a very American thing, isn’t it—this thinking one should only eat what one likes?
And it’s a very European thing, isn’t it—this constant disparagement of Americans?
Touché, said Livia Pinheiro-Rima. And now that I, at least, am warm and fortified, shall we venture out into the snow? I assume you’re headed back to the hotel?
Yes, said the man. And then to the orphanage. I’m meeting my wife there at three o’clock.
To pick up your baby?
No. We don’t get to do that until tomorrow. And then we have to stay here for another day, in the hotel. And then we can leave.
If the bridge is fixed, said Livia Pinheiro-Rima. But I suppose you will cross that bridge when you come to it.
This time no one answered