Pink Shoe Laces
When next I saw Dr. Nostradamus he was at our increasingly usual Starbucks watering hole. I was standing in the ordering line when he arrived. I noticed he was wearing tan shoes with pink shoelaces, not unusual for southern California teenagers, but not what I came to expect from Dr. N. I filed away a mental description of the shoes and laces.
I had long ago adopted the tradecraft practice of, "See something, say something", meaning that if something caught my eye I needed to turn my attention to it and verbally describe it in detail. I did not evaluate its importance. It did not matter if it appeared common or unusual. If whatever part of my mind noticed it, it called for attention and that meant a mental verbal description. And since the shoes and laces were something I noticed about Dr. Nostradamus they would find their way onto my Nostradamus Speaks post.
Dr. Nostradamus nodded to me, "Number One," he said, "Would you be so kind as to fetch me a coffee, black, no sugar, " then fixed me with a gaze of uncertain import.
Nothing Dr. N did was casual or unintended. He was a master communicator, in spoken and body language. He could walk into a room and draw attention to himself without any obvious posturing. He could disappear just as easily. Every gesture conveyed significance. Or maybe I was simply becoming more adept at noticing ever more subtle things.
Still, subtle though the cues were, I was promoted to look more closely around the coffee shop. Nothing unusual; no one dramatically stood out. But one barrister caught my eye; she seemed quite a bit older than the normal crew and I didn't recall having seen her before. I mentally memorialized everything I could see about her, watching in an indifferent way that should not arouse her attention. Sometimes women have a sixth sense they are being looked at. Nothing else in the room prompted closer scrutiny. At times it felt like I was in a grade B secret agent movie when I was around Dr. Nostradamus. He assured me he was not a spy and did not work for any intelligence services. He had bigger fish to fry, as he put it.
Our meeting was shorter than usual and Dr. Nostradamus did not weigh in on any particular topic. He rarely made small talk but this day did speak about days at the orphanage. I wondered if the older female barrister had triggered a memory -- in both of us -- a memory that prompted me to interrupt and apologize. "Sensei," I said, "After all this time I feel ashamed to have never asked about Mrs. Nostradamus." I stopped myself, afraid to question more closely.
"She died the year after you left for University." Dr. N said.
"I'm so sorry," I said.
He continued. "I have lost so many that I have loved so dearly that oftentimes I feel it is not worth it, living so long. But sorrow and grief are a living thread that ties us to our distant ancestors. Archeologists have said that when they opened the tenderly prepared grave of a child who died tens of thousands of years ago they felt the grief of the child's long dead parents, sweeping across the centuries, bringing their tears to them.
"Living so long may not be worth it, but it is my fate."
As I wrote this post my memory triggered lyrics from an old rock and roll song. Googling, I found Pink Shoe Laces by Dodie Stevens, 1959. I have no idea what Dr. Nostradamus' intent or message was in this and remain puzzled by the contrast to his heartfelt recollection of a dear wife. Dr. Nostradamus did not do or say things accidentally. I feel certain everything about the day tied together.
Dixi
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