Jogging With Roussel 18 (Part 1)

             Doctor Orson Welles was sitting in the trans-temporal library mildly chuckling, having just woken up to find once again a square of Parmesan cheese laid over his mouth, which he had finally figured out was a little joke of Cantagrael’s, the joke being of course based on the title of one of Raymond Roussel’s stories ‘Parmi les Noirs’ and which was intended to mean roughly, “Pardon me, less noise!” or “Parmesan relieves snores!” “Ni Koroma rangi makosa?” (Is snore the wrong color?) whispered Dr. Welles toward the stacks where he thought Cantagrael might be hiding, and continued his leisurely studies. The last thing he remembered is that he had noticed an echo between the term Otz Chiim, the Kabbalistic tree of life, and the word ‘schism’, but had then also noticed, a small wart beside the knuckle of his right index finger. Scattered about the table were books on Breton folklore, some histories of Surrealism, and Jewish Mysticism, and a few books of and about Ithell Colquhoun.. He remembered thinking it was somehow significant that Ithell had been present during the diving suit performance of Dali in London when he had almost died of asphyxiation, but then grew more interested in her play called ‘The Pilgrimage’ based on the Breton folk figure Dom Jean Derrien, and which blended theology and surrealism, and had a Turkish character which seemed to represent Islam. ‘Donjon de Rien’, thought Orson to himself, ‘the dungeon of nothing’, and then, ‘damned genes of nothing’… “You're Welcome!” said Cantagrael, stepping up, and proffering Dr. Welles another piece of cheese, “Put a cheese on your gob, you’re chattering again!” Dr. Welles picked up the little Eloi smartass like the child-sized person he was and laid him over his knee for a spanking. “You’re still an old gypsy woman to me!” Now Cantagrael was laughing. “Toutes êtes, serez, ou fûtes, De fait ou de volonté, putains; Et qui très bien vous chercherait, Toutes putains vous trouverait” “Flattery will get you put in the dumb gym! I’ll bet you didn’t know that the first English usages of schism, and dungeon, are both listed in the 1300’s!” “Ask me if I care!” said Cantagrael, spewing a small legion of chlortron onto the library floor which all began to throw pieces of parmesan at Dr. Welles who good naturedly set the Eloi avatar of his friend Cantarel back upright on the floor. “A thousand arrghblasts bent in his dungeon!” “Back at your Onomastics studies, eh, Orson?” said Cantagrael.. “It’s odd, I can’t seem to find the etymology of gwerz, for the ballads and laments of Breton. There’s werz, the old Teutonic root for war and worse.” “What’s it worth to you?” said Cantagrael. Dr. Welles was brushing cheese bits off his vest. “Look under worth,” said Cantagrael, “as I recall gwerz has another meaning, itself two-fold or more, something like commerce, and, retribution, fee, sale, and the like.” “Guerra al cuchillo,” said Orson. “Indeed,” replied Cantagrael, “Wart to the knight..” "Odd scheme," said Dr. Welles, "Let's take a ride in the Buick."