A dialogue about people
– I like raw people
– So, like, what? You like them uncooked?
– …. Yes. I like them uncooked. Not even seared, not the slightest heat touching them.
– Do they also have to be whole? Or can they be sliced, chopped, julienned?
– The knife can have touched them, perhaps to cut them in half only – the big ones – but not to slice, chop or julienne them. They must have only felt and seen the knife’s edge once, but not experience it inhumanely, not to intrude upon their secrets and privacy, just for the purpose of making them bite size. I like my people raw and whole, if I could just have them that way.
– How about preserved? Or cured? Yeah! Cured because they are not exposed to heat, but salt cooks them.
– Hmmm. Maybe I would accept them slightly cured so that their raw wholeness can be preserved for longer. Yes, salt is a good preservative and vinegar is a great tenderiser and both can be used for longer preservation. It’s the preservation for a longer life, however, that is the reason I would accept them cured or preserved. It has nothing to do with the fact that they taste better cooked, minus the heat factor. You see, it’s NOT the heat that they are exposed to which—
– Cool. Me too, I guess. But I wouldn’t mind them chopped or julienned. I mean, how else would you enjoy them?
– You enjoy them like a jungle boy! You spoon them with your fingers! You raise them to your mouth, peel off their skins and devour them whole! You dig in with your claws!
– But you see their texture better when they are chopped smoothly. You see if there are seeds and you chuck those out, you see if there are overripe bruises that may taste sickly sweet and you slice them off precisely, you see if there are worms beforehand, or strings of fat, or—
– Yes, yes. And, or. Or, and. Blah blah. Too much thinking! You can chop them all you like, your raw people. But I like them whole and that’s that. Maybe not even cured or preserved. Yes, no fuss. We need not elongate every single living being’s shelf life, you see.
– Ok, I will stick to my verdict though. Bite size is the way to go. Also for better digestion. You have to see inside the soul of every person.
– If you say so.
– It’s true! Smaller bites are better for digestion! It’s a textbook fact!
– Okay. But do your textbooks account for all the lost fibre and fluids on your cutting board as you slice and chop and shred and julienne your people?
– You make a good point there.
– I do! Raw people. Whole and raw. Jungle boy, that’s your soul food.
– This is the weirdest conversation ever, grandpa.
– If you say so, kiddo.
– I mean we sound like cannibals.
– Heh. Don’t be naive. What else do you think we are? You’re 14. Come on.
– Ooh, sinister.
– Mmhm, sure.
A few minutes of silence passed. Jungle boy took two slivers of broken salt-smoothened shell shards and tried to fit them together. One was off-white and the other was grey. They wouldn’t fit, so he sort of grouted the space in between with wet sand. There, they fit no more than two pieces in a mosaic.
The grandfather seemed to have dozed off a little, then with a mucous-filled snort he stirred and touched his salt and pepper unshaven cheek – thinking how everyday it is growing more salt than pepper – and then he angled his body to face his grandson and said:
– You do know that this is an unforgettable conversation, don’t you? You will remember this always.
– You mean that my grandpa likes uncooked people?
– Yes. That. And that you think them better cooked.
– I do know this is an important conversation, I guess.
– Don’t guess. Know it. It’s full of lessons and metaphors. If you guess, then one day you will know and you may feel sad you did not know earlier when I asked you to know.
– Stop, grandpa.
– Oh quit being a cooked mushy carrot. I like raw people, I told you.
– Raw people ARE mushy.
– I don’t agree. They are beyond mushy.
– Alright then. Going for a swim, grandpa.
– Mmhm, sure.
And with that the boy walked off to the shore break, where a kitesurfer was going in with his foil board, and he helped him carry all of his gear into the water.
Perhaps he could tell, or he couldn’t, or maybe only someone like me watching and eavesdropping from a short distance could tell, that they ultimately like the same kind of people. Raw, as in, in their true unmasked emotional face, de-roled, spiritually naked. Cooked, as in, exposed to heat, challenged, endured, dunked in hot oil or steamed to softness and tenderness.
I envisioned, or deeply hoped, that this cooked and raw conversation would be wonderfully worded for jungle boy’s college application in the future. And as for me, I truly hoped the cozy feelings that this image sprung on my day would stick with me beyond just the day: salt and pepper hair (more salt than pepper), new swells and shore breaks on the water, the orange kite surf, the flimsy foil board, the thick hairy calves, the other pair smooth and boyishly tanned, the metaphors for people, eyes that repainted all that they observed, a grandfather’s longing and yearning to subtly comfort before he can no longer anymore.
I looked to the grandfather’s profile, I could see just one half of his face, identical to the other unseen half. His piercing eyes could cut through glass as he burned his gaze into a distance, but then they suddenly softened and danced in the light when the unknown of the distance faded out, and the sure sight of his grandson flooded his focus.
His intricately fine-lined face said, Oh you don’t get it… not yet at least. You don’t get how precious, how fleeting, how sudden, how life-size, how multi-dimensional, how rare, how layered, how fast. How larger than bite-size everything is. And I hope you won’t have to endure at all, until it finally sinks in.
Beisan A. Alshafei
August 20th, 2019
Beisan's Burble 