Tantalus: Hi, Armadillo! Who are you playing against?
Armadillo: I am not playing this game, Tantalus. It was played over a century ago by two great chess masters, Steinitz and Tarrasch. I have studied their games for years, and I never run out of things to learn from them.
Tantalus: Did I just see you move a pawn backwards?
Armadillo: How very alert of you! As it happens, I am starting from the final position of the game and reconstructing the entire game from it. It tests my knowledge of these masters' strategy far more deeply than merely playing over the game would.
Tantalus: Excuse me, that sounds quite impossible.
Armadillo: All great feats of intelligence do, so of course I excuse you. I think I could excuse you anything, Tantalus.
Tantalus: Well, I don't play chess, so . . . could you kindly point me in the direction of the golf links?
Armadillo: Golf links? Are you not aware that no grass grows anywhere in this Mathematical Desert?
Tantalus: Really, my armored friend, I cannot say. I don't know whether I've ever thought about it before.
Armadillo: Tantalus, you are the most consistently irritating featherless biped I know! Tarraschian!
Tantalus: I rarely hear you curse like that, Armadillo.
Armadillo: That was not a curse. I was sneezing.
Tantalus: Then can I do anything to smooth your ruffled feathers?
Armadillo: Tantalus, you never cease to disappoint me. When I
first called your attention to this desert, I was appalled
at your being unaware that no grass grows here. But as soon
as you said I cannot say,
I concluded that you were not
aware whether you were not aware that no grass grows in
this desert, for which one could not necessarily blame you.
And then you added that you do not know whether you've ever
thought about it before, which means that you are not even
aware whether you were not aware whether you were not aware
that no grass grows in this desert. This, to my mind, is
inexcusable.
Tantalus: Steinitzian!
Armadillo: Gesundheit!
Tantalus: That was not a sneeze. I was cursing, because—
Armadillo: Because I was recursing. I quite understand. In
fact, I quite understand that I quite understand!
(Tantalus glares.)
So let me soothe your shuffled whethers
by
returning to your original question. Is that not a bottle
of rye under your arm?
Tantalus: Yes, and very good rye at that: 100 Roses. But I fail to see—
Armadillo: I was hoping for 112 Roses, but what is a dozen roses between friends? Now, all this dry sand has left me in need of refreshment. You have a bottle of rye. If you will just refresh me, I will direct you to the links.
Tantalus: My broad-banded friend, I sense that you are spinning a web for me. (He lifts the bottle.) This rye may make you too drunk to direct me to the links. Armadillos and rye do not harmonize! It would be better that I should withhold it from you.
Armadillo: Oh, please, Tantalus! Just one sip!
Tantalus (waving the bottle): Not one rose!
Armadillo: Tantalus, you tease me! Or rather, you play with me. You torment me. You— I can't seem to think of the word I want. Oh, look out! Your clubs! They're falling!
Tantalus (adroitly catching the bag): Not one fell! Thanks, Armadillo. I owe you.
Armadillo: Then I-O-O me, Tantalus. A cooling drink of 100 Roses will relieve me from the heat of the dunes. (He shields his face from the sun.)
Tantalus (weakening): Aye, I too commence to feel awry. Armadillo, sand-dry, dune-hot, arm on eyes, it would be bitter that I should withhold it from you. (He tilts the bottle between Armadillo's jaws. Armadillo drains it.)
Armadillo (dazed): Where am I?
Tantalus (scornfully): Are you not aware that this is the Mathematical Desert?
Armadillo: I will not be ant-agonized by a talking ant!
Tantalus: Just as I feared! The rye has gone to your head, Armadillo. I am a human and no ant.
Armadillo: I prefer the term anthropoid,
and that's almost
an arthropod. Did I ever tell you of my fondness for the
initial A
?
Tantalus: Eh? I'm partial to the initial T
, myself.
Armadillo: Ah! And who, Mr. Anthropoid, would you be without it?
Antalus: Ah … Antalus! Ack! Augh! Arggh! Help me, Armadillo! I cannot tolerate this terrible transformation! (He waves his antennae wildly.)
Armadillo (quickly): Take some more T
.
Tantalus (dazed): Who am I?
Armadillo: I—I hardly know, Sir, just at present.
Tantalus: I'll tell you, if you'll come a little further on. I ca'n't remember here.
(They stagger together over the nearest sand dune.)
Armadillo: Why, if it isn't our friend Conch!
Tantalus: Why, if it isn't our friend Conch, then it must be a mirage.
Conch: Well met, my terrestrial friends! I seem to have lost my bearing. Would you kindly point me in the direction of the sea?
Armadillo: The sea? Which one?
Conch: The Bering Sea. Can you not hear me?
Tantalus: Armadillo, who are you talking to?
Armadillo: Can you not see him?
Tantalus: Of course not. What would our friend Conch be doing here in the middle of the desert?
Conch: As it happens, I am reading a book, and a profound one at that. Have you ever heard of Girders, Edges, Boxes by the renowned architect Bugmonster Fullfeather?
Armadillo: It sounds vaguely familiar …
Tantalus: Vaguely familiar? It is on the Architectical Schemas list of 100 best sellers! As I recall, it is currently in 112th place.
Conch: Is that so? Then it will not surprise you to hear that the implications of this weighty tome are staggering!
Armadillo (staggering): But, Conch, that book before you is not weighty at all. It can't have more than a score of pages.
Conch: Alas! For an impecunious mollusk like me, the book is hopelessly unaffordable. I had only enough money to buy the final chapter. But I pride myself on being able to reconstruct the entire book from it.
Armadillo: Excuse me, that sounds quite impossible.
Tantalus: Now I begin to understand! This Mathematical Desert has set up a mirage of our friend Conch, and with it a host of audio mirages, or echoes.
Armadillo: Echoes?
Conch: Echoes?
Tantalus: Echoes! Can you not hear me?
Conch: I can, but I wish I couldn't! Tantalus, you sound just like one of the characters in this book.
Tantalus: What do you mean, sound like? You were reading silently, so the characters in that book weren't making any sound.
Conch: Well, no, but the author's dialogue is so vivid that it sets up in my mind a host of audio mirages, or echoes.
Tantalus: Echoes??
Conch: Echoes!
Armadillo: Echoes?
Tantalus: Armadillo, keep out of this!
Conch: And the echo of this particular character sounds just like you, Tantalus.
Armadillo: Now, Tantalus, before you lose your temper, let's just find out more about this character in Conch's book. He could be an altogether admirable sort of person—witty, sophisticated, and charming. So, Conch, tell us about this character. What sort of person is he?
Conch: Oh! (He blushes.) Well, now, Armadillo, to tell the truth, he's not a person at all. In fact, he's just a talking ant.