A Smidgeon of Knowledge

“Did you know the Black Death wiped out a third of the population when it swept through Europe from 1347 to 1350? Some towns actually lost half of their citizens! Can you imagine? You know, if the sun were hollow, a million Earths could be stuffed inside. A million! Can you picture that?”

“No, Charlie, I can’t picture that,” Ryan, the bartender, dryly responded.

“Here’s another interesting thing: approximately a third of all American currency that was in circulation in 1865 was counterfeit. Amazing, huh, Ryan?”

“Pretty amazing, Charlie.”

“I was reading recently that paleontologists have discovered from fossils that a lot of dinosaurs were actually covered in feathers. When I was a kid, dinosaurs were all considered to be more like reptiles.”

“Yeah, Charlie, yeah. I remember that, too.”

It was a typical late Saturday afternoon in O’Conner’s Pub. As day quickly morphed into dusk, the locals were sharing a few pints, enjoying some relaxation time, and discussing the baseball game whose cheers and boos emanated from the television mounted above the bar.

Charlie, the town’s librarian and walking encyclopedia, continued to prattle on with the seemingly incessant facts and historical tidbits he had effortlessly stored in his memory. His enthusiasm for learning and sharing these snippets of trivia -- which he liked to call smidgeons -- could sometimes be inspiring to those around him, but not often. Instead, Charlie usually received indifferent reactions to his fact giving, which he took with, well, indifference.

Most people in the town did genuinely like Charlie. True, they often tired of his ramblings, wishing they could find an off switch somewhere on his person, and occasionally gasped at his inappropriate and misguided responses to certain situations. Still, Charlie meant well, and recognizing that, his fellow townspeople accepted his kind of pseudo savant personality.

Well, all the townspeople except one, anyway.

Dr. Edward Prichard, Ph.D., a professor at the town’s university, openly loathed Charlie and his constant factual recitations. Thinking quite highly of himself and his abilities, the professor insisted he chose to teach at the local university to help lift the intellectual standing of the town. What the professor always failed to mention was that Harvard, UPenn, and several other top universities had all turned down his gracious offer for his intellectual services. He was also the kind of person who felt the need to advise everyone that the correct pronunciation of his surname was Pree-shar. Most people in the town questioned the veracity of the so-called correct pronunciation, but considering the professor’s adamance on the issue, they addressed him the way he wished: Doctor Pree-shar.

Although the professor’s pompousness was quite obnoxious, there was no doubting he was a well educated and highly intelligent man. The main reason he greatly disliked Charlie was Charlie’s lack of comprehension. See, the town librarian could memorize thousands of facts, but he could not elaborate on their significance, or form new hypotheses by drawing several facts together. Dr. Prichard likened Charlie’s intellectual ability to a pack of flash cards, or a high school student’s cheat sheet. There was no substance, no contemplation, and that the professor could not abide. It was an insult to those, like he, who dedicated their lives to higher education.

Noticing the bartender had tired of his smidgeons, Charlie made his way around the pub to enlighten others who were leisurely passing their afternoon. He strolled up to Phil, the town’s mechanic, with a slight spring in his step and a goofy smile on his face. Phil didn’t mind Charlie, though he had made clear on more than one occasion that random facts held no interest for him, particularly when there was a baseball game.

“Hey, Phil. Do you know what the human body’s largest organ is? Most people would guess the liver, but it’s actually the skin.”

“Nah, I didn’t know that, Charlie.” Phil answered half smiling and maintained his focus on the TV, as the game slid into the bottom of the seventh inning. Unfazed, Charlie continued his lesson.

“You know, the Visigoths sacked Rome in 410 A.D. and looted the city for three whole days. Can you believe this barbaric tribe successfully attacked the great empire?”

An interjection from a couple of tables away caused Charlie to stop suddenly and face the well known interruptive voice. It was the professor, who wore a look of disdain and whose cold eyes stared unwaveringly at his intellectual nemesis.

“I said, why did they attack Rome, Charlie? Were they simply barbarous? Were they trying to annex land? Were they trying to prove a point? Was it a dare? Why?”

Intimidated by his challenger, Charlie’s blank look became a downward gaze, as his eyes met the dingy floorboards of O’Conner’s Pub. This was not the first time the professor had thrown down the gauntlet. At first, it had seemed these trials were done to help Charlie learn more; but as they became more bitingly hostile, it was clear the professor intended these verbal quizzes as a public demonstration of Charlie’s utter ignorance.

Charlie mumbled without looking up, “I’m not sure, Dr. Prichard.”

“You’re not sure. You’re never sure, Charlie. You never know the reasoning behind anything. You just like to regurgitate nonsense that you can’t even explain in an effort to impress those around you!”

“Aw, lay off him, Dr. Prichard,” Ryan yelled out as he poured two pints of lager. “You know he’s not trying to impress anyone. He just enjoys little facts. Smidgeons, right, Charlie?”

Charlie smiled at the bartender as the professor began his raving retort.

“The ludicrousness of the whole situation astounds me: you all pander to him, placate him, when he knows nothing and you don’t care what he’s saying anyway! The Visigoths had been battling with the Romans for decades before the sack of Rome, Charlie. It was an uneasy relationship that had moments of fair dealings, but many more moments of broken promises from the Romans and violent revolts from the Goths. When the Eastern Roman Emperor killed his Western counterpart, along with many thousands of Visigoth soldiers serving in the Roman army, the Goths had had enough. You see, Charlie, every man has his breaking point. Their king, Alaric, vowed war -- out of frustration, anger, revenge, and pride -- and eventually, that vow led to the sacking of Rome.”

Feeling rather proud of himself, the professor looked around to see who had enjoyed his history lesson and who, perhaps, was craving more. But with the exception of Charlie, everyone’s focus had returned to the loquacious commentators wrapping up the game. While the librarian wasn’t interested in baseball, he wasn’t exactly listening to Dr. Prichard’s discourse either. Instead, he was mentally gathering the smidgeons he would share next with his fellow pub goers.

Loudly clearing his throat, the professor tried to return the room’s attention to himself.

“So, what do you think of that, Charlie? Hmm? Were you even listening?! I don’t know why I bother to attempt to impart some knowledge when all you’re interested in is puerile drivel. Nothing more!”

With that, the professor jaggedly pulled his coat from the back of the chair, stomped toward the entrance, and slammed the door behind him.

“Eh, don’t mind him, Charlie,” Phil said reassuringly. “Dr. Prichard’s just in a bad mood or something.”

“Yeah, I know, Phil... Hey, did I ever tell you that all the continents used to be part of one huge land mass? Scientists call it Pangea.”

“No,” Phil sighed, “I don’t think you ever told me that one, Charlie.”

******

Sunday afternoon found the regulars back at O’Conner’s Pub for some lighthearted enjoyment before the demanding work week once again stole their freedom. Charlie continued sharing his smidgeons, as the drinkers half listened and the professor glared from across his nearby table.

All seemed normal until Mrs. Clandine slowly and sulkily entered with tears streaking her face. Alarmed at the woman’s apparent distress, the locals gathered around her to discover what had happened. In between sobs, Mrs. Clandine relayed to her friends the story of her husband’s sudden death yesterday as he fell from the roof of their house and snapped his neck. Mr. Clandine had been well liked in the town and known as someone who would always help his fellow townsfolk; needless to say, his death stunned all who heard this tragic tale.

In his usual misguided manner, Charlie swept in with a smidgeon he thought would alleviate some of the mounting sadness.

“Mrs. Clandine, did you know the word mausoleum comes from the name of King Mausolus, who built a grand burial tomb for himself and his wife -- who was also his sister -- in 353 B.C.?”

“Jesus, Charlie! Not now!” Ryan roared, as he placed his arm around Mrs. Clandine.

“Not so quick to defend the blathering fool now, are you, Ryan?” the professor said under his breath as he watched the scene unravel. “The only time you speak up is when his actions are so inappropriate that you absolutely cannot ignore them. Well, I shall not continue to be a witness to all this, an observer to the foolishness. No. Every man has his breaking point.”

As the locals carried on with their condolences, Dr. Prichard slipped out of the pub wearing a broad and determined smirk, the likes of which flirted with diabolical delight.

******

A somewhat somber and quiet tone enveloped O’Conner’s Pub the following Saturday afternoon. Part of this atmosphere was due to the recent burial of Mr. Clandine, which certainly took its toll on the townsfolk. However, silence also blanketed the pub from another absence: Charlie wasn’t regaling the drinkers with a few smidgeons to lighten the mood.

Ryan had been feeling a bit guilty for shouting at Charlie on Sunday and had hoped to apologize the next time he saw him. But Charlie hadn’t been in all week, and just as Ryan pondered this fact, Sheriff Milford walked quietly into the pub and up to the bar.

“Hey, Sheriff. What can I get ya?”

“I’m afraid I have some bad news, Ryan, and I thought you’d like to know. We just found Charlie dead in his house.”

The bartender stood speechless for a moment, as the reality of the situation slowly seeped into his consciousness. Finally, he managed to ask the Sheriff to explain what had happened.

“Well, looks like an accident, really. The library asked us to look for him since he hadn’t been to work all week, and you know Charlie doesn’t miss work. So we finally went over to his house, had to break the door in and all, and found him layin’ there at the bottom of his basement stairs. Seems like a fuse was tripped, and he went down to flick the switch, but he slipped on a book that was sittin’ on one of the steps. S’what it looks like anyway. Damn shame.”

By this point, everyone in the pub had gathered around Sheriff Milford to hear the horrifying news. Well, all the people except one, anyway.

“Just out of curiosity, what was the book lying on the steps, Sheriff Milford?” the professor asked without looking up from his newspaper.

“Aww, gee, professor, I don’t know exactly. Something about Goths or somethin’ was on the cover. You know me: I ain’t much of a reader.”

“Goths? Hey, Dr. Prichard, isn’t that what you were talking to Charlie about last week?”

“Yes, Ryan, I believe it was.”

“Maybe your little lessons were finally starting to pay off, Dr. Prichard,” Ryan said. “Like Charlie was really trying to learn and absorb the historical tales.”

“Hmm, perhaps, yes. I suppose I finally managed to teach him a history lesson.”

And with that, the professor resumed his reading and finished his pint of lager at his usual table in the pub, enjoying the newfound silence with a satisfied smile adorning his face.



Word Count: 1,985

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Won Third Place in the February 2009 "Quotation Inspiration: Official Contest"