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Could not believe Cuato said bush wife when everyone --anyone -- with a glancing knowledge -- the most casual knowledge -- knew the term was grass wife.
 Could learn that from TV.
Cuato the self-styled scholar.
Not that he was a scholar. Or claimed to be.
The problem of culture. What the fuck with problem of culture. They were going under. How about the culture of survival. Maybe Cuato could speak to that.
And the movie.
Who made the movie and who paid for the movie and who distributed the movie and who at the company authorized the movie and what did it pay the company to show the movie on culture day?
Inhabiting as the movie had had it every side -- going through each stage of evolution -- embodying it all the movie said.
Who knew if it was true or what was behind it.
What it was selling for whom.
All of God or Nature's creation and which or what function.
Could anybody tell the truth about anything?
About a grass wife?
Lady in human resources said she was a Buddhist.
He did not know why she told him this; he was trying to find something out about his dental coverage.
He did not know. He was not with anything. He was not against anything. Told himself that. Kept telling himself that.
Maybe it was the opposite.
Grass wives and evolution?
Remembered what the psychologist told him.
The psychologist said if you were blind -- truly physically blind -- you did not see darkness, you saw what you see behind the back of your head.
Nothing, he supposed.
He was not there for treatment. The psychologist was not that kind of psychologist.
Maybe Cuato's grass wife was not that kind of grass wife.
Fucking economy broken.
Shot.
He'd told her he had not failed very well.
She'd said he had failed superbly but dealt with it very poorly.
Correction.
Reference to the Eastern Front. Summation? Were they supposed to go back in time?
Or was it a story?
As his version of his life.
Something made up -- to make it -- why not -- immediate -- effortlessly sensible to any interlocutor.
But evolution.
The story was supposed to evolve and via its evolution rescue them from the gloom of the immediate?
How the fuck could a story do that?
As an example.
Specimen.
Like something in a jar.
Bottle.
Was that what this was about?
Nothing evolved in a bottle.
Maybe Cuato could say something -- say -- the pretty snake is filled with venom.
That might help.
He would never speak to anyone again.
As though all this were an architect's model of progress or success or the appropriate course of action -- of happiness here and unhappiness there.
With images of historical progress and disaster.
Like something made of straw in a kid's story. Built on sand in the what was it. Solid or believed solid and gone.
House made of glass.
They were telling him weren't they -- though Cuato was wrong, true -- to put these things together. No doubt and no room for doubt if he did not learn these lessons he would suffer for it.
Suffer it.
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