The Greywater Gazette
The Lost-and-Found Log Now Has More Entries Than the Town Has Names for Them
On the morning of Thursday, October the 30th, the Gazette's lost-and-found box contains five letters. This editor will set that sentence in type without modification because the modifications she has considered — 'still,' 'now,' 'as of this writing' — are all ways of suggesting the number might change, and she has decided to stop suggesting things she is no longer confident are true. Five letters. Five names. The box, which previously held a scarf belonging to Constable Dunmore (retrieved Wednesday), one earring of unknown provenance, a child's mitten that has been there since March, and the ordinary flotsam of a small town's pockets, has been reorganised. The mitten is in a paper bag. The earring is in a small envelope. The letters are grouped together and are not touching the mitten.
This editor updated the lost-and-found policy on Monday. The update was sensible and procedural: items held more than thirty days to be moved to secondary storage; perishables not accepted; letters held pending addressee identification. What the policy does not address — what this editor did not, on Monday, feel was necessary to address — is the question of what to do when the letters do not wait for the addressee to come to them. Mr. R. Oduya's name appeared in conversation before his face appeared at the Kettle counter. Ms. P. Crane's letter preceded her arrival by, this editor calculates, eleven days. Mr. T. Beaumont's name has appeared in three separate conversations this week in the mouths of people who spoke it the way you speak a name you cannot quite place — a name that is almost a memory. The letters, it seems, are less like notices of delivery and more like notices of intent.
This morning this editor sat at the desk for a longer time than she will report here before opening the second notebook. The notebook now has nine items in it. She wrote the ninth item — about the index card, the sub-ledger, the act of organisation itself — and then looked at the word 'nine' for a moment before closing the cover. She has not yet decided what to do with the notebook's count. She is aware that deciding not to decide is itself a decision, and that the town has been making that particular decision for some weeks now, and that it is, on the whole, working out about as well as it ever does.
The ice on the south shore was nine inches this morning. Gerald Pith measured it. He wrote the number down. He said nothing about it at the Kettle, which is the first morning since he began measuring that he has not, in some register, noted the measurement aloud. Marigold Vance left his coffee at the end of the counter and did not ask.
From Around the Falls
Gerald Pith Does Not Read the Morning's Measurement Aloud; Marigold Vance Does Not Ask
Gerald Pith arrived at the Kettle at his usual time, ordered his usual coffee, opened the blue notebook, wrote one line, and closed it. He did not read the line back to himself. He did not share it with Marigold Vance, who was at the far end of the counter with the pot. He sat for twenty-two minutes, finished the coffee, paid, and left. Marigold Vance tells the Gazette that the morning was 'right.' She said this the way a person says a thing that is almost true.
Halloway's Bakery: The Standing, Thursday Edition; Count Matches Tray
Halloway's Bakery reports that this morning's Standing — the brown butter and cardamom pastry, named by popular contest last Sunday — sold in exact correspondence with the tray prepared: eight portions served, eight customers. Doreen Halloway tells the Gazette she 'counted twice, just to be sure, and it came out the same both times.' She said this pleasantly. This editor notes that 'the same both times' is not the same as 'what I expected' and that Doreen Halloway knows the difference.
Constable Dunmore Notes the Lost-and-Found Box Has Been Reorganised; Files No Report
Town Constable Russ Dunmore stopped by the Gazette on Thursday morning, as he sometimes does, for reasons he describes as 'just passing.' He observed the reorganised lost-and-found — the letters in their group, the index card on the lid — and stood for a moment with his hands in his coat pockets and his scarf around his neck. 'That's a tidy system,' he said. He did not touch the letters. He had his coffee and left. He has not filed a report. He tells the Gazette this is a judgement call and that the call stands.
Letters to the Editor
“The ice was nine inches this morning. Gerald measured it. Nine is not a number this town settles on lightly, and the lake knows that. I have been watching it count.”
“I want to say the morning was fine. Gerald came in, had his coffee, wrote his line, left. Normal as it gets. Except he didn't read it back, not even a little, not even to himself, and he always reads it back. I had the pot ready for a refill he didn't need and I just — stood there with it for a minute. The specials board doesn't have a headcount on it today. I keep meaning to put one up. Anyway, the crumb cake is good this week if anyone's coming in.”