*
(Note to anyone who's reading this: If you haven't read the previous chapters, please do so... or you may not understand what's going on here.)
October 30, 2006
The last day of philosophy classes for the school year happened to be the day before Halloween. How oddly fitting, I thought. To spend the day before Halloween in the company of the man that my friends and I had called "Vamp" and "Dracula".
We had gone through all of the course material in the previous thirteen weeks of the semester. There were no more articles left to discuss, no more lessons from the curriculum. But rather than cancel the class, or allow us students to run amuck and meander about the classroom as we pleased, Vamp had other plans-- other tricks up his sleeve.
I'd known for a few weeks that he intended to show us the Antonioni movie Blow-Up. So it was a bit of a surprise when I went up to the classroom, and found him muttering irritatedly at a TV screen that was flashing images from some other movie. He glared at the video player with a scowl that could have shattered concrete, then ejected the tape and popped it back into its box.
"Something is wrong with this copy," he said in a surprisingly calm tone. "I don't know why, or how, but there is now a different movie on this tape... it has been recorded over Blow-Up. I need to take this back to the library and try to get another copy."
Uh-oh. This wasn't sounding good.
"Have any of you seen Blow-Up?" he said as the rest of the class started filing into the room. A few of us, including me, nodded our heads. "Okay. Those who have seen the movie, please explain the story to your colleagues. We don't have time to see the whole movie; we can only watch parts of it. I need to go to the library and find another copy. I hope that they have one." He then went off running like a shot.
Well, this was an interesting start to the day. Two of the guys who'd seen Blow-Up boldy stepped to the front of the class. They gave a short outline of the movie's plot: a photographer believes that he's taken a picture of a murder in progress, but he and everyone around him are too tripped out on drugs and sex to deduce if it really happened. Great stuff, eh?
Several minutes later, Vamp came bursting into the classroom, holding a DVD of the movie. His neatly groomed brown hair was now ruffled from running to the library and back, and his cheeks were pink from exertion. I couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him.
"We are lucky," he said, smiling triumphantly as he gasped for breath. "The professor who borrowed this DVD returned it just now. Hopefully there will be no more problems." He hurriedly popped it into the DVD player and pressed the "Play" button.
I sat back, wishing I had some popcorn or something crunchy to snack on while watching. We zipped through most of the scenes on fast-forward, focusing only on the crucial ones: the introduction, with the mimes tearing through the town; Thomas, the photographer, at his studio; Thomas visiting his friend, an abstract painter; Thomas taking photographs of a couple in the park; Thomas developing the photos, and discovering the possible presence of a gunman in the bushes; sex, drugs, rock 'n' roll, and more drugs; and the cryptic ending, with Thomas joining the mimes at mimicking a tennis game.
As the credits rolled, Vamp switched off the DVD player and switched himself to Lecturer Mode. I had a feeling that what was coming next would be infinitely more interesting than the movie. I was right.
"So what is the main theme of this movie?" he said, pacing across the floor. I rubbed my chin in thought and remembered his 2001 paper-- it said that objects and phenomena appear different on the microscopic level than they do at the macroscopic, or blow-up, level. Before any of us could answer, he went on, "This movie asks the questions: What really exists? What is real? What is truth? As you saw, it was impossible for the main character to determine what was real."
He took up the remainder of the class time, marveling us with a riveting, thought-provoking discourse that questioned the very nature of reality and our perceptions of truth. "Don't ask, 'What is reality?' It is meaningless." He hinted at elements from his 2005 paper: humans experience only phenomona (their perceptions of objects), and not noumena (the objects themselves). "There is no absolute truth. If we can use something, it exists; if we cannot use it, it does not exist." His tone of voice and manner blazed with fierce intensity, and I hung onto his every word. My heart sank, regretting that my friend and fellow Vamp fan, Black Sunday, was in a different class and unable to experience this captivating lecture. I wished that I'd brought a video camera, to record it for him.
In the end, we came away with lessons far more intriguing than anything we'd studied in the course material: Never accept anything at face value. Question everything. Pay close attention to the details, but don't take your eyes off the big picture. Don't be content with what's in front of you; dream bigger. Aim higher. And most importantly, be different. Don't follow the crowd. Break tradition. Change the framework. Change the world-- it doesn't hurt to try.
There were a lot of things I wanted to say to Vamp after he dismissed the class, but I didn't get the chance. I watched him leave and tried to follow him, hoping I could at least tell him how amazingly fantastic his lecture was, but he quickly disappeared from view. I resigned myself to the situation with a shrug. I couldn't hang around there, anyway-- I had to run to catch a bus to the art campus (the university's arts building was located in an entirely different part of the city). And a low growl from my stomach gave me another reason to get moving: I needed food!
I ran down to the campus food court, bought a chicken skewer and a raspberry jelly, gobbled them up, and caught a bus. This wasn't the last I'd be seeing of Vamp, I told myself. This was my last class with him, but I had no desire to let the learning stop there. Like a small kid faced with a big, confusing world, I wanted to cling to his hand, knowing I could draw strength and guidance from it. I couldn't do that as his student-- I'd been too nervous, too shy. Now I wasn't his student any more, but it wasn't too late. There was another way to keep on learning from him.
I made up my mind to be his friend.
November 2, 2006
Some time ago, when Black Sunday and I were having a chat with Vamp, Vamp suggested that we hang out sometime to watch some Tarkovsky DVDs. Then later, as Black Sunday and I were walking to buy a snack, this question popped into my head:
"What is Vamp like when he gets drunk?"
I asked this aloud, and we bounced the question back and forth between us, pondering over the possibilities. Would he become ten times more philosophical than his usual self, and spout random theories like a fountain? Would he stop talking about philosophy altogether, and launch a heated tirade against the nearest available person? Would he belt out arias like an opera singer? Or would he simply fall unconscious?
"Whichever way it goes, I'm dying to find out!" said Black Sunday. "I know a great pub where we can take him. Find out when he's available, so we can set a date. It's going to be awesome!"
So our plan was hatched, and we said our goodbyes. Once again, I found myself taking a pensive stroll down the hallway to Vamp's office.
It was the last day of classes for me at the art campus, and I'd wrapped it up by taking photos of my school friends. Since I had plenty of memory space left in my camera, I decided to take a souvenir photo of Vamp while I was there.
In my usual manner, I silently crept up to his doorway and poked my head around to take a peek. I'd stopped being frightened of him, but I wanted to make sure I wasn't interrupting a meeting or phone conversation. I spotted him at his computer, briskly tapping away at the keys almost as if in a trance. "Might be busy," I said to myself. "I'd better make this short."
I stepped to the front of the doorway, camera in hand. "Hi!" I said genially. "Can I take your picture? ... Please?"
Caught off-guard, he raised an eyebrow. "Now?"
I tried to put on a pleading look. "It's the last day of classes. I'm taking pictures of all my friends. I was hoping I could take a photo of you too."
He hesitated for a second. "Okay." He smoothed back his hair, fixing a few stray locks into place, and smiled. I framed the shot and took it.
"Thanks," I said. "I'll e-mail this to you."
He laughed softly. "No, don't. I don't want to see it." He ran his hands through his hair again. "I don't like how I look right now," he said with a chuckle.
I laughed along with him; however, I thought he looked fine.
"When are you available to hang out with Black Sunday and me?" I said, getting to the point so I wouldn't take up too much of his time.
"I am busy this week," he said. "Around... ten days, maybe twelve days from now... I will be free. You can send me an e-mail, and we can arrange a time. We can go somewhere here in Randwick, have a coffee, and watch some scenes from Tarkovsky's films."
I nodded. "Okay. See ya." I waved goodbye, and he waved back. I made my way down the corridor, out of the building, towards the bus stop.
December 3, 2006
Due to conflicting schedules, it took a long while for Vamp, Black Sunday and me to finally set an appointment. I decided to drop the idea of going to a pub and getting Vamp intoxicated, like Black Sunday and I had planned. It seemed like an awfully naughty thing to do.
We met up on the campus grounds, outside Vamp's office. We chatted amicably as we walked down the streets of Randwick to a quaint-looking cafe. I'd brought my laptop computer and a set of Tarkovsky DVDs to watch; however, we decided to chat some more and enjoy our coffee before we started the movie viewing.
We talked mostly about Black Sunday's fun times at the university's science-fiction club, and our favorite Tarkovsky movies. It was the first time I'd seen Vamp in such a laid-back, relaxed mood--quite different from the beleaguered teacher and author of papers, who seemed to forever shuffle from one class or paper to another. He spoke of Tarkovsky's films as if recalling the fondest moments of his life, with a twinkle in his eye and a soft smile on his lips.
Our conversation drifted towards other movies, and we found ourselves talking about Kung Fu Hustle and other martial arts flicks. "The fight scenes in those kung fu movies look so amazing, but the moves are totally unrealistic," said Black Sunday.
I voiced my agreement. "Yeah, you'd get whupped if you tried those moves in a real fight. They're not practical, and those fancy jump kicks just leave you vulnerable."
"Did you take martial arts?" said Vamp, addressing both of us. "I used to do Shotokan karate, when I was younger. There were many gangsters... rough people... in my area. My brother and I studied karate to protect ourselves. How about you?"
Black Sunday shook his head. "I didn't. But Fox did. Tell him, Fox!" he said, nudging me across the table.
As much as I wanted to answer, I couldn't produce a single sound. My mouth wouldn't move, because my brain was too stunned from processing what my ears had just heard from Vamp. I sat there staring at him with a look of pure shock plastered across my face.
"You took up karate?" I finally managed to say after a few seconds. I was aghast.
"Yes, but only for a few years," said Vamp. "It was illegal in Romania at that time... the communist period. But there was an immigrant, a karate master, who held classes in secret. We would pay him, and he would pay off the authorities, so he would not be arrested. We would hold tournaments, but these would also be illegal. And since they were illegal, of course the competitors had no insurance... so we had to make sure that we did not hurt each other. My brother and I reached the rank of blue belt. We stopped training when we took up philosophy... we had no more time for karate, and anyway, we did not have the mobility in our legs, the flexibility, that other people had. And, because it was required by the law, we served for nine months in the Romanian army."
I let out a low whistle. "Wow." After a pause, I said, "I took up Shotokan karate too, but only for two years."
"Really?" Now it was Vamp's turn to be surprised. "What belt did you reach?" he said.
"Green. One rank lower than yours."
"Did you fight in tournaments?"
"Yes," I said, going goggle-eyed over a mental image of Vamp fighting in a tournament. "A few."
"Are you still practicing?"
"No. I stopped training when I started college."
I leaned back in my seat, still hardly able to believe I was having this conversation. No way! This intellectual, academic-minded guy, who spent most of his time holed up in his office, was a Shotokan practitioner? This placid-natured, art-loving man knew how to beat people up, and even reached a belt rank higher than mine? I nearly slid out of my chair.
Thankfully, before my brain could suffer a shock-induced meltdown, Vamp put down his coffee and said it was time to watch a movie. We flipped through my collection of Tarkovsky DVDs and settled on Nostalghia.
Nostalghia was a heart-rending drama, very bittersweet with a depressing ending. But beautiful, nonetheless. It was made even more beautiful by Vamp's running commentary, where he patiently explained the symbolism and aesthetics of almost every scene. It was like Black Sunday and I were sitting with a seasoned film critic.
At one point in the film, the main character, Andrei, approached a little angel girl and said one of the movie's classic lines: "Are you afraid of me? I should be afraid of you."
"Did you hear that?" Vamp said gently. "He says this because he is old... an adult... and the little girl is young. Young people are different... they can adapt more easily to change, because their minds are more open, more accepting. They are weaker physically, but on the inside, they are stronger. They can see many things that older people cannot." A look of benevolence and sincerity appeared on his face, and he turned to me. "It is the same with you and me," he said. "You don't have to be frightened of me."
I nodded quietly, for he was right. I remembered what Vamp's brother, Archangel, had told me, about Vamp merely being misunderstood, and all the remaining doubts and fears that clouded my heart like a dusky haze were dispelled. I looked at him with new eyes. I regarded the bespectacled, scholarly man seated across from me, and no longer saw a harried teacher or encumbered article writer-- all I saw was a smiling man with brown hair and blue eyes; a person I cared about; a kind and thoughtful friend. I had nothing to fear from him; I never had. All I had to do was open up my mind and change the framework in which I saw the world. It was a feeling I could only describe as wondrous, almost magical.
After the movie, we had a short discussion on the cinematography techniques used in the dream sequences and the hero's final scene. I became so wrapped up in Vamp's reflections and insights that I lost track of the time.
Suddenly, a dark-haired woman with delicate, lovely features and gentle eyes approached our table and greeted Vamp warmly. He introduced her to us as his wife. Black Sunday and I shook hands with her and introduced ourselves as she took a seat next to Vamp.
She was sweet and pleasant, and I felt at ease around her. Although she was older and taller than me, she seemed to me like a cute teddy bear that I wanted to hug and squeeze. She and Vamp clearly loved each other dearly; they gazed at each other fondly, like newlyweds, and their faces would light up whenever they looked at each other. It was delightful to see them truly happy and at peace. We talked about whatever random things came to mind: life at university, movies, a bit of philosophy, video games, a little of this and that.
The time soon came for Black Sunday and me to leave. We said our goodbyes to the couple and thanked them for a wonderful time. We resolved to have ice cream together sometime in the future, perhaps over another Tarkovsky film. Vamp and his wife directed me to the bus stop, and I parted their company reluctantly, wishing I could stay with them a bit longer.
All in all, it was a terrific day. I skipped onto the bus with a gleeful spring in my step, pleased that things had gone so well. One question nagged me from the back of my mind, though...
"What would it be like to fight with Vamp?"
I smirked. There was only one way to find out, of course: challenge him. I still had my pair of sparring gloves from my karate days, and I found myself eager to don them again, to experience the rush of combat. I'd fought against larger, taller opponents before, in tournaments and in the training hall. None of them had been as tall as Vamp, though; but I was certain I could put up a decent fight.
I grinned to myself, gazed out the bus window, and started looking forward to our next outing.
-end of part 6-
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