Plato and the Allegory of the Cave Essay Example for Free

Plato and the Allegory of the Cave Essay The son of a wealthy and noble family, Plato (427-347 B.C.) was preparing for a career in politics when the trial and eventual execution of Socrates (399 B.C.) changed the course of his life. He abandoned his political career and turned to philosophy, opening a school on the outskirts of Athens dedicated to the Socratic search for wisdom. Platos school, then known as the Academy, was the first university in western history and operated from 387 B.C. until A. D. 529, when it was closed by Justinian. Unlike his mentor Socrates, Plato was both a writer and a teacher. His writings are in the form of dialogues, with Socrates as the principal speaker. In the Allegory of the Cave, Plato described symbolically the predicament in which mankind finds itself and proposes a way of salvation. The Allegory presents, in brief form, most of Platos major philosophical assumptions: his belief that the world revealed by our senses is not the real world but only a poor copy of it, and that the real world can only be apprehended intellectually; his idea that knowledge cannot be transferred from teacher to student, but rather that education consists in directing students minds toward what is real and important and allowing them to apprehend it for themselves; his faith that the universe ultimately is good; his conviction that enlightened individuals have an obligation to the rest of society, and that a good society must be one in which the truly wise (the Philosopher-King) are the rulers. The Allegory of the Cave can be found in Book VII of Platos best-known work, The Republic, a lengthy dialogue on the nature of justice. Often regarded as a utopian blueprint, The Republic is dedicated toward a discussion of the education required of a Philosopher-King. The following selection is taken from the Benjamin Jowett translation (Vintage, 1991), pp. 253-261. As you read the Allegory, try to make a mental picture of the cave Plato describes. Better yet, why not draw a picture of it and refer to it as you read the selection. In many ways, understanding Platos Allegory of the Cave will make your foray into the world of philosophical thought much less burdensome. * * * * * * [Socrates] And now, I said, let me show in a figure how far our nature is enlightened or unenlightened: Behold! human beings living in a underground cave, which has a mouth open towards the light and reaching all along the cave; here they have been from their childhood, and have their legs and necks chained so that they cannot move, and can only see before them, being prevented by the chains from turning round their heads. Above and behind them a fire is blazing at a distance, and between the fire and the prisoners there is a raised way; and you will see, if you look, a low wall built along the way, like the screen which marionette players have in front of them, over which they show the puppets. [Glaucon] I see. [Socrates] And do you see, I said, men passing along the wall carrying all sorts of vessels, and statues and figures of animals made of wood and stone and various materials, which appear over the wall? Some of them are talking, others silent. [Glaucon] You have shown me a strange image, and they are strange prisoners. [Socrates] Like ourselves, I replied; and they see only their own shadows, or the shadows of one another, which the fire throws on the opposite wall of the cave? [Glaucon] True, he said; how could they see anything but the shadows if they were never allowed to move their heads? [Socrates] And of the objects which are being carried in like manner they would only see the shadows? [Glaucon] Yes, he said. [Socrates] And if they were able to converse with one another, would they not suppose that they were naming what was actually before them? [Glaucon] Very true. [Socrates] And suppose further that the prison had an echo which came from the other side, would they not be sure to fancy when one of the passers-by spoke that the voice which they heard came from the passing shadow? [Glaucon] No question, he replied. [Socrates] To them, I said, the truth would be literally nothing but the shadows of the images. [Glaucon] That is certain. [Socrates] And now look again, and see what will naturally follow if the prisoners are released and disabused of their error. At first, when any of them is liberated and compelled suddenly to stand up and turn his neck round and walk and look towards the light, he will suffer sharp pains; the glare will distress him, and he will be unable to see the realities of which in his former state he had seen the shadows; and then conceive some one saying to him, that what he saw before was an illusion, but that now, when he is approaching nearer to being and his eye is turned towards more real existence, he has a clearer vision, -what will be his reply? And you may further imagine that his instructor is pointing to the objects as they pass and requiring him to name them, -will he not be perplexed? Will he not fancy that the shadows which he formerly saw are truer than the objects which are now shown to him? [Glaucon] Far truer. [Socrates] And if he is compelled to look straight at the light, will he not have a pain in his eyes which will make him turn away to take and take in the objects of vision which he can see, and which he will conceive to be in reality clearer than the things which are now being shown to him? [Glaucon] True, he now. [Socrates] And suppose once more, that he is reluctantly dragged up a steep and rugged ascent, and held fast until he s forced into the presence of the sun himself, is he not likely to be pained and irritated? When he approaches the light his eyes will be dazzled, and he will not be able to see anything at all of what are now called realities. [Glaucon] Not all in a moment, he said. [Socrates] He will require to grow accustomed to the sight of the upper world. And first he will see the shadows best, next the reflections of men and other objects in the water, and then the objects themselves; then he will gaze upon the light of the moon and the stars and the spangled heaven; and he will see the sky and the stars by night better than the sun or the light of the sun by day? [Glaucon] Certainly. [Socrates] Last of he will be able to see the sun, and not mere reflections of him in the water, but he will see him in his own proper place, and not in another; and he will contemplate him as he is. [Glaucon] Certainly. [Socrates] He will then proceed to argue that this is he who gives the season and the years, and is the guardian of all that is in the visible world, and in a certain way the cause of all things which he and his fellows have been accustomed to behold? [Glaucon] Clearly, he said, he would first see the sun and then reason about him. [Socrates] And when he remembered his old habitation, and the wisdom of the cave and his fellow-prisoners, do you not suppose that he would felicitate himself on the change, and pity them? [Glaucon] Certainly, he would. [Socrates] And if they were in the habit of conferring honors among themselves on those who were quickest to observe the passing shadows and to remark which of them went before, and which followed after, and which were together; and who were therefore best able to draw conclusions as to the future, do you think that he would care for such honors and glories, or envy the possessors of them? Would he not say with Homer, Better to be the poor servant of a poor master, and to endure anything, rather than think as they do and live after their manner? [Glaucon] Yes, he said, I think that he would rather suffer anything than entertain these false notions and live in this miserable manner. [Socrates] Imagine once more, I said, such an one coming suddenly out of the sun to be replaced in his old situation; would he not be certain to have his eyes full of darkness? [Glaucon] To be sure, he said. [Socrates] And if there were a contest, and he had to compete in measuring the shadows with the prisoners who had never moved out of the cave, while his sight was still weak, and before his eyes had become steady (and the time which would be needed to acquire this new habit of sight might be very considerable) would he not be ridiculous? Men would say of him that up he went and down he came without his eyes; and that it was better not even to think of ascending; and if any one tried to loose another and lead him up to the light, let them only catch the offender, and they would put him to death. [Glaucon] No question, he said. [Socrates] This entire allegory, I said, you may now append, dear Glaucon, to the previous argument; the prison-house is the world of sight, the light of the fire is the sun, and you will not misapprehend me if you interpret the journey upwards to be the ascent of the soul into the intellectual world according to my poor belief, which, at your desire, I have expressed whether rightly or wrongly God knows. But, whether true or false, my opinion is that in the world of knowledge the idea of good appears last of all, and is seen only with an effort; and, when seen, is also inferred to be the universal author of all things beautiful and right, parent of light and of the lord of light in this visible world, and the immediate source of reason and truth in the intellectual; and that this is the power upon which he who would act rationally, either in public or private life must have his eye fixed. [Glaucon] I agree, he said, as far as I am able to understand you. [Socrates] Moreover, I said, you must not wonder that those who attain to this beatific vision are unwilling to descend to human affairs; for their souls are ever hastening into the upper world where they desire to dwell; which desire of theirs is very natural, if our allegory may be trusted. [Glaucon] Yes, very natural. [Socrates] And is there anything surprising in one who passes from divine contemplations to the evil state of man, misbehaving himself in a ridiculous manner; if, while his eyes are blinking and before he has become accustomed to the surrounding darkness, he is compelled to fight in courts of law, or in other places, about the images or the shadows of images of justice, and is endeavoring to meet the conceptions of those who have never yet seen absolute justice? [Glaucon] Anything but surprising, he replied. [Socrates] Any one who has common sense will remember that the bewilderments of the eyes are of two kinds, and arise from two causes, either from coming out of the light or from going into the light, which is true of the minds eye, quite as much as of the bodily eye; and he who remembers this when he sees any one whose vision is perplexed and weak, will not be too ready to laugh; he will first ask whether that soul of man has come out of the brighter light, and is unable to see because unaccustomed to the dark, or having turned from darkness to the day is dazzled by excess of light. And he will count the one happy in his condition and state of being, and he will pity the other; or, if he have a mind to laugh at the soul which comes from below into the light, there will be more reason in this than in the laugh which greets him who returns from above out of the light into the cave. [Glaucon] That, he said, is a very just distinction. [Socrates] But then, if I am right, certain professors of education must be wrong when they say that they can put a knowledge into the soul which was not there before, like sight into blind eyes. [Glaucon] They undoubtedly say this, he replied. [Socrates] Whereas, our argument shows that the power and capacity of learning exists in the soul already; and that just as the eye was unable to turn from darkness to light without the whole body, so too the instrument of knowledge can only by the movement of the whole soul be turned from the world of becoming into that of being, and learn by degrees to endure the sight of being, and of the brightest and best of being, or in other words, of the good. [Glaucon] Very true. [Socrates] And must there not be some art which will effect conversion in the easiest and quickest manner; not implanting the faculty of sight, for that exists already, but has been turned in the wrong direction, and is looking away from the truth? [Glaucon] Yes, he said, such an art may be presumed. [Socrates] And whereas the other so-called virtues of the soul seem to be akin to bodily qualities, for even when they are not originally innate they can be implanted later by habit and exercise, the of wisdom more than anything else contains a divine element which always remains, and by this conversion is rendered useful and profitable; or, on the other hand, hurtful and useless. Did you never observe the narrow intelligence flashing from the keen eye of a clever rogue how eager he is, how clearly his paltry soul sees the way to his end; he is the reverse of blind, but his keen eyesight is forced into the service of evil, and he is mischievous in proportion to his cleverness. [Glaucon] Very true, he said. [Socrates] But what if there had been a circumcision of such natures in the days of their youth; and they had been severed from those sensual pleasures, such as eating and drinking, which, like leaden weights, were attached to them at their birth, and which drag them down and turn the vision of their souls upon the things that are below if, I say, they had been released from these impediments and turned in the opposite direction, the very same faculty in them would have seen the truth as keenly as they see what their eyes are turned to now. [Glaucon] Very likely. [Socrates] Yes, I said; and there is another thing which is likely. or rather a necessary inference from what has preceded, that neither the uneducated and uninformed of the truth, nor yet those who never make an end of their education, will be able ministers of State; not the former, because they have no single aim of duty which is the rule of all their actions, private as well as public; nor the latter, because they will not act at all except upon compulsion, fancying that they are already dwelling apart in the islands of the blest. [Glaucon] Very true, he replied. [Socrates] Then, I said, the business of us who are the founders of the State will be to compel the best minds to attain that knowledge which we have already shown to be the greatest of all-they must continue to ascend until they arrive at the good; but when they have ascended and seen enough we must not allow them to do as they do now. [Glaucon] What do you mean? [Socrates] I mean that they remain in the upper world: but this must not be allowed; they must be made to descend again among the prisoners in the cave, and partake of their labors and honors, whether they are worth having or not. [Glaucon] But is not this unjust? he said; ought we to give them a worse life, when they might have a better? [Socrates] You have again forgotten, my friend, I said, the intention of the legislator, who did not aim at making any one class in the State happy above the rest; the happiness was to be in the whole State, and he held the citizens together by persuasion and necessity, making them benefactors of the State, and therefore benefactors of one another; to this end he created them, not to please themselves, but to be his instruments in binding up the State. [Glaucon] True, he said, I had forgotten. [Socrates] Observe, Glaucon, that there will be no injustice in compelling our philosophers to have a care and providence of others; we shall explain to them that in other States, men of their class are not obliged to share in the toils of politics: and this is reasonable, for they grow up at their own sweet will, and the government would rather not have them. Being self-taught, they cannot be expected to show any gratitude for a culture which they have never received. But we have brought you into the world to be rulers of the hive, kings of yourselves and of the other citizens, and have educated you far better and more perfectly than they have been educated, and you are better able to share in the double duty. Wherefore each of you, when his turn comes, must go down to the general underground abode, and get the habit of seeing in the dark. When you have acquired the habit, you will see ten thousand times better than the inhabitants of the cave, and you will know what the several images are, and what they represent, because you have seen the beautiful and just and good in their truth. And thus our State which is also yours will be a reality, and not a dream only, and will be administered in a spirit unlike that of other States, in which men fight with one another about shadows only and are distracted in the struggle for power, which in their eyes is a great good. Whereas the truth is that the State in which the rulers are most reluctant to govern is always the best and most quietly governed, and the State in which they are most eager, the worst. [Glaucon] Quite true, he replied. [Socrates] And will our pupils, when they hear this, refuse to take their turn at the toils of State, when they are allowed to spend the greater part of their time with one another in the heavenly light? [Glaucon] Impossible, he answered; for they are just men, and the commands which we impose upon them are just; there can be no doubt that every one of them will take office as a stern necessity, and not after the fashion of our present rulers of State. [Socrates] Yes, my friend, I said; and there lies the point. You must contrive for your future rulers another and a better life than that of a ruler, and then you may have a well-ordered State; for only in the State which offers this, will they rule who are truly rich, not in silver and gold, but in virtue and wisdom, which are the true blessings of life. Whereas if they go to the administration of public affairs, poor and hungering after the own private advantage, thinking that hence they are to snatch the chief good, order there can never be; for they will be fighting about office, and the civil and domestic broils which thus arise will be the ruin of the rulers themselves and of the whole State. [Glaucon] Most true, he replied. [Socrates] And the only life which looks down upon the life of political ambition is that of true philosophy. Do you know of any other? [Glaucon] Indeed, I do not, he said. [Socrates] And those who govern ought not to be lovers of the task? For, if they are, there will be rival lovers, and they will fight. [Glaucon] No question. [Socrates] Who then are those whom we shall compel to be guardians? Surely they will be the men who are wisest about affairs of State, and by whom the State is best administered, and who at the same time have other honors and another and a better life than that of politics? [Glaucon] They are the men, and I will choose them, he replied. [Socrates] And now shall we consider in what way such guardians will be produced, and how they are to be brought from darkness to light, as some are said to have ascended from the world below to the gods? [Glaucon] By all means, he replied. [Socrates] The process, I said, is not the turning over of an oyster-shell, but the turning round of a soul passing from a day which is little better than night to the true day of being, that is, the ascent from below, which we affirm to be true philosophy? [Glaucon] Quite so.

Malmar McKnight’s The Storm Essay -- Malmar McKnight The Storm

Malmar McKnight’s The Storm Malmar McKnight’s frightening story, â€Å"The Storm†, weaves a violent storm and murder together to heighten the horrific fears that engulf Janet Willsom. â€Å"The Storm† is a combination of Mother Nature, Janet’s emotions, and her heartbreaking dilemmas. The eerie mood is revealed throughout the story. Figurative language helps the reader bring the story to life in his/ her mind. The author’s use of irony is devolved through Janet’s changed perception of the storm. Throughout the story, the mood becomes more suspenseful. As Janet walks out of the strong spring storm and enters her cold damp house, she is overcome by feelings of isolation and loneliness. Her husband is not there; there are dead plants around her house as if nobody has been there for a lo...

Essay on Once More to the Lake

An Analysis of E. B Whites, â€Å"Once More to the Lake† In E. B Whites essay, â€Å"Once More to the Lake† he reflects on his summer outing with his son. Throughout the trip, memories of his childhood, long forgotten, resurface themselves as he experiences the same vacation with his own son. These memories create in him a feeling as if time has not changed and that he is reliving his old days. His father used to take him to the same camping spot as a boy.He was certain that there would be changes since then, but on arrival his senses are awakened and old feelings revived as he takes in the unchanged sights, sounds, and smells of the peaceful lake in Maine. The overall theme of this story is the acceptance of aging and the passing of time. The passage of time throughout the story has a relentless hold on White, he struggles throughout as reality becomes harder and harder for him to grasp. The author incorporates many literary devices which add to his overall vivid descr iptions and comparisons, a few which include: imagery, tone, and symbolism.By these techniques the narrator is able to set the reader’s imagination on fire! Throughout this literary work detailed comparisons are blended in as he remembers his own vacation to the lake as a young boy. These comparisons make it hard for him to face the fact that he has aged very much since that time. The feelings and emotions these reincarnated memories create bring about sensations of a â€Å"dual existence† (25) in White. The narrators detailed diction in describing these emotions and senses that are being brought back and relived, arouse similar feelings in the reader.It makes us empathize for the now, grown man. He remembers such things as the smell of his bedroom, â€Å"picking up a bait box, or a table fork† (25), as well as many other intricate details. Everything seems to bring him back to the cherished memories he had stored for so many years of him camping on the lake wit h his own father. The imagery used in the essay enhances the overall experience. Another important technique which adds to this story is how the author meticulously compares the past with the present. For the duration of the story White repeats the same phrase, â€Å"there has been no years† (25, 26).He feels as if time is at a standstill. The tone that the speaker incorporates, works to bring out deep emotions in the reader. We feel for him as he describes this, â€Å"utterly enchanted sea† (26). The reverence he has for the, â€Å"peace, and goodness, and jollity† (27) of this special place reveals itself in multiple occasions of the story. He upholds this seemingly sanctuary in the utmost respect as it holds the memories of him and his father. In the course of time, this dwelling place of remembrance will rebirth into future generations.Something’s that have changed about the place, bring white back to the reality of time and aging. He speaks of how he came upon an old path used by horse drawn carriages back in his day, it used to have three tracks, but now that the automobile was invented only two were seem, etched in the dirt, tire tracks from the cars passing to and from. He states that for a moment he, â€Å"missed terribly the middle alternative† (26). Although this actuality is brought up, White pushes it aside and adopts his dual existence willingly.He continues to imagine that he is his father, and his son, is in fact him, he states, â€Å"which was I, the one walking at my side, the one walking in my pants† (28). White notices another difference, in this otherwise, so familiar place, it was the sound of outboard motors, â€Å"unfamiliar nervous sound† (27). They are sounds that bring him out of his dream world; he is distraught over these changes. This makes us believe that the very thought of these dissimilarities were unbearable for him to cope with. He was in denial of the fact that time had passe d.The symbolism used in this essay is brought about in a clear manner when White describes the thunderstorm. This storm is used to represent a sort of rebirth. The rain comes and there is a sudden sense that there is a, â€Å"return of light, and hope, and spirits† (29). At this point he begins to see the trip in a whole new perspective or â€Å"light† (29). He is hit with a sudden realization that though everything seems just the same, he can make the connection that this is a new generation and new memories are soon to be fabricated, â€Å"linking the generations in a strong, indestructible chain† (29).In the end he is forced to face the absoluteness of time. As he watches his son slip into his cold, wet swimming trunks he once again imagines it is himself then he is suddenly hit with a, â€Å"chill of death† (29). He realizes that switching places with his father also means he is going to die. He is brought to the fact that much time has passed. This l eads to his concluding acceptance of his own mortality. He wanted so dearly to hold onto the memories of old and never acknowledge the fact that the times had changed, yet deep down he knew that this would be impossible.In the end White embraced the process of aging and found the good that could stem from it; but it was clear that throughout the narrative the overall theme was his struggle in the acceptance of aging and the passing of time. He concludes that eventually he can use these memories and experiences to connect with future generations of his son, and furthermore his son’s son. He did not have to hold onto the false idea that aging was a curse but he was able to let go and take it as more of a blessing.He would be able to pass these memories on for years and years to come. People should certainly accept the fact that everyone ages and time goes by quick. Every new moment counts and wonderful memories, experiences, and also wisdom can ultimately be cherished and passe d on to further generations of people through these durations of time. Abraham Lincoln once said, â€Å"And in the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years†, this quote rings true in the inspirational story, â€Å"Once More to the Lake†.

Wilfred Owen Essay - 836 Words

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This shows the effects of war on the soldiers and causes an emotional connection betw een them in the reader which therefore enforces the harsh reality of war. Both of these aspects challenge the reader’s perspective on war as they both contradict the glorification it receives through propaganda. Wilfred Owen, through his poems, challenges our thoughts and perspectives on war in order to show the true effects and to stop the glorification it receives in society. Owen does this in both poems Anthem for Doomed Youth and Dulce et Decorum Est as he contrasts societies views and depictions of war from societies views as a result propaganda and the harsh reality as a result of Owens personal experiences. Owen also demonstrates the true effects of war by showing the treatment of the dead soldiers and the lack of respect which they receive by contrasting the funerals the soldiers received to civilian ones. 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Accounting Aspect of Value Added Tax in Bangladesh

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The South China Sea Essay - 1889 Words

As of today, China has expanded and built over seven artificial islands in the South China Sea since 2014. The South China Sea has recently come to be a major problem in Asia as issues have risen over who has rights of passage and claims in this area. The Chinese of recent have been making territorial claims in the South China Sea that are in areas of free passage for many other Asian countries and the United States. In October 2015, a U.S. guided missile destroyer encountered one of the artificial islands and China’s response was that it would â€Å"take any measure† to maintain its security in â€Å"their territory†. The Chinese have been questioned in the Permanent Court of Arbitration by the Philippines after claiming rights to historical locations in the South China Sea, which violates sovereign rights of the Philippines, yet China responded to this outcome with refusal and has continued to advance itself in the territory causing huge disputes with its neigh boring countries as freedom of navigation has been compromised through China’s actions.. In order to guarantee resolution and maintain the freedom of navigation aspect of international law there needs to be a foreign policy put in place that puts more United States military in the South China Sea with support from disputing countries like Japan and the Philippines as a way to make the issue multilateral and law abiding. 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A Dirty Job Chapter 5 Free Essays

string(19) " it away from her\." 5 DARKNESS GETS UPPITY Hey, Ray,† Charlie said as he came down the steps into the storeroom. He always tried to make a lot of noise on the steps and usually fired a loud and early â€Å"hello† to warn his employees that he was coming. He’d worked a number of jobs before coming back to take over the family business, and had learned from experience that nobody liked a sneaky boss. We will write a custom essay sample on A Dirty Job Chapter 5 or any similar topic only for you Order Now â€Å"Hey, Charlie,† Ray said. Ray was out front, sitting on a stool behind the counter. He was pushing forty, tall, balding, and moved through the world without ever turning his head. He couldn’t. As a San Francisco policeman, he’d caught a gangbanger’s bullet in the neck six years ago, and that was the last time he’d looked over his shoulder without using a mirror. Ray lived on a generous disability pension from the city and worked for Charlie in exchange for free rent on his fourth-floor apartment, thus keeping the transaction off both their books. He spun around on the stool to face Charlie. â€Å"Hey – uh – I wanted to say that, you know, your situation, I mean, your loss. Everybody liked Rachel. You know, if I can do anything – â€Å" It was the first time Charlie had seen Ray since the funeral, so the awkwardness of secondary condolences had yet to be forded. â€Å"You’ve done more than enough by picking up my shifts. Whatcha working on?† Charlie was trying desperately to not look at the various objects in the shop that were glowing dull red. â€Å"Oh, this.† Ray rotated and pushed back so that Charlie could see the computer screen, where there were displayed rows of portraits of smiling, young Asian women. â€Å"It’s called Desperate Filipinas dot-com.† â€Å"Is this where you met Miss LoveYouLongTime?† â€Å"That was not her name. Did Lily tell you that? That kid has problems.† â€Å"Yeah, well, kids,† Charlie said, suddenly noticing a matronly woman in tweed who was browsing the curio shelves at the front of the store. She was carrying a porcelain frog that was glowing dull red. Ray clicked on one of the pictures, which opened a profile. â€Å"Look at this one, boss. It says she’s into sculling.† He spun on his stool again and bounced his eyebrows at Charlie. Charlie pulled his attention from the woman with the glowing frog and looked at the screen. â€Å"That’s rowing, Ray.† â€Å"No it’s not. Look, it says she was a coxswain in college.† Again with the eyebrow bounce, he offered a high five. â€Å"Also rowing,† Charlie said, leaving the ex-cop hanging. â€Å"The person at the back of the boat who yells at the rowers is called the coxswain.† â€Å"Really?† Ray said, disappointed. He’d been married three times, and been left by all three wives because of an inability to develop normal adult social skills. Ray reacted to the world as a cop, and while many women found that attractive initially, they expected him eventually to leave the attitude, along with his service weapon, in the coat closet when he arrived home. He didn’t. When Ray had first come to work at Asher’s Secondhand, it had taken two months for Charlie to get him to stop ordering customers to â€Å"move along, there’s nothing to see here.† Ray spent a lot of time being disappointed in himself and humanity in general. â€Å"But, dude, rowing!† Charlie said, trying to make it all better. He liked the ex-cop in spite of his awkwardness. Ray was basically a good guy, kindhearted and loyal, hardworking and punctual, but most important, Ray was losing his hair faster than Charlie. Ray sighed. â€Å"Maybe I should search for another Web site. What’s a word that means that your standards are lower than the desperate?† Charlie read down the page a little. â€Å"This woman has a master’s degree in English lit from Cambridge, Ray. And look at her. She’s gorgeous. And nineteen. Why is she desperate?† â€Å"Hey, wait a minute. A master’s degree at nineteen, this girl is too smart for me.† â€Å"No she’s not. She’s lying.† Ray spun on the stool as if Charlie had poked him in the ear with a pencil. â€Å"No!† â€Å"Ray, look at her. She looks like one of those Asian models for Sour Apple Flavored Calamari Treats.† â€Å"They have that?† Charlie pointed to the left side of the front window. â€Å"Ray, let me introduce you to Chinatown. Chinatown, this is Ray. Ray, Chinatown.† Ray smiled, embarrassed. There was a store two blocks up that sold nothing but dried shark parts, the windows full of pictures of beautiful Chinese women holding shark spleens and eyeballs like they’d just received an Academy Award. â€Å"Well, the last woman I met through here did have a few errors and omissions in her profile.† â€Å"Like?† Charlie was watching the woman in tweed with the glowing frog, who was approaching the counter. â€Å"Well, she said that she was twenty-three, five feet tall, a hundred five pounds, so I thought, ‘Okay, I can have fun with a petite woman.’ Turns out it was a hundred and five kilos.† â€Å"So, not what you expected?† Charlie said. He smiled at the approaching woman, feeling panic rise. She was going to buy the frog! â€Å"Five foot – two-thirty. She was built like a mailbox. I might have gotten past that, but she wasn’t even twenty-three, she was sixty-three. One of her grandsons tried to sell her to me.† â€Å"Ma’am, I’m sorry, you can’t buy that,† Charlie said to the woman. â€Å"You hear the expression all the time,† Ray went on, â€Å"but you hardly ever meet anyone really trying to sell his own grandmother.† â€Å"Why not?† the woman asked. â€Å"Fifty bucks,† Ray said. â€Å"That’s outrageous,† the woman said. â€Å"It’s marked ten.† â€Å"No, it’s fifty for the grandmother Ray is dating,† Charlie said. â€Å"The frog is not for sale, ma’am, I’m sorry. It’s defective.† â€Å"Then why do you have it on the shelf? Why is it marked for sale? I don’t see any defect.† Evidently she couldn’t see that the goofy porcelain frog was not only glowing in her hands, it had started to pulsate. Charlie reached across the counter and snatched it away from her. You read "A Dirty Job Chapter 5" in category "Essay examples" â€Å"It’s radioactive, ma’am. I’m sorry. You can’t buy it.† â€Å"I wasn’t dating her,† Ray said. â€Å"I just flew to the Philippines to meet her.† â€Å"It is not radioactive,† the woman said. â€Å"You’re just trying to jack up the price. Fine, I’ll give you twenty for it.† â€Å"No, ma’am, public safety,† Charlie said, trying to look concerned, holding the frog to his chest as if shielding her from its dangerous energy. â€Å"And it’s clearly ridiculous. You’ll note that this frog is playing a banjo with only two strings. A travesty, really. Why don’t you let my colleague show you something in a cymbal-playing monkey. Ray, could you show this young woman something in a monkey, please.† Charlie hoped that the â€Å"young woman† would win him points. The woman backed away from the counter, holding her purse before her like a shield. â€Å"I’m not sure I want to buy anything from you wack jobs.† â€Å"Hey!† Ray protested, as if to say that there was only one wack job on duty and he wasn’t it. Then she did it, she quickstepped to a rack of shoes and picked up a pair of size-twelve, red Converse All Stars. They, too, were glowing. â€Å"I want these.† â€Å"No.† Charlie tossed the frog over his shoulder to Ray, who fumbled it and almost dropped it. â€Å"Those aren’t for sale either.† The tweed woman backed away toward the door, holding the sneakers behind her. Charlie stalked her down the aisle, taking the occasional grab at the All Stars. â€Å"Give them.† When the woman butt-bumped into the front door and the bell over the jamb jingled, she looked up and Charlie made his move, faking hard left, then going right, reaching around her and grabbing the laces of the sneakers, as well as a scoop of big, tweedy ass in the bargain. He quickstepped back toward the counter, tossed the sneakers to Ray, and then turned and fell into a sumo stance to challenge the tweed woman. She was still at the door, looking as if she couldn’t decide to be terrified or disgusted. â€Å"You people need to be put away. I’m reporting you to the Better Business Bureau and the local merchants’ association. And you, Mr. Asher, can tell Ms. Severo that I will be back.† And with that, she was through the door and gone. Charlie turned to Ray. â€Å"Ms. Severo? Lily? She was here to see Lily?† â€Å"Truant officer,† Ray said. â€Å"She’s been in a couple of times.† â€Å"You might have said something.† â€Å"I didn’t want to lose the sale.† â€Å"So, Lily – â€Å" â€Å"Ducks out the back when she sees her coming. The woman also wanted to check with you that the notes for Lily’s absences were legitimate. I vouched.† â€Å"Well, Lily is going back to school, and as of right now, I’m back to work.† â€Å"That’s great. I took this call today – an estate in Pacific Heights. Lots of nice women’s clothes.† Ray tapped a piece of notepaper on the counter. â€Å"I’m not really qualified to handle it.† â€Å"I’ll do it, but first we have a lot to catch up on. Flip the ‘Closed’ sign and lock the front door, would you, Ray?† Ray didn’t move. â€Å"Sure, but – Charlie, are you sure that you’re ready to go back to work?† He nodded to the sneakers and frog on the counter. â€Å"Oh, those, I think there’s something wrong with them. You don’t see anything unusual about those two items?† Ray looked again. â€Å"Nope.† â€Å"Or that once I took the frog away from her, she went right for a pair of sneakers that are clearly not her size?† Ray weighed the truth against the sweet deal he had here, with an apartment and under-the-table income and a boss that had really been a decent guy before he went 51/50, and he said, â€Å"Yeah, there was something strange about her.† â€Å"Aha!† said Charlie. â€Å"I just wish I knew where I could get a Geiger counter.† â€Å"I have a Geiger counter,† Ray said. â€Å"You do?† â€Å"Sure, you want me to get it?† â€Å"Maybe later,† Charlie said. â€Å"Just lock up, and help me gather up some of the merchandise.† Over the next hour Ray watched as Charlie moved a set of what seemed randomly chosen items from the store to the back room, directing him to under no circumstances put them back out or sell them to anyone. Then he retrieved the Geiger counter that he’d obtained on a sweet trade for a stringless oversized tennis racket and tested each item as Charlie instructed. And, of course, they were as inert as dirt. â€Å"And you don’t see any glowing or pulsating or anything in this pile?† Charlie asked. â€Å"Sorry.† Ray shook his head, feeling a little embarrassed that he was witnessing this. â€Å"Good first day back to work, though,† Ray said, trying to make it all better. â€Å"Maybe you should call it a day, go check on the baby, and make that estate call in the morning. I’ll box this stuff up and mark it so Lily won’t sell or trade it.† â€Å"Okay,† Charlie said. â€Å"But don’t throw it out, either. I’m going to figure this out.† â€Å"You betcha, boss. See you in the morning.† â€Å"Yeah, thanks, Ray. You can go home when you finish.† Charlie went back to his apartment, checking his hands the whole way to see if any of the red glow from the pile of objects had rubbed off on them, but they seemed normal. He sent Jane home, fed and bathed Sophie, and read her to sleep with a few pages from Slaughterhouse-Five, then went to bed early and slept fitfully. He awoke the next morning in a haze, then sat bolt upright in bed, eyes wide and heart pounding when he saw the note sitting on the nightstand. Another one. Then he noticed that this time it wasn’t his handwriting, and the number was obviously a phone number, and he sighed. It was the estate appointment that Ray had made for him. He’d put it on the nightstand so he wouldn’t forget. Mr. Michael Mainheart, it read; then upscale women’s clothing and furs, with a double underline. The phone number had a local exchange. He picked up the note, and under it was a second piece of notepaper, this one with the same name, written in his own handwritin g, and under it, the numeral 5. He didn’t remember writing any of it. At that moment, something large and dark passed by the second-story bedroom window, but by the time he looked up, it was gone. A blanket of fog lay over the Bay and from Pacific Heights the great orange towers of the Golden Gate Bridge jutted through the fog bank like carrots from the faces of sleeping conjoined twin snowmen. In the Heights, the morning sun had already opened the sky and workmen were scurrying about, tending yards and gardens around the mansions. When he arrived at the home of Michael Mainheart the first thing Charlie noticed was that no one noticed him. There were two guys working in the yard, to whom Charlie waved as he passed, but they did not wave back. Then the mailman, who was coming off the big porch, drove him off the walkway into the dewy grass without so much as an â€Å"excuse me.† â€Å"Excuse me!† Charlie said, sarcastically, but the mailman was wearing headphones and listening to something that was inspiring him to bob his head like a pigeon feeding on amphetamines, and he bopped on. Charlie was going to shout something devastatingly clever, then thought better of it, for although it had been some years since he’d heard of a postal employee perpetrating a massacre, as long as the term â€Å"going postal† referred to anything besides choosing a shipping carrier, he felt he shouldn’t press his luck. Called a wack job by a complete stranger one day and shouldered off the sidewalk by a civil servant the next: this city was becoming a jungle. Charlie rang the bell and waited to the side of the twelve-foot leaded-glass door. A minute later he heard light, shuffling steps approaching and a diminutive silhouette moved behind the glass. The door swung open slowly. â€Å"Mr. Asher,† said Michael Mainheart. â€Å"Thank you for coming.† The old man was swimming in a houndstooth suit that he must have bought thirty years ago when he was a more robust fellow. When he shook Charlie’s hand his skin felt like an old wonton wrapper, cool and a little powdery. Charlie tried not to shudder as the old man led him into a grand marble rotunda, with leaded-glass windows running to a vaulted, forty-foot ceiling and a circular staircase that swept up to a landing that led off to the upper wings of the house. Charlie had often wondered what it was like to have a house with wings. How would you ever find your car keys? â€Å"Come this way,† Mainheart said. â€Å"I’ll show you where my wife kept her clothes.† â€Å"I’m sorry about your loss,† Charlie said automatically. He’d been on scores of estate calls. You don’t want to come off as some kind of vulture, his father used to say. Always compliment the merchandise; it might be a piece of crap to you, but they might have a lot of their soul poured into it. Compliment but never covet. You can make a profit and preserve everyone’s dignity in the process. â€Å"Holy shit,† Charlie said as he followed the old man into a walk-in closet the size of his own apartment. â€Å"I mean – your wife had exquisite taste, Mr. Mainheart.† There was row upon row of designer couture clothing, everything from evening gowns to racks, two tiers high, of knit suits, arranged by color and level of formality – an opulent rainbow of silk and linen and wool. Cashmere sweaters, coats, capes, jackets, skirts, blouses, lingerie. The closet was shaped like a T, with a large vanity and mirror at the apex, and accessories on each wing (even the closet with wings!), shoes on one side, belts, scarves, and handbags on the other. A whole wing of shoes, Italian and French, handmade, from the skins of animals who had led happy, blemish-free lives. Full-length mirrors flanked the vanity at the end of the closet and Charlie caught the reflection of himself and Michael Mainheart in the mirror, he in his secondhand gray pinstripe and Mainheart in his ill-fitting houndstooth, studies in gray and black, stark and lifeless-looking in this vibrant garden. The old man went to the chair at the vanity and sat down with a creak and a wheeze. â€Å"I expect it will take you some time to assess it,† he said. Charlie stood in the middle of the closet and looked around for a second before replying. â€Å"It depends, Mr. Mainheart, on what you want to part with.† â€Å"All of it. Every stitch. I can’t stand the feel of her in here.† His voice broke. â€Å"I want it gone.† He looked away from Charlie at the shoe wing, trying not to show that he was tearing up. â€Å"I understand,† Charlie said, not sure what to say. This collection was completely out of his league. â€Å"No, you don’t understand, young man. You couldn’t understand. Emily was my life. I got up in the morning for her, I went to work for her, I built a business for her. I couldn’t wait to get home at night to tell her about my day. I went to bed with her and I dreamed about her when I slept. She was my passion, my wife, my best friend, the love of my life. And one day, without warning, she was gone and my life is a void. You couldn’t possibly understand.† But Charlie did. â€Å"Do you have any children, Mr. Mainheart?† â€Å"Two sons. They came back for the funeral, then they went home to their own families. They offer to do whatever they can, but†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"They can’t,† Charlie finished for him. â€Å"No one can.† Now the old man looked up at him, his face as bereft and barren as a mummified basset hound. â€Å"I just want to die.† â€Å"Don’t say that,† Charlie said, because that’s what you say. â€Å"That feeling will pass.† Which he said because everyone had been saying it to him. As far as he knew, he was just slinging bullshit clichs. â€Å"She was – † Mainheart’s voice caught on the edge of a sob. A strong man, at once overcome by his grief and embarrassed that he was showing it. â€Å"I know,† Charlie said, thinking about how Rachel still occupied that place in his heart, and when he turned in the kitchen to say something to her, and she wasn’t there, it took his breath. â€Å"She was – â€Å" â€Å"I know,† Charlie interrupted, trying to give the old man a pass, because he knew what Mainheart was feeling. She was meaning and order and light, and now that she’s gone, chaos falls like a dark leaden cloud. â€Å"She was so phenomenally stupid.† â€Å"What?† Charlie looked up so quickly he heard a vertebra pop in his neck. Hadn’t seen that coming. â€Å"The dumb broad ate silica gel,† Mainheart said, irritated as well as agonized. â€Å"What?† Charlie was shaking his head, as if trying to rattle something loose. â€Å"Silica gel.† â€Å"What?† â€Å"Silica gel! Silica gel! Silica gel, you idiot!† Charlie felt as if he should shout the name of some arcane stuff back at him: Well, symethicone! Symethicone! Symethicone, you butt-nugget! Instead he said, â€Å"The stuff fake breasts are made of? She ate that?† The image of a well-dressed older woman macking on a goopish spoonful of artificial boob spooge was running across the lobes of his brain like a stuttering nightmare. Mainheart pushed himself to his feet on the vanity. â€Å"No, the little packets of stuff they pack in with electronic equipment and cameras.† â€Å"The ‘Do Not Eat’ stuff?† â€Å"Exactly.† â€Å"But it says right on the packet – she ate that?† â€Å"Yes. The furrier put packets of it in with her furs when he installed that cabinet.† Mainheart pointed. Charlie turned, and behind the large closet door where they had entered was a lighted glass cabinet – inside hung a dozen or so fur coats. The cabinet probably had its own air-conditioning unit to control the humidity, but that wasn’t what Charlie was noticing. Even under the recessed fluorescent light inside the cabinet, one of the coats was clearly glowing red and pulsating. He turned back to Mainheart slowly, trying not to overreact, not sure, in fact, what would constitute an overreaction in this case, so he tried to sound calm, but not willing to take any shit. â€Å"Mr. Mainheart, I appreciate your loss, but is there something more going on here than you’ve told me?† â€Å"I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean.† â€Å"I mean,† Charlie said, â€Å"why, of all the used-clothing dealers in the Bay Area, did you decide to call me? There are people who are much more qualified to deal with a collection of this size and quality.† Charlie stormed over to the fur cabinet and pulled open the door. It made a floof-tha sound that the seal on a refrigerator door makes when opened. He grabbed the glowing jacket – fox fur, it appeared to be. â€Å"Or was it this? Did the call have something to do with this?† Charlie brandished the jacket like he was holding a murder weapon before the accused. In short, he thought about adding, are you fucking with me? â€Å"You were the first used-clothing dealer in the phone book.† Charlie let the jacket drop. â€Å"Asher’s Secondhand?† â€Å"Starts with an A,† Mainheart said, slowly, carefully – obviously resisting the urge to call Charlie an idiot again. â€Å"So it has nothing to do with this jacket?† â€Å"Well, it has something to do with that jacket. I’d like you to take it away with all the rest of it.† â€Å"Oh,† Charlie said, trying to recover. â€Å"Mr. Mainheart, I appreciate the call, and this is certainly a beautiful collection, amazing, really, but I’m not equipped to take on this kind of inventory. And I’ll be honest with you, even though my father would be spinning in his grave for telling you this, there is probably a million dollars’ worth of clothes in this closet. Maybe more. And given the time and space to resell it, it’s probably worth a quarter of that. I just don’t have that kind of money.† â€Å"We can work something out,† Mainheart said. â€Å"Just to get it out of the house – â€Å" â€Å"I could take some of it on consignment, I suppose – â€Å" â€Å"Five hundred dollars.† â€Å"What?† â€Å"Give me five hundred dollars and get it out of here by tomorrow and it’s yours.† Charlie started to object, but he could feel what felt like the ghost of his father rising up to bonk him on the head with a spittoon if he didn’t stop himself. We provide a valuable service, son. We are like an orphanage to art and artifact, because we are willing to handle the unwanted, we give them value. â€Å"I couldn’t do that, Mr. Mainheart, I feel as if I’d be taking advantage of your grief.† Oh for Christ’s sake, you fucking loser, you are no son of mine. I have no son. Was that the ghost of Charlie’s father, rattling chains in his head? Why, then, did it have the voice and vocabulary of Lily? Can a conscience be greedy? â€Å"You would be doing me a favor, Mr. Asher. A huge favor. If you don’t take it, my next call is to the Goodwill. I promised Emily that if something ever happened to her that I wouldn’t just give her things away. Please.† And there was so much pain in the old man’s voice that Charlie had to look away. Charlie felt for the old man because he did understand. He couldn’t do anything to help, couldn’t say, It will get better, like everyone kept saying to him. It wasn’t getting better. Different, but not better. And this fellow had fifty more years in which to pack his hopes, or in his case, his history. â€Å"Let me think about it. Check into storage. If I can handle it, I’ll call you tomorrow, would that be all right?† â€Å"I’d be grateful,† Mainheart said. Then, for no reason that he could think of, Charlie said, â€Å"May I take this jacket with me? As an example of the quality of the collection, in case I have to divide it among other dealers.† â€Å"That would be fine. Let me show you out.† As they passed into the rotunda, a shadow passed across the leaded-glass windows, three stories up. A large shadow. Charlie paused on the steps and waited for the old man to react, but he just tottered on down the staircase, leaning heavily on the railing as he went. When Mainheart reached the door he turned to Charlie, extending his hand. â€Å"I’m sorry about that, uh, outburst upstairs. I haven’t been myself since – â€Å" As the old man began to open the door a figure dropped outside, casting the silhouette of a bird as tall as a man through the glass. â€Å"No!† Charlie dove forward, knocking the old man aside and slamming the door on the great bird’s head, the heavy black beak stabbing through and snapping like hedge clippers, rattling an umbrella stand and scattering its contents across the marble floor. Charlie’s face was only inches from the bird’s eye, and he shoved the door with his shoulder, trying to keep the beak from snapping off one of his hands. The bird’s claws raked against the glass, cracking one of the thick beveled panels as the animal thrashed to free itself. Charlie threw his hip against the doorjamb then slid down it, dropped the fox jacket, and snatched one of the umbrellas from the floor. He stabbed up into the bird’s neck feathers, but lost his purchase on the doorjamb – one of the black talons snaked through the opening and raked across his forearm, cutting through his jacket, his shirtsleeve, and into the flesh. Charlie shoved the umbrella with all he had, driving the bird’s head back through the opening. The raven let out a screech and took flight, its wings making a great whooshing noise as it went. Charlie lay on his back, out of breath, staring at the leaded-glass panels, as if any moment the shadow of the giant raven would come back, then he looked to Michael Mainheart, who lay crumpled on his side like a stringless marionette. Beside his head lay a cane with an ivory handle that had been carved into the shape of a polar bear that had fallen from the umbrella stand. The cane was glowing red. The old man was not breathing. â€Å"Well that’s fucked up,† Charlie said. How to cite A Dirty Job Chapter 5, Essay examples