Robert Pirsig - Lila. An Inquiry Into Morals

Richard Rigel emptied the basin, rinsed it neatly, then folded the towel and put it on its rack to dry properly.

Capella said, If I’m going to wake him up, what am I going to tell him about his boat?

Rigel thought for a while. I suppose I should be the one to talk to him, he said.

He would do it tactfully. He’d invite him to breakfast, and then when the author turned the invitation down, he would be up and awake so that he could be told his boat needed moving.

Now clean and shaven Richard Rigel felt a little better. He watched in the mirror as he combed his hair into respectability, then tried on a tie. It didn’t look right. With Gary Grant features like his own it would be inappropriate to be overdressed, particularly in a place like this. He removed the tie, unbuttoned the collar and carefully opened it a little. Much better.

He climbed to the deck and looked around at the harbor. There were old rotting timbers and hulks that had to be crossed by a series of precarious gangplanks to get to dry land. One was lucky if he didn’t break his neck. Probably it would be a whole day wasted here.

Richard Rigel turned and was surprised to see himself being watched. The Great Author himself was in the next cockpit.

Hello! Richard Rigel said loudly.

Hello.

His neighbor’s expression seemed bland. He was wearing the same blue chambray shirt he had worn yesterday, with the same food stain above one pocket.

I didn’t expect to find you up this early, Richard Rigel said.

The author replied, If you want to take your boat down to the crane dock I can cast off now.

He must be some sort of a mind-reader, Rigel thought. He said, There may be another boat at the dock.

No, I checked.

He seemed to be in remarkably good shape after his performance last night. He would be, Rigel thought.

It’s still too early, Rigel said. There may be a boat scheduled ahead of me. Are you interested in breakfast?

As he said it he realized it was no longer necessary to invite the author to breakfast, but it was too late.

That sounds good, the author answered. I’ll see if I can get Lila up.

What? Richard Rigel was startled. No, of course not. Let the woman have her sleep. Just you come.

Why? the author asked.

There it was again, that boorishness. He knew perfectly well why. Because this is undoubtedly the last time we will be seeing one another, Rigel smiled. And I would prefer to chat alone.

Capella appeared on deck and the three crossed the gangplanks to shore in a single file.

Inside the restaurant Capella said, It’s hard to believe this is the same place.

Rigel saw the juke box silent in one corner. Be thankful for small favors, he said.

A blackboard in front of the bar mirror contained the breakfast menu. Beside it an old woman talked across the bar to three workmen eating breakfast at the table beside them. Probably the wife of last night’s bartender, he thought.

The author was being his indifferent self again. His attention seemed to drift outside the window toward the boat-yard debris and docks where they had come from. Perhaps he was looking for Lila.

Capella said to him, Where did you learn to dance like that? You really stopped the action.

The author’s attention returned. Why? he asked. Were you watching?

Everybody was, Richard Rigel said.

No. The author grinned. I don’t know how to dance. He looked quizzically at both of them.

You’re way too modest, Rigel smiled. You dazzled us all… particularly the lady.

The author looked at them suspiciously, Ah, you people are teasing.

Maybe you had so much to drink you don’t remember.

Capella laughed, and the author exclaimed, I wasn’t so drunk.

No, you weren’t so drunk, Rigel said. That’s why you tiptoed so softly across my deck at two.

Sorry about that, the author said. She dropped her suitcase.

Rigel and Capella looked at each other. Suitcase! Capella said.

Yes, the author answered. She’s leaving the boat she was on and coming with me to Manhattan to stay with some friends there.

Wow! Capella said, winking at Rigel. One dance with him and they pack up their suitcases. He said to Rigel, I wish I knew his secret. How do you suppose he does it?

Richard Rigel frowned and looked around. He didn’t like the direction this was going. He wondered when the old woman was going to take their order. He motioned to her to come.

When she arrived he ordered ham and eggs and toast and orange juice. The others ordered too.

While they were waiting Richard Rigel said that the tide would turn at about ten. He told the author his best strategy was to wait until about nine o’clock, which was the last hour of the flood tide, then go as fast as possible with the ebb tide as far as he could before the tide changed again, moor for the night and wait for the next day’s ebb into Manhattan. The author thanked him for the information.

They ate most of the breakfast in silence. Rigel felt stymied, pushed into a corner by this person. There was something about him that prevented you from saying anything to him, something that didn’t leave you any room to say it. He was in such another world, talking away so glibly about Quality.

When they were finished eating Richard Rigel turned to the author. He didn’t like what he had to say to him but he felt an obligation to say it anyway.

It’s none of my business whom you select for company, he said. You seemed to pay no attention to me at all last night. But I think I have an obligation to advise you one last time to get Lila off your boat.

The author looked surprised. I thought you said I needed a crew.

Not her!

What’s wrong with her?

There it was again. You’re not that naive, Rigel said.

The author mumbled, almost to himself, Lila may be better than she looks.

Richard Rigel contradicted him. No, Lila is much worse than she looks.

The author looked at Capella, who was smiling, and then at Rigel with narrowing eyes. What makes you think that? he said.

Richard Rigel studied the author for a while. The author really was innocent. I’ve known Lila Blewitt for a long, long time, he said. Why don’t you just take my word for it?

Who is she? the author said.

She’s a very unfortunate person of very low quality, he said.

At the word quality, the author looked up as though it was some kind of challenge thrown at him. It was, of course.

The author’s eyes shifted. What does she do for a living? he asked, evasively.

When Capella glanced at him Richard Rigel couldn’t resist a smile. She meets people like you, my friend, he said. Didn’t anyone ever tell you about people like her?

Another challenge. The wheels were turning almost visibly inside the author’s head.

Rigel wondered whether to push it any farther. There was no point in doing so, really. But there was something about the author’s complacency, particularly after last night, that made him want to do it anyway. But then he decided not to. If you need a crew, he said, why don’t you wait a few days in Manhattan and then Bill will be available. I think Bill knows enough that the two of you could make it.

Bill nodded with a smile.

They talked more about the sail into Manhattan. It was all straightforward. They should call ahead to the 79th Street Marina since even this late in the year it was hard to get in there without a reservation. An October cruise to the Chesapeake might be something he would enjoy himself, Rigel said. But of course, he wouldn’t have the time.