think back

"So she reduced the input capacitance by 40%, thinking that would displace the compression wave enough to rectify the vaporator outputs!"

We all had a good laugh at that, even Victor, who often found himself bemused, but rarely amused, by the stupidity of others.

"Ridiculous," I said. "How could anyone think that would displace the compression wave?"

To my surprise, Victor came to the defense of the unnamed woman. "It's simple," he said. "It's because she didn't understand how the vaporator worked. For her it was a black box."

"Yeah," I said, "but still, the idea is preposterous!"

"Only because you know how it's put together," said Victor. "Think back to before you knew what you know. Would you have come up with a better idea?"

I thought back to before I knew what I know. I thought back to before I knew how to think back to before I knew what I know. I thought back to when I was a youngster of limited imagination.

No, I thought, as I explored the inner space of my youthful mind. Not a limited imagination, a different one. An imagination more occupied with what would be than with what has been, or could have been. An imagination of more narrow focus.

I looked out through my younger eyes, and saw a castle, far off in the distance. Between me and the castle stretched a deep valley, filled with mist and fog and the sounds of industry. The castle was miles and miles away, more distant than I could calculate or estimate, yet perched upon that hill above the misty valley, imposing on the blackness of night sky that encased it, it loomed distinct and clear. I saw a path at my feet, and it led down into the misty valley, and off in the distance I saw it again, leading out of the valley and into the courtyard of the castle.

This was the clarity of imagination of my youth, longing and planning and setting sights on distant greatness. I thought of all the obstacles I might encounter along the path through the misty valley, but always I walked upon the path. Beset upon from the four corners of the earth, I strayed not once from my imagined path, as I walked across it in the eyes of my young imaginings.

Focus. That was what I knew before I knew what I know. Later, I would learn to lose my focus, and let my imagination roam far from the narrow path, and in so doing, I would lose sight of the road. Lost in the misty valley with no notion of "out".

Looking down into the mists, hearing again the sounds of industriousness that floated above them, I recalled, like a dream of the future, that I had a task. A purpose, a reason for being here, on this path, looking out across my lonesome valley, pondering the distance and perplexing clarity of the castle amidst the blackness. I was to imagine, to ponder. I was to think and discover... something.

How to rectify vaporator outputs without reducing the input capacitance.

But I had no idea what a vaporator was, much less how to reduce its input capacitance. Why should I ever think such a thing, I wondered. How could a thought so foreign come to find a place of rest in my mind?

That's how it happens, sometimes, I guess. A thought from nowhere alights upon the mind, conscious or not, and if I'm lucky, an interesting thought will bloom and draw the attention of my senses.

Then, as if on cue, as if it had come into being directly from my thoughts, a fragrance of roses drifted past my place, and I turned my back on the castle and its valley, I turned back to face my origin, to see what flower had enticed my notice.

...

I looked up and saw... wood. And faces. The faces had shapes I did not recognize. There were faces I did not know, and faces that I did know but were different than I remembered. The mouths and eyes were not in their usual shapes.

They were speaking but they were speaking too fast, and I could not follow. So I looked at the wood, instead. It was big. It was dark. It had metal bolts and it was far away. A moment ago it had been much too close.

I closed my eyes.

...

Different. Overload. Too much. Fear. Light. Pain. Sting. I scream. I close.

...

Oblivion abides.

...

When it became apparent that I wasn't coming back, Victor picked up his take-out box, and left.