“November 4, 2019. I’m here in St. Augustine, Florida, with Ingo Cutbirth, an African American gentleman. What year were you born, Mr. Cutbirth?”
“I was born 1900.”
“So you’re 119 years old,” I say.
“Yes sir.”
“I thought you said 1908?”
“Nineteen hundred.”
“OK. What are some of your earliest memories?”
“From the past or from the future?” he asks.
“What do you mean, ‘from the future’?”
“Well, memories go either way.”
“Either way?”
“Yes. Rememorying the future is more or less the same thing as past rememorying; it gets foggy the more far you go away from the time you’re at. In either direction.”
I am at a crossroads here. Do I want to go down the path of this man’s craziness or steer him toward a more reasonable discussion? I have to say, as a student of fabulism, I am, at least presently, feeling the pull of Ingo’s future memories. And of course that his speech patterns have again changed is not lost on me. I am, after all, also a student of speech patterns, having studied with Roger K. Moore of the University of Sheffield while penning my monograph Patterns of Speech, from Stammer to Yammer, from Stutter to Mutter, from Drone to Intone.
Oh, also, From Mumble to Grumble.
“Can you give me an example of something you remember that hasn’t yet happened?”
“In the future, everybody talking about Brainio. That’s a for example, if you must know.”
“Brainio?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you elaborate?”
“Can I a-what-ah-late?”
“What is Brainio?”
“Brainio everywhere you look. Brainio. Brainio.”
“But what is it?”
“Brainio. It’s like a radio or a TV set, except it’s in a person brain.”
“Oh, like shows are broadcast directly into a person’s head?”
“Everybody talking about Brainio.”
“In the future.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you have Brainio in your head in the future?” I ask.
“No. I’m dead when there’s Brainio.”
“Oh.”
“I’m a hunnerd twenny-nine now. What the fuck you think?”
“Yes. Right. So you can remember things that happen after you die?”
“Just a few and not very good. Brainio is what they call it. Evy’body talkin’ ’bout it.”
“Yes. What other things can you remember from the future?” I ask.
“Future cars.”
“What do they look like?”
“Silver. Evy’body talkin’ ’bout them silver cars all the time. Silver cars this. Silver cars that.”
“What do they say about them?”
“I got me a future car, that sort of thing. Look, it’s silver. It’s all a little foggy. Because it’s the future.”
“Do these future cars have any unusual characteristics or abilities?”
“Fly. Also they be a boat, too, if you want.”
I suddenly suspect this avenue of inquiry will go nowhere, so I back up.
“How about we talk about your past for a bit now.”
“Makes no nevermind to me.”
“OK, good. Are you still working, Ingo?”
“Retired.”
“And what type of work did you do?”
“Janitor at the School for the Blind, Deaf, and Dumb right here in St. Augustine.”
“When did you start work there?”
“Six A.M. Evvy day. Rain an’ shine.”
“No, I’m sorry, I meant what year?”
“Oh. Gosh. Nineteen twenty, I believe. Thereabouts.”
“And you worked there your whole life?”
“Till 1995.”
“That’s seventy-five years.”
“I never counted.”
“It is,” I say.
“If you say.”
“It is.”
“I’ll take your word.”
“It is.”
“OK then.”
“You want me to show you on a calculator?”
“Forgot my Eyebobs at the bottom of them stairs.”
“Did you like your job?”
“Sure. Nice people. Treat me nice.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“I like being around the blinds and the deafs.”
“Why is that?”
“Hard to explain,” he says.
“Could you try?”
“I like the deafs and the blinds because they don’t use their eyes and ears what to judge a man.”
“I see.”
“Though I gotta say, the blinds judge a man’s sound and the deafs judge a man’s looks. The deaf/blinds are the best in that regard, but the halfsies are still better than all those that can see and hear. The wholies. Those are the ones make me most uncomf’able.”
“So you’re self-conscious?”
“What’s that? Self-what-sis?”
“You worry about people judging you?”
“I don’t care for judging. ’Ceptin’ the Lord doin’ it.”
“Who does?”
“What’s that?”
“I’m agreeing with you that it’s unpleasant to feel judged.”
“I see.”
“Have you ever been married? Had children?”
“No. I been pretty busy. And anyway, the gals never cared much for me, it seem. I’m not saying I blame ’em. There’s no explaining why someone likes someone. Some say it’s chemicals, how a person smell because of certain chemicals he got. But I don’t know. I’ve never smelled any chemicals and yet I have liked certain gals. So I don’t know.”
“Did you ever ask any of them on a date?”
“No. I can tell they don’t want me to. With their eyes they’re saying, please don’t ask me on a date. The ones that ain’t blind. The blind