Susan Carroll

Mozart Variations It would have to be Mozart, a real genius, Charlie Lewis thought, listening to the music in the elevator on the way back up to his office. Charlie was a genius, too. Belonging, officially, to the sector of the population who scored over 160 on their IQ tests. Charlie knew he was very smart indeed, but once again he cursed himself. IQ was one thing, but as his mother told him again and again, "Charlie, you just don't have a lick of common sense." And Charlie didn't. He could figure out the exact effect that Jupiter's gravity would have on the speed of his small comet, Comet Lewis, named after the discoverer, himself, as the comet passed through Jupiter's moons, whipping around Io and, hopefully, if the math worked out, burning a certain degree brighter as it skipped across Jupiter's gaseous atmosphere before pelting back out into distant space. But Charlie couldn't figure out that if he leaned over to pick up his dropped keys with his arms full of grocery bags, the grocery bags would spill out on the ground and that the eggs, if he remembered to buy them, would crack in their protective cardboard carton when they landed, and, if left in the refrigerator that way, the whites would soak through the carton and create a permanent crusted seal on the bottom of the refrigerator. Charlie would also forget that, after leaving his office, going down one floor to set the security alarm in his laboratory, riding the elevator down to the parking garage, and walking out to his parking spot, if he didn't have his keys with him, his car would be quite difficult to operate. Charlie would try not to forget that today was his wife's birthday and that she had reservations for them both at her favorite restaurant downtown for which he was already, perhaps, just a tad late. And yet, of course, the music would have to be Mozart, whom Charlie truly admired, for all that Mozart was able to accomplish in his mere thirty-five years on Earth. Mozart, who makes Charlie think of math and perfection. Math and perfection, and the article in the latest astronomical journal he received this morning detailing the possibility of two new extremely small outer moons of Jupiter. Outer moons that if Charlie could sit down for just a short moment he could--is it possible? Yes. The comet, it might hit one of the new moons. Now if the moon has enough mass that the comet simply impacts on the surface, it could push the moon just that much out of its orbit, possibly freeing it from Jupiter's gravitational pull. Or if the moon were too small the comet might smash it to pieces, mere asteroids that would slowly, steadily, be pulled in the tug of war between Jupiter and the outer moons, especially Io, there are so many unusual gravitational fields around Io. So many possibilities, so many random outcomes, musical variations of space really, Charlie considers as he figures out each one. Meanwhile, in her favorite restaurant downtown, Charlie's wife sits alone, sipping her wine, and reading the menu one more time. She sees much stupider men than Charlie toasting and feasting with their wives and girlfriends. A string quartet plays in the corner. She listens a moment and then thinks, of course, it would have to be Mozart, so beautiful, so full of longing. She remembers hearing that Mozart died when he was thirty-five years old and she shivers at the odd coincidence of this being her thirty-fifth birthday. She counts to herself the years remaining on the tines of her forks, clicking over the years with her fingernail. She considers the number slowly, mathematically, drinks her wine, and signals to the waiter that she is ready to order. After the dessert has been cleared and the bill has been paid, she leaves, glancing again at the happy couples surrounding her, and then smiles, sure of what she needs to do next and sure of her Mozart. She knows that the answers to her longings lie in simplicity, the repetition of a single pure note, what others may call stupidity. She wonders that she has not had this much common sense before.

Copyright © 1999 Susan Carroll All Rights Reserved

Susan Carroll is a novelist in Seattle,Washington.  She also leads reading groups for the University Book Store and the Richard Hugo House Writer's Community Center.