History
One of the problems in crime cases is reconstructing the crime when a number of witnesses are involved. When a historian decides to write, he or she must draw from witnesses, usually dead, then decide which ones are reliable and which ones are not. Often, most historians have an agenda for writing their piece of history and will quote the witnesses suiting that agenda. Years ago, Lerner and Loewe wrote a musical, "Gigi," in which a song, "I Remember It Well," illustrates this point. The song is a duet performed by former lovers, Honore and Mamita, who are now aged. If you'd prefer to see the song performed, just do a search using the title.
I REMEMBER IT WELL
From "Gigi" (1958)
(Lyrics : Alan Jay Lerner / Frederick Loewe)
Honore & Mamita
H: We met at nine
M: We met at eight
H: I was on time
M: No, you were late
H: Ah, yes, I remember it well
We dined with friends
M: We dined alone
H: A tenor sang
M: A baritone
H: Ah, yes, I remember it well
That dazzling April moon!
M: There was none that night
And the month was June
H: That's right. That's right.
M: It warms my heart to know that you
remember still the way you do
H: Ah, yes, I remember it well
H: How often I've thought of that Friday
M: Monday
H: night when we had our last rendezvous
And somehow I foolishly wondered if you might
By some chance be thinking of it too?
That carriage ride
M: You walked me home
H: You lost a glove
M: I lost a comb
H: Ah, yes, I remember it well
That brilliant sky
M: We had some rain
H: Those Russian songs
M: From sunny Spain
H: You wore a gown of gold
M: I was all in blue
H: Am I getting old?
M: Oh, no, not you
How strong you were
How young and gay
A prince of love
In every way
H: Ah, yes, I remember it well
When my family gathers, although none of us is an historian, we go through that process. One begins to tell a story and soon is interrupted by a family member who gives the "more accurate" version of the story. As in the song, the consequences of accuracy or inaccuracy are usually small, as in the time I prayed the cat away. Our cat, Shakey by name, ate holes in each of our waterbeds. She climbed the curtains and tore them to shreds (my first exaggeration). I grew to hate the cat.
One Friday evening, I came home exhausted and tired. No one else was home. Shakey started to whine and rub up against my leg. I finally looked out the window, up to the heavens and said in my mind "Dear God, will you please get rid of this cat for me?" I let Shakey out the back door and no one in the family has seen her since. To me it was a very spiritual experience and saved me from replacing countless waterbed mattresses.
In our family, Shakey's disappearance was a mystery. The kids were sad and I didn't say anything... for ten years. I finally told my children what had happened that Friday afternoon. They were irate and upset that I would tell them a story like that. They were convinced that I had killed the cat or taken her to animal control. Their version of that family historical event might go something like this:
"Dad hated Shakey. One afternoon when no one else was around
he either dropped Shakey off in the country or took her to the
pound. Then he tried to tell us this story about how he had prayed
her away to cover his tracks."
What is the truth? The kids are right that I did not like the cat. Actually, I don't like any cats. The evidence is stacked against me. But I swear and promise my version is true. I am not the type of person to leave an animal in the country or to take one to the pound without consulting with the family.
If a tasteful reader, like me, does not care for cats, the wise reader will likely believe my story. However, a sympathetic cat lover, with cat hair throughout the couch and between the sheets of the bed would likely side with my children. Those who are religiously oriented might come down on my side. Those who are not believers likely will accept my children's' story.
History is like this. It is full of prejudice, supposition and fabrication. It is fun to read, but one shouldn't put too much stock in it.
