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(Note to anyone who's reading this: If you haven't read the previous chapters, please do so... or you may not understand what's going on here.)

September 18, 2006

One of my classmates had a few questions to ask Vamp, so after class, he followed him out of the classroom, into the elevator. I tagged along behind my classmate, using him as a sort of shield to avoid walking or standing too close to Vamp.

After answering my classmate's questions, Vamp started talking about this film called Blow Up by Michaelangelo Antonioni. Having seen this film in art history class, I couldn't resist throwing in my two cents: "IT'S ALL ABOUT PEOPLE SMOKING POT AND GETTING NAKED!" scream

"Ah, yes, but the important thing is WHY everyone was smoking and getting naked," he said with a bemused smile.

"Because it was the 60's! That's what people DID!" Even though I was boldly making these brash comments, I remained partially hidden behind my classmate, who, thankfully, was quite tall and broad-shouldered. It made me feel somewhat secure and less uneasy.

"Yes, but there is a deeper level... a deeper theme. You have to examine it in great detail to understand it. Hopefully, we can watch this film in class. It is very interesting to study."

stare I made a face behind his back as the elevator stopped at the ground floor. This guy liked Blow-Up? I thought it was a rather silly movie, but I was willing to give it another shot if we were to watch it in class. Perhaps Vamp's intriguing explanations would make it more appealing.

September 21, 2006

The building that housed Vamp's office was a confusing labyrinth of staircases and twisting corridors. Sometimes I wondered if it was constructed as a giant laboratory experiment, with scientists watching the people going in and out, recording the amount of time that they took to get to their classrooms or offices.

During my previous visits, I chose a route that enabled me to approach Vamp's office without being seen. He always kept his office door open, and I'd peer in from the corridor, checking to see if he was there. If he was, I'd look and listen closely, to find out whether he was busy or talking to someone. If he looked or sounded occupied, or if he wasn't in there, I'd leave silently and come back at a later time.

This time around, though, I must have gotten disoriented by the building's twists and turns-- because I found myself approaching the office on the side facing him. There was no need to stealthily look around the corner to check if he was there; I had my answer right in front of me.

"Hi," he said, smiling. He sounded very friendly. I wasn't sure if he was really in a pleasant mood, or if he was actually busy but trying to sound cheerful. Almost unconsciously, I positioned myself behind the corner of the doorframe, partially obscuring myself from him.

"If you're wondering why I keep coming around here, it's because it's fun talking to you," I said.

He raised an eyebrow. "Sure," he said after a pause. "You just need to tell me what you want to talk about."

I asked something about animal consciousness and cognitive abilities-- I'd read an article earlier in the week, about PETA protesting against KFC's treatment of chickens, and wondered what he thought about the issue. "There are people who say that chickens shouldn't be eaten, because they're 'cognitive' birds that are actually quite smart," I finished.

"'Cognitive?' What is cognition? What is consciousness?" He switched to Lecturer Mode, shifting in his chair to swivel away from his computer and fixing me with his signature intense gaze. "Is there proof that these exist in animals? What is intelligence? Can we apply a human standard of intelligence to animals? They are totally different organisms... totally different brains."

He spoke briefly about how animal consciousness used to be a hot topic in cognitive science, but in recent years, fewer and fewer people have been doing any research in it, because it's too difficult to find anything conclusive.

"Yes, there are birds that can speak, and recognize shapes, or colors, or solve math problems... but it is because they have been trained. Animals can be trained to do these things. But it does not mean that they can think like us. Or does it? We don't know. Not yet." He turned back to his computer and typed something in the web browser. "Anyway, this is not my area of study. Come here. I'll show you this site where you can find a lot of material on this subject and others. Very interesting reading."

I clutched the door frame shyly. Come in? Cross the threshold into Vamp's office and stand next to him?

Why the heck not, I told myself. I had to catch a bus in less than 15 minutes. Best to get this over with A.S.A.P.

I stepped into the room and peeked over his shoulder at the computer screen. He'd gone to a website called The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, and was looking at a list of articles about animal cognition.

"See, this is a very good website... it has plenty of articles like this, and you can find other topics as well. Most of them are up to date, like this one..." He clicked on an article, showing when it was last updated. "You can search for articles by title, by author, by subject... Here, I'll write it down for you." He took out a sheet of used paper and tore a piece off of it, then wrote down the website address and handed it to me.

"Thanks," I said. I became aware of the time-- time to leave. "I gotta go," I told him, folding the slip of paper and tucking it into my pocket as I exited the room. "I have to catch a bus."

"See you," he said, and resumed tapping away on his computer keys. It was as if he'd flipped a switch. Enthusiastic Lecturer Mode: OFF. Harried Writer Mode: ON.

I fiddled with the paper containing the Stanford Encyclopedia's website address, pleased that I now had a new toy to play with.

September 28, 2006

My semester break started this week. I wasn't enjoying it very much, though. For one thing, I had a pile of major projects to work on-- and secondly, since there was no class, I didn't get to start my week with the usual hour of awe and wonder in Vamp's classroom.

Yes, as uneasy as I was around the guy, I realized I actually missed him. And so it was that I found myself padding my way down the corridor to his office, hoping that for some reason or other, he'd be in there even though there were no classes.

At his recommendation, I'd checked out the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy website, and found some noteworthy articles that I filed away for future use in arguments with animal rights sympathizers. (I'm a meat eater and proud of it. If you've got a problem with that, tough.) However, I wasn't visiting Vamp to discuss the articles. Rather, I wanted to talk about movies-- specifically, movies by Andrei Tarkovsky.

Earlier in the semester, he'd mentioned that the films made by a Russian director named Andrei Tarkovsky contained deep philosophical themes, which were worth studying. He recommended that we watch them, so shortly before the semester break started, I bid on a set of Tarkovsky DVDs at an eBay auction-- and won. Lucky me.

I quite enjoyed the films, but found myself quite puzzled by one of them, entitled Stalker. So I decided to shake down Vamp for some answers.

Was he in, or wasn't he? I soon found out. The second I reached his office, he stepped out of it, and I nearly walked right into him. It seemed we both gave each other a bit of a fright-- by the look on his face, I could tell he was startled, and I certainly was, too. xd

"Hi," I said. "Do you remember a movie called Stalker, by Andrei Tarkovsky?"

"Stalker?" His face lit up, like that of a child being offered his favorite ice cream. "Yes! You have seen it? It is a very good movie-- my favorite movie of all time. I have seen it............. many times. It is an almost perfect film. When did you see it?"

"When the break started."

"Ah! So, not long ago. What did you think? Did you like it?"

"I liked it, but there were a lot of things I didn't understand." I noticed his smile getting wider and wider, and it was obvious he was now in his "happy place".

"Yes, it is hard to understand," he said, stroking his short beard. "There are many things, many scenes, that are difficult to understand. I had to watch it again and again to understand just a little. You will not catch everything if you see it only once. You have to watch it again. And again. And again."

He gestured towards the door leading out of the building. "Come. Let's talk outside."

I followed him out to the lawn, where a slight breeze was blowing. For the first time, I noticed just how tall he was-- he looked around 6'2" or taller. Walking close behind him, I felt rather tiny.

He was wearing a blue-and-black sweater that was probably his favorite, since I usually saw him wearing it. His hair looked darker than usual; in the classroom or in his office, the sunlight streaming through the window would always highlight his rich brown hair, but today, the sun was partially hidden by heavy clouds and so his hair looked almost black.

I studied his face. There were details I'd never noticed before, perhaps because I hadn't been bold enough to look at him closely. He had a look of scholarly confidence about him-- I'd noticed that from the start-- but now, examining him intently, I could also see thin, weathered lines around his eyes and forehead, like hair-thin cracks in dry earth. He appeared to be younger than my mom (she's 40), but those lines made him seem like he'd learned the wisdom of a thousand lifetimes, and seen and heard things that other people had never even dreamed.

He smiled warmly, and instead of feeling uneasy, I felt comfortable, as if talking to a friend. "What do you want to know?" he said. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions."

He was right, of course. I drilled him about whatever scenes I could remember, from start to finish: Why did the Stalker hear music in his mind at the beginning, when the train passed? Why was the Professor able to retrieve his backpack without getting caught in the Zone's traps? What were the symbolic meanings of the items at the bottom of the river? Why did none of the characters want to enter the Room? What was the meaning of the final scene, where the three glass jars mysteriously moved on the table?

In his usual mesmerizing lecture style, he answered each of them, his face glowing with wide-eyed delight. Part of the way through, the wind turned uncomfortably cold, and a sudden gust sent us rushing indoors to take shelter.

After answering my questions, he said, "Is that all? Are there any other things you want to ask?"

I told him I'd run out of questions for the moment. He then talked about some of Tarkovsky's other movies: Nostalghia, The Mirror, Andrei Rublev, Solaris, and The Sacrifice. "But Stalker is my favorite," he said. "It is very beautiful, very philosophical. I will never get tired of seeing it."

He continued, "My brother and I started to write a book about Tarkovsky's movies, but we didn't finish." He had a dreamy look in his eyes, as if immersed in some fond memories. "My brother... is in Adelaide, doing his PhD. He knows many things about Tarkovsky. He wrote some articles... very good articles about Tarkovsky, in Romania."

This time, I couldn't resist asking about his brother. "Do you and your brother look exactly alike?" I said.

"No. We are not identical." He grinned. "We look... almost the same, but not exactly. He has no eyeglasses. If you see him in the corridor, without me next to him, you may think he is me... but after a few days, you will be able to distinguish us."

"And he's a philosopher too?"

"Yes, he is."

"Is your dad a philosopher?"

"No."

"Is your grandfather a philosopher?"

"No."

"Your uncle? Your cousin? Your..."

"No, no, no." He laughed. We both did.

A smartly dressed gentleman entered the corridor, inviting Vamp to join him to meet someone. It sounded like an urgent matter. "But... are you busy here?" the man said, gesturing at me.

"No," said Vamp. "We are finished." He turned to me and raised his hand to wave. "Goodbye. If you have other questions, e-mail me."

Fun time was over, all too soon. Though I wanted to stay longer, I had to let Vamp go about his business.

"Bye," I said, hitching my backpack over my shoulders. "And thanks."

"No problem."

I grinned inwardly as I walked off. Good progress today, I told myself.

-end of part 4-