Inspiration

 

“Do you know the word ‘unguent’?”

“Yes. Unguentum. Ointment. Why do you ask?”

“I was reading The Wasteland again. Or, rather, listening to it. A brilliant delivery by Alec Guinness. In it, Eliot describes the perfumes on a woman’s dressing table as opulent, coming from unguent, powder and liquid. I like the word unguent, but it strikes me as somewhat archaic. I mean, who uses the term these days? How come you are familiar with it?”

She was drawing up her weekly shopping list and not particularly interested in what I had to say.

“If it says ung on a script, it means ointment, and not a cream.”

“Ah, I was forgetting you’re a pharmacist.”

I thought about this for a bit, and felt a little resentful.

“This is humiliating. It means there are millions of doctors, pharmacists and nurses all over the world who know this word. It makes me feel I have been living in ignorance.”

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t know everything, even though you think you do.”

She got up, opened the fridge, stood looking into its interior for a few moments before closing the door and resuming her seat at the table.

“It’s remarkable how all these medical terms have persisted. They are all rooted in Latin or Greek, aren’t they? And who studies Greek or Latin any more? I know you took Latin up to Matric, and I did it to Standard 8, so we have a useful background. But younger generations? The abbreviation for prescription is Rx, isn’t it? But what the hell does it stand for?”

“Recipe. From recipere, to take, or receive.”

“And the x?”

“That was to show it was an abbreviation, I think. See how much sherry is left, please.”

I got off my ass and went to the dresser.

“Only one and a half bottles left. Better stock up. You know what happened in Covid.”

“You should stop dopping it the way you do. The price keeps going up.”

“The odd tipple helps to keep me sane. A little wine now and again, prn, is a lot cheaper than psychiatric medication.”

“Don’t talk rubbish.”

I thought it wise not to dwell on the topic of  my alcohol intake, and instead went back to pharmacy lingo.

“I like prn. To be taken as needed. Pro re nata, right? But what is that literally?”

“Google it.”

“Here we are,” I said after exercising my thumb. “For the thing born. Now that’s obscure! How the hell did they get to that?”

She was looking for specials in the Spar supplement and adding items to her list. She doesn’t believe in using the notebook on her phone, but prefers to write on a sheet of scrap paper or on the back of a used envelope. Miniscule neat handwriting produced by wielding a mechanical pencil with a B lead, HB being just that bit too hard and light, apparently. I marvel at the speed at which she jots things down. It shouldn’t be surprising, though, considering it is a skill that has been practised every day for more than six decades. And to think there are children growing up hardly able to read cursive, let alone write it! What will they do to communicate if, one day, the Internet is sabotaged and they can no longer type on their electronic devices?

“This is arcane. An esoteric code only comprehensible to a select coterie. Tds. Three a day. I would never have guessed. And po? By mouth. Per orum. Alright, So pr is per rectum. Kind of makes sense.

“Look, if you are bored, why don’t you go and listen to a podcast, or something? Aren’t you writing? Writer’s block? What you probably need is a mental laxative, pr.”

“Very funny.”

But not so funny. I got up and went to the study and sat in front of the computer. I had made a start on at least three ideas, but failed to develop them further than a few lifeless lines before giving up. I needed inspiration. Maybe if I started on something, anything, the juices might start flowing. But what? In desperation I typed ‘Unguent.’ Then I proceeded to record our recent conversation.

When I got as far as her suggestion that I listen to a podcast, I paused. What I had been listening to was a 5-part feature called ‘The War Game.’ It was based on the premise that if Russia decided to invade the UK, the Brits would be in serious trouble, having downgraded their military capability since the end of the Cold War. The recent reports on how depleted South Africa’s armed forces had become, made me think of our own vulnerability. Maybe imagining an invasion of South Africa could stimulate my creative urge and provide material for another piece of fiction? It was worth a try. I typed ‘Revolution,’ and sat back to think about a plot and structure.