Someone must have been the first to call him Scholar, but whoever it was they were forgotten; alongside first name, surname, Scholar’s real name.
Because— Because people forget the unimportant, sometimes the important and always the words that do not interest them. There are many uninteresting things, and Scholar’s real name was one of those, no one was interested. No one was interested in who Scholar was, his name had never meant anything to anyone, so why would you waste space in your head remembering it?
‘It seems cruel.’
Aye, it does, but that doesn’t make it any less true. I don’t think Scholar even remembers what he was called, before I mean, he remembers he’s Scholar and that’s it. At least I think he knows he’s Scholar, he reacts when he’s yelled, but that could mean anything…
‘You could ask him.’
Ask him what? If he remembers his name? Aye, I suppose, if he would answer. I don’t think he remembers, I don’t think it was an important thing, I think it was an unimportant thing. You know. It doesn’t do to remember all the unimportant things, we have to let some of them go, to make room for the important stuff we like. The important and unimportant stuff that interests us, the bits which stay, bits we cling onto with our nails.
‘So what does Scholar cling onto? What is interesting to a man with no name?’
He does have a name. He’s called Scholar.
‘But that isn’t his name, not really, and that wasn’t an answer to the question I asked.’
I suppose not, but I had to put you right about Scholar’s name, I couldn’t have you wrong on that one.
‘Is it important to you?’
Not really, you can forget it if you want, I’ll make sure to tell you again when you do. Even if it was important, doesn’t mean you’d remember, like I said, you can still forget the important things, I have. Don’t ask me what though, I forget what I forgot.
Not really, I find it overly simple if anything.
‘Then I will just have to trust you on that one. To me it sounds as if everything rambles on from one to the next, no cohesion.’
Ain’t that the way with a stream of consciousness? You get blurred lines, and fractured divisions. No clear cuts between ideas.
‘Tangents which throw you off topic?’
‘No. I mean we’ve gone off topic. You still haven’t answered my question.’
Oh. Well I will now, what was it again? I forget things you see.
Glad to see you’ve been listening. What was your question?
‘What is interesting to Scholar, what does he remember?’
Why everything of course. He’s Scholar, there ain’t a bit of history that’s not locked up inside his head. You ask him about the Greeks and he’ll tell you how to build a pyramid!
‘That was the Egyptians.’
‘The Egyptians built the pyramids, not the Greek.’
When did I say that they didn’t?
Did I? Well I forget you see, history never did interest me much and I ain’t got the room to remember the stuff that don’t interest me. Do you understand?
‘I’m starting to.’
Good. Though if you like history, ask Scholar, he knows all about that sort of thing. History interests Scholar, he knows it all. I think that’s why he’s called Scholar, knows all about the world, more than the world, more than the universe. He knows everything there is to know!
‘Except his real name.’
Aye. He don’t know that. Strange one, he knows it all apart from that. Don’t ask me why, it’s just the way it is, and Scholar suits him. It is him. Him and his books.
‘Has he been it for long?’
Been what for long?
Well I ain’t sure. Couldn’t tell you who was the first person to call him Scholar, or when they called him it, though…
‘Someone must have been the first to call him Scholar.’
Written for the ‘Scholar’ prompt on DeviantArt.com group Unseen-Writers.