In the early morning of the first day of the third year of her tutelage under the philosopher of garbage, the student Surk was rolled out of her bed, into her coat, and out the door, which was immediately locked behind her.
This was, by now, very normal.
“Come back when you have an answer to my question,” said the philosopher of garbage.
“What question?” asked the student Surk.
And she took her answer and went to the first place she could think of.
The fry shop was packed tight with people picking up coffee and donuts. The student Surk’s elbows were bruised from the ribs of her opponents by the time she reached the counter, and the less said about where her knee had been the better.
“Order up, order up, order up, order up,” yelled the fry cook into her face in incoherent despair and utmost professionalism.
“What is the nature of humanity?” asked the student Surk.
The fry cook blinked seven times in half a second and replied: “To consume endlessly and never be satisfied. Get out of here or I’m shoving this spatula up your urethra.”
The student Surk thanked the fry cook, caught the donut that was hurled at her head, and left.
Half the donut got her past the lobby, the other half got her an audience. The computer technician wore no tie, shaved no cheek, and suffered no fools. His eyes were squinted and his hair was thinned and his mind was pared down to a thin blade of acid.
“Hi,” he said. “This isn’t jelly. You aren’t Rosemary. What the hell are you doing in here?”
“What is the nature of humanity?” asked the student Surk.
“Wow,” said the computer technician. “Wow. Seriously? Who cares. Only morons think about that stuff. If you were smart you’d make enough money to not give a shit about that question. English major over here.”
The student Surk thanked the computer technician, then flipped him off with both hands and left.
From there, the next target was obvious.
The pass-badge from the computer technician’s desk and an authoritative series of lies led the student Sark from room to room to room to working on ‘repairing’ a small camera in a corner of the press gallery of the Highest Courtyard. Ingenuous use of coffee breaks did the rest of the work for her, and before long the ruler entered the room.
“Hey!” shouted the student Sark, as the crowd of scribes settled down and placed pens to tablets. “What’s the nature of humanity?”
The ruler sighed. “Obviously, asking stupid questions, doing stupid things, and generally getting themselves killed without proper guidance from the qualified. Guards, seize her and do something fatal.”
But the student Sark was already gone.
It was a nice day in the botanical gardens. Quiet. Clear skies. A breeze. And not too dry. You could practically hear the plants growing.
The head gardener was not a whistling woman, but she did indulge herself in loud humming when the times merited it. And so they did. Good weather to be alive in. Good weather to work in. Good weather to turn the compost heap in.
The compost heap yelped under her shovel, then disgorged the student Surk.
“Jeez,” said the gardener. “What were you doing in there?”
“Long story,” said the student Surk. “I’ll cut it short: what is the nature of humanity?”
The gardener hummed that one over for a moment. “To grow,” she said. “And while you’re at it, to tend. Hey, do you hear a siren?”
“Absolutely. Can you lend me your hat?”
“N-”
“Thanks,” said the student Surk. And she left over the nearest wall.
Six miles between the palace and her was the safe zone, and a good time to stop and be someone else. Always easier than most people thought. Turn your clothes inside out, clean the dirt off your face, walk higher in the shoulders, there you are, you’re a stranger.
“You done?” asked the plumber. “Sink’s clogged.”
“I know,” said the student Surk. “I just clogged it.”
They sighed. “Great. Thanks. The hell is this? Compost.”
“Absolutely.”
“Wonderful. Anything else I can help you with?”
“Sure. What’s the nature of humanity?”
“To produce shit, naturally. That be all?”
“Yes. You’ve been immeasurably helpful.”
“Don’t sweat it,” said the plumber.
And then two minutes later: “Hey. Wait a second.”
The walk back, as it so often is, was much longer. The sun helped by setting on her halfway through, and the frost was thick on the doorknocker of the garbage-hovel.
“Go away,” said the philosopher of garbage.
“It’s me,” said the student Surk.
“Did you find an answer for me? Need to pay your yearly rent with something, and you know it.”
The student Surk nodded. “The nature of humans, my teacher, is utterly blinkered self-absorption.”
“About time you got it,” said her teacher. “Now come in and close the door. You’re letting in cold air, and I’ve got a kettle waiting for us.”