One-Two-Three-Four

One-two-three-four, step-draw-close-tap, the dancer finished his routine with a sweeping bow and a tilt of the hat, Very precise he was, for a hoofer.

“Like Charlie Chaplin,” someone said. A bevy of blondes fawned about him.

“True, Chaplin,” someone else said.

“Take it again,” the cameraman motioned. Then I concentrated on the cameraman
and noticed that he had an equally precise choreography, moving rhythmically, parallel and equidistant to the hoofer, always head on, flinging the half-ton camera dolly about like a toy, duplicating each move, each nuance, suspending the pauses then leaning into a new flow in perfect imitation, But for the camera and the blondes, Chaplin may have been imitating him.

“So what do you make of it?” the man asked.

“Interesting,” I said. “But is this why you invited me aboard your private jet?l mean, why me?”

“You looked ‘right’ at the ticket counter. You seemed not to be going anywhere in par­ticular.”

True, I thought.

“Ever seen anything like this before?”

“No. I never noticed the cameraman’s moves.”

“Most don’t, but they’re essential.”

“Yes, I can see that now. The observer is active, integral to the performance.”

“He creates it,” the man said.

“So one needs to see the performance not through the observer’s eyes, but to see the observer seeing the performance?” I said.

“That’s it.” He lit a cigar and led me down the ramp.

“One thing—how did you get an entire soundstage in there?”

He looked at me. “I didn’t,” he said. “You did.”

I had to ponder that awhile. See the observer seeing the dancer, creating the dance, as it were.

“Create the observer also,” he said. “Look at it this way. Remember the old riddle about a tree falling in a forest with no one around?”

“Was there a sound?”

“Right,” he waited.

“Well, was there?”

Again he looked at me. I felt stupid.

“Of course not. You’re forgetting to create the observer.”

“Wait. A tree fell in a forest, and someone saw it fall and heard it fall. There. Now, did the tree fall, and did it make a noise?”

“Unquestionably!”

I looked him right in the eye. “But how can I know that?” I said.

“Know it? You just saw and heard it!”

“Okay. Now what if I had seen it fall, myself’?”

“Have you?”

“No, but—.”

“Then it didn’t.”

“But if I ever do see one fall—.”

“Ah, now you’re close. You’re beginning to see someone watch a tree fall.”

“Yes, me.

“Exactly.”

“And hear it crash to earth.”

“No, and hear yourself hear it crash to earth.”

I was quiet for awhile then, too.

“One last thing: who said that that guy danced like Chaplin?”

“You did.”

“I did not. Wait a minute—I made someone say it?”

He grinned.

“But why?”

“It was Charlie Chaplin.”

“You’re kidding. He’s been dead for years.”

He grinned again. “I’ve got to go now. Drop you off any­where?” he said.

“Oh, maybe Seattle, Orlando—I don’t know.”