Sal Demands An Explanation

We're lucky we have Sal, W. and I have always agreed. Sal demands an explanation: how often have we said that to ourselves? Sal demands an explanation: for her, our vagueness and pathos is not enough. She's not satisfied with our equivocations. She expects better from us. – 'Even you! She expects better from you!'

This always amazes W. Doesn't she know my limits? Hasn't she been acquainted, very thoroughly, with my idiocy? But Sal demands an explanation, even of me. She won't let us get away with anything! How well W. remembers that time in Nashville, where I was expounding my theories of community. I spoke of alterity, I spoke of the relation to the Other Even W. was convinced. Even W. was swept away. He's really on to something, W. thought. Perhaps, all along, I've misjudged him.

But Sal demanded an explanation. What did I mean about community? And about alterity? And about the relation to the Other? No more vagueness! No more equivocation! I went white as a sheet, W. said. The blood drained from my face. I'd been found out, I knew that. I sputtered. Well …, I said, and began some spurious explanation. But Sal was having none of it.

Sal demanded an explanation, and I was unable to give her one, wasn't I? But that wasn't the end of it. I was silent for a moment. I bowed my head. And then, in a new voice – a calm, measured voice W. had never heard before – I said something that actually made sense. It was a stunning moment. W. was surprised. Our Nashville hosts were surprised. But Sal wasn't surprised. – 'See', she said, 'you just have to explain yourself better'.