our condensed version of Leon Rooke's short story "Early Obscenities in the Life of the World's Foremost Authority on Heidegger".
"Eat your muffin," the mother says.
The child raises her eyes and looks at her mother, eating hers.
"If you don't mind," the child says, "I think i will just quietly sit here and drink this fabulous tea, and read my fabulous Heidegger. If you don't mind!
"Why don't you read some of it aloud to me?" she says. "I really would be interested."
They listen a moment to each other's breathing.
This, the child thinks, is parental love of a new dimension. This is motherhood truly hitting a new low.
What, the mother is thinking, have I git myself into?
"You won't understand a word," the child says. "You will find it too intellectual."
The mother is crying. She feels her maternal tears filling her lashes.
"That in itself might be a relief. Please. I won't say a word."
"All right!" the child says. "But try to understand. Try to wake up! This is about being! This about the forgetfulness of being within the 'essential sphere of oblivion'! Are you with me?"
The mother is all ears. Her daughter's words are pure and total nonsense but she fully intends, in this moment, through every inch of her being--forgotten or otherwise--to be the world's finest mother.
The child begins reading.
Volume 74, the complete, annotated Heidegger.
And despite all that has gone on around here over these recent hours, it would be incorrect of you to assume that the voice the child employs is anything other than precise, clear, and confident. Gorgeous stuff.
This girl truly loves her Heidegger.
To see the mother's rapt face, to note the attention she gives every word, and how her tears pour, and how her expression of grave affliction so soon is dispelled and a radiant smile replaces those tears and how her hands ride her pounding heart, you would swear this woman--this mother--loves him, too.
GA 74, Zum Wesen der Sprache
, has not been published yet. Heidegger's works are not available in an annotated edition.