I think he’s one of the greatest writers this century, said my father.
The Kutta-Joukowski theorem states that the force experienced by a body in a uniform stream
Thanks, said my father.
I stood up and left the room. I went this time to Room 34, and I took the corner seat by Ulysses Deriding Polyphemus. Still no sign of Polyphemus. I couldn’t really remember the Kutta-Joukowski theorem but I wasn’t going back to it again. I opened the book to page 86 and I started reading down the page very fast
The above discussion applies to an inviscid flow, but in a viscous fluid (however small the viscosity), the circulation is fixed by the imposition of an empirical observation. Experiments show that when a body with a sharp trailing edge is set in motion, the action of the fluid viscosity causes the flow over the upper and lower surfaces to merge smoothly at the trailing edge; this circumstance, which fixes the magnitude of the circulation around the body, is termed the Kutta condition, which may be stated as follows: A body with a sharp trailing edge in motion through a fluid creates about itself a circulation of sufficient strength to hold the rear stagnation point at the trailing edge.
The flow around an airfoil at an angle of attack in an inviscid flow develops no circulation and the rear stagnation point occurs Thanks Sure Now I believe you read my book. Isn’t that cheating? Why don’t you use a dictionary?
It wasn’t all that easy to understand the book anyway, and with my father interrupting all the time it was practically impossible; what if he never stopped? What was it going to be like hearing it for 80 years? I thought of giving up and going home. Then I thought of Sibylla, jumping up and sitting down, jumping up to walk here and there, jumping up to read this book and that book a paragraph a sentence a word at a time.
I got up again, and I started walking quickly through the gallery, past the Fragonards, past the Caravaggios, past a room of Rembrandts and a room of followers of Rembrandt, looking for one of the boring little rooms people never visit to hide from him there. What about this? Still Life with Drinking Horn of the Saint Sebastian Archer’s Guild, Lobster and Glasses, not to mention a half-peeled lemon—but beside it was a Vanitas by Jan Jansz Tech, a picture of a skull, an hourglass, a silk scarf, a drawing & other precious things, meant according to the caption to remind the viewer of the absurdity of human ambition. This was exactly the type of thing my father liked to comment on in philosophical moments, generally in the presence of a crumbling temple or tomb, what about the next room? Here was Cuyp’s large painting, A Distant View of Dordrecht with a Milkmaid and Four Cows, and his small painting, A Distant View of Dordrecht with a Sleeping Herdsman and Five Cows—no one would look for me here.
I made myself read to the end of the chapter. I had to read every paragraph about eight times but at last I had finished it. I reread the Kutta-Joukowski Theorem five or six times. I thought of reading another chapter, but he kept saying Thanks, & instead I started flipping through the book, stopping at one page or another, looking for something so fascinating I wouldn’t hear him any more. Mach Waves — incompressible flows—Tollmien-Schlichting instability— Flight of small insects—Control and Maneuvering in Bird Flight—
‘My observation of the flight of buzzards leads me to believe that they regain their lateral balance, when partly overturned by a gust of wind, by a torsion of the tips of the wings …’ This passage is from Wilbur Wright’s first letter to Octave Chanute, dated 13 May 1900. It describes the crucial observation that led the Wright brothers to the invention of the aileron and thus to the achievement of lateral control and in turn to man’s first powered flight.
Now I believe you read my book, said my father. I really mean that I’m not just saying that said my father. It means a lot said my father. At the end of the day it’s not just how many buy them said my father. I’ve got kids of my own said my father Sesame Street was about the right level said my father Now I believe you read my book said my father Now I believe you read my book.
There was no point in staying so I left. There is a painting over the main stairs by Lord Leighton of Cimabue’s Celebrated Image of the Virgin Borne in Procession; for years I had looked at this painting every time I left, wondering what was wrong with it.
When I got home Sibylla was watching Seven Samurai. She couldn’t have been watching long; the farmers had only just left the village. Tough-looking samurai were striding through the streets of a large town; you’d have to have a lot of nerve to ask one to fight for three meals a day.
I sat on the sofa beside her. Fair enough, said my father.
Kambei was handing a razor to the priest with a bow. He sat by the river and splashed water on his head; the priest began to shave off his hair.
Fair enough, said my father.
Kambei put on the clothes which the priest had brought. He met the eyes of the shiftless Mifune with a face of stone. I think you’re going to have to wait a while, said my father.
Kambei took the two rice cakes and walked to the barn. The thief shrieked inside. I am only a priest, said Kambei. I won’t arrest you. I won’t come in. I’ve brought food for the child. Thanks, said my father. I mean that. That’s the nicest thing I’ve heard in a long time.
I stood up and began walking around the room, looking for something I could do for an hour or even ten minutes without hearing his voice. I picked up my book on judo but after two lines I saw his face, and I started reading Ibn Khaldun and he said Now I believe you read my books.
Have you seen him yet? asked Sibylla. This was her idea of delicacy, to bring the thing out in the open rather than leave me to wonder what she knew & whether I should say anything.
I saw him, I said. I don’t know what you saw in him.
You know as much as I know, said Sib, delicately indicating that she knew for a fact that I’d also read through her papers.
I didn’t tell him, I said.
Selbstverständlich, said Sib. I never could. I kept thinking I should, but I just couldn’t. I’d read something he’d written, thinking he might have changed, and he did change, but only in the way that someone from the Tyrone Power school of acting would show maturity: mouth set, furrowed brow, this is someone thinking tough thoughts. He woke up a boy and went to bed—a man. I’m sorry to speak ill of your sperm donor, though. I’d better stop.
It’s all right, I said.
No, it’s not all right, said Sib. She turned off the video. It is shocking to stop in the middle, she said, still at least Kurosawa will never know.
It doesn’t matter, I said.
All right, said Sib. Just remember that you are perfect, whatever your father may be. It may be that other people need a sensible father more.
We’re not talking about an exhaustible resource, I said.
We’re talking about luck, said Sib. Why should you have all of it?
Was I complaining? I said.
Look at it from his point of view, said Sib. It’s hard for a man to be upstaged by his son.
I wasn’t complaining, I said.
Of course you weren’t, said Sib.
He said he had kids of his own, I said. He said they watched Sesame Street and it was about the right level.
At what age? said Sib.
He didn’t say.
Hmmm, said Sib.
She stood up and turned on the computer and picked up the Independent and sat down to read it.
Did I tell you I was reading Die Zeit? said Sib. I was reading Die Zeit and I came across this lovely line, Es regnete ununterbrochen. It rained uninterruptedly. It sounded so lovely in the German. Es regnete ununterbrochen. Es regnete ununterbrochen. I shall think of it whenever it rains.