And so they found it you know.
The holy grail-
The Arc of the Covenant-
Genghis Khan’s Tomb?
No, silly, Plato’s cave.
He had a cave?
In it are Troglodytes of an indeterminate age.
Are not Troglodytes immortal?
And so they are.
What then?
What then what?
What then is with this cave?
Well, so it is dark.
Aren’t all caves dark?
Certainly, but there is a veil.
A veil?
Yes, they sit before a veil.
A curtain, I suppose.
No, something more substantial.
A glass wall, then.
Perhaps, no, not exactly.
Are they wrinkled?
It is hard to tell; the veil is opaque.
How do you know they are Troglodytes?
The paper says so.
Which paper?
This paper.
Oh, that paper.
The same.
You don’t suppose they could be aliens, then.
Nonsense.
Yes, that would be nonsense.
They speak.
What do they say?
Nobody yet can tell.
What language, Greek?
Perhaps, maybe not.
You don’t know.
We don’t know.
Isn’t someone going to get them out?
Why?
Isn’t that what we do when we find lost people?
It doesn’t say…no they are not lost.
Not lost?
They think they prefer it so.
Behind a veil, in the dark?
I suppose so.
Don’t you think it rather odd?
What is odd for a Troglodyte?
Fair question.
There is an empty place.
Where?
On the bench where they sit.
Oh, a bench…are they stiff and sore?
Perhaps, but what do eternals care?
It must be interminably boring.
Something is bound to happen.
When?
When it will happen.
I don’t get that.
What do immortals care?
Oh, that someday will someday come?
Something like that.
Who do you think the empty place is for?
It does not say.
They do not know?
They know very little.
I say someone escaped; overcame the veil.
But it is as hard as diamond.
Maybe, but they have had forever to do it.
Ah.
Or, perhaps it awaits another.
Another?
Certainly, one who has not yet entered the cave.
A missing Troglodyte?
Well, have we a clear accounting of other Troglodytes?
I surely do not know.
Check the paper.
It doesn’t say.
Where are the archaeologists?
On the way, I suppose.
It is all blocked off then?
Oh yes, of course, yellow tape and all.
Yes, I see the picture. Rather grainy. Vague.
It’s classified I suppose.
It is not far from here, is it?
A short drive. But they say the traffic…
Then we should wait.
Wait like Troglodytes?
Don’t be crass.
You don’t suppose that old man…
Down the street? In the home?
He is quite ancient.
Yes, but a Troglodyte?
Hasn’t spoken in years.
Should we try to see him?
That would be prying.
He might like some flowers.
They do take him out on occasion.
Your aunt, is she still…
Yes, that is our approach.
We can roll her up to where he sits.
A nice chat.
Yes, a nice chat.
With a Troglodyte who does not speak.
Now, but he has all eternity to do so.
I do hope it is not so long.
No, neither do I.
I bore easily.
You would not make a good Troglodyte.
God forbid.
Your family lives long.
Stop that. Shall we go?
I suppose.
But then again, such a bother.
Philosphical Musings of Christopher Ketcham 