The pears are not falling today

There is something you need to know about Isaac: he has this distinct ability to piece things together, assemble a big story out of small bits of information, see the connections. He is well regarded here in Cambridge as the “smartest man on campus”. While I am just John.

When Isaac told me about his favourite apple tree he was very drunk. Ale was flowing mercilessly that fine Thursday and the rowdy crowd spilt way beyond the boundaries of the Queen’s Head pub. I don’t think he would be sharing such a personal story with me if he wasn’t drunk. You would need to fill him to the brim with many pints of your finest ales to hear him open up like this.

When the sun finally bowed out that evening, painting a colourful vignette on the still water of River Cam, Isaac was getting into yet another quarrel with some scholars at the pub so I proposed we get some of that wonderfully fragrant fresh air and walk to the campus.

“Lead the way” - mumbled Isaac and waved his hand to assign the approximate direction of the journey to come.

I know Isaac for only about a year now, we’ve met shortly after I managed to escape the stench and misery of London and moved to Cambridge to study fine arts.

Isaac likes simpletons like myself - and he has taken it upon himself a noble mission to enlighten my soul and invigorate my spirits. So every time we stumble upon each other on the campus of the Trinity College or in the Queen’s Head pub he always tells me another fascinating story from the realm of scientific discoveries. His speeches tend to get much more abstract towards the rowdier end of the night. Then comes a heated discussion about the chronological discrepancies of the Bible and the “what’s the purpose of us” kind of debates. Isaac can hold his liquor mighty well. I will never be able to keep up with his stories, as I try to steady myself and focus all my energy on not falling over and embarrassing myself in front of the well-educated Cambridge crowd.

“Have I ever told you a story about my favourite apple tree?” - asked Isaac when we were crossing the bridge to the campus last night.

Without allowing me to collect my thoughts and procure an answer to that Isaac grabbed my shoulder and looked at me with a devilish glint in his eyes. It was painfully obvious that he was dying to tell me all about this apple tree.

“I am sure you are familiar with my Principia. There is a whole lot of complicated mathematics in there, but the main idea is actually pretty simple. I call it gravity, the law of attraction, the fundamental force of nature that cannot be altered or conquered - it rules our world and we are under its spell”

My tactics with these kinds of stories were to put on my most enlightened face and nod as much as I could to make an impression of a well-read man. When we first met Isaac has just published his “Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica” and was very proud of his work. He even travelled to London to give a lecture on it at the Royal Academy of Science. He was the talk of the campus. I’ve tried reading it, but couldn’t understand a thing and it bored me to death so I quickly gave up.

“If there was no gravity me and you would just float around, unable to walk or lie down. Our planet attracts us and keeps us firmly planted on the ground. This universal force expands all the way out into the cosmos and keeps planets from falling onto each other. The beauty and the grace of this force are simply astounding. You can throw a hammer and an anvil from a tower - and despite their drastically different mass, they will reach the ground at the same time. Isn’t that fascinating, my dearest friend?” - said Isaac and smiled, his long locks tangled and obscuring one side of his face. I’ve noticed that his black waistcoat had two mighty holes in it - one on the back and one near the elbow.

“That is wonderful, Isaac! Would you like to sit down? I am worried you might fall over and hurt yourself. You’ve had plenty to drink tonight” - I was genuinely concerned about the well-being of the nation’s favourite scholar.

“That is sweet of you, John, but we are almost there. See that beauty of an apple tree right there near the wall. That’s where we are headed!”

We’ve reached the outer wall of Trinity College and Isaac was growing more and more agitated. He seemed to really like this particular apple tree. For me, it was nothing special. I usually preferred pears to apples anyway.

“Here is where it happened! I remember it as if it was yesterday! This is the spot it all came to me, like divine intervention! God spoke to me and he told me the truth about our universe, the marvel of his creation. An apple fell on my head - and all the pieces fell into place, all the years of studious search completed in one instant. I ate that apple on my way home, eager to write everything down and to start conducting experiments. I knew it would take a lot of effort to explain my theories to even the brightest of minds of this century, but I was determined that I could do it, with the help of mathematics and God’s blessing”

The apple tree rose high up into the night sky, almost kissing the brick wall with its long branches, covered with many dark red apples. I’ve picked one up and tasted it - and it was quite lovely, washing the acrid taste of beer from my mouth. Isaac was looking at me, grinning.

“I come here at least once a week. I sit under this tree and think. I bring my notebooks with me and write my thoughts down. I’ve never had a thought not worth exploring since I’ve found this apple tree” - Isaac was eating an apple, with juice flowing down his chin and onto his marred white neck cloth.

“What a beautiful tree - and what a great story! You are truly a genius, dear Isaac! How about we get you home so you can lie down and get some rest?”

We walked past the church and onto the campus and parted ways there. Instead of a handshake Isaac gave me a hug and thanked me for a great night. Highly unusual of him.

I’ve spent the whole day today trying to paint. The oils just wouldn’t speak to me, the blank canvas staring at me mercilessly. I’ve opened both windows in the attic and I can hear students talking loudly down in the courtyard. I can see them from the window, all jolly and free - and I feel like a prisoner of my own mediocrity, pretending to be an artist, trying to lure in the muse and failing for yet another day.

Why cannot I paint today? I keep thinking about what Isaac said yesterday. About the anvil and the hammer. Different weight - but same speed when falling down. Equal in their fall, equal in the face of God. Why cannot I be equal to the brilliant painters of today? They use the same brushes and the same oils and the same canvases - so why are my paintings so dull and lifeless? Where is the spark that is supposed to be glimmering in the eyes of my models? Where is the fresh clear air in my landscapes? Maybe I should just quit while I still can? And do what? Painting is all I ever wanted to do…

I’ve decided to go get a pint at the pub. Just a quick one, before the usual Friday night crowd assembles once again. It will clear my head and help me overcome this bout of sudden misery, so stupefying and distractive.

There is a pear tree just outside the pub. I will take a notebook with me, get that pint sorted and then I will go and sit under that pear tree. I will sit there and think. I like pears better than apples anyway. Maybe a pear will fall on my head - and I will come up with some beautiful universal law? Maybe I will discover the meaning of this life and meet God in the process? Or maybe I will just make some sketches in my notebook and come up with new ideas for my paintings.

I wish someone would shake this pear tree. The pears are refusing to fall today.