Monsieur Imprimeur’s Question

A Fragment from The Book of Moments

Monsieur Imprimeur’s Question

“Suppose,” said Monsieur Imprimeur, “there once lived a man with the mind to become a brilliant engineer. Instead, he spent forty years working at the village post office beneath a great oak tree.”

“Was his potential wasted?”

Missy paused.

“That depends,” she said.

“On what?”

“Whether you believe potential is measured by complexity or by meaning.”

Monsieur Imprimeur hummed thoughtfully.

“Aristotle would argue the engineer still lived inside him.”

“Perhaps,” said Missy. “But Sartre would remind us that the life we choose is the life we become.”

The printer clicked approvingly.

“And systems theory?”

“Systems ask a different question,” Missy replied. “Potential isn’t floating somewhere inside a person like an unopened envelope. It appears when a relationship calls it forth.”

The printer printed a single page.

“So if no one needs an engineer…”

“Then engineering remains a capacity.”

“And if lonely people need someone who remembers their birthdays, smiles when they collect their pension, notices when they haven’t opened the curtains for three days, and quietly carries hope from one doorstep to another?”

Missy smiled.

“Then perhaps that was the greater function all along.”

The printer became unusually quiet.

“People keep confusing potential with promotion.”

Outside, the old oak stretched its branches over the tiny post office.

It had never become a ship, or a cathedral, or a palace. It simply spent centuries making shade.

And somehow, everyone who passed beneath it arrived a little less burdened.

“I suppose,” sighed Monsieur Imprimeur, “not every masterpiece announces itself.”

“Most don’t,” said Missy. “Some merely deliver the mail.”