Solitude was bliss, for Cadbury Fife.
Bliss undisturbed by the ratatat madness of human affairs and the ceaseless clanking of the machinery that held things together.
Of course, this time of bliss was usually spent planning his own affairs and how much ratatat madness they would cause.
There was a wetness to the evening, and a driving regret that was as palpable as it was relentless. Cadbury rocked back in his Detective Chair, considering the placement of legs as he did so. He was a meticulous man in certain ways. Certain things must proceed as Cadbury Fife wished them to proceed.
Many other things, commonly thought to be be important, on the other hand, were entirely irrelevant to Cadbury Fife.
One could say that, as a detective, Cadbury was only interested in matters that helped him solve the case at hand.
However, that would be excessively simplistic.
Particularly as, with Cadbury, it was not clear what having a “case at hand” meant. It might mean a series of rampant orgies conducted in a haze of messianic prurience, or it might mean an evening of introspective self-bliss. In some ways it didn’t seem to matter, as “case” was more of a state of mind for Cadbury, than something that related to Clients and Investigations.
Cadbury: I’m on the case.
In any case, on this evening of downfall and bliss, Cadbury found himself in a state of unnatural curiosity. There were certain things, from time to time, that he felt obliged to know. These times were usually followed by long periods in which he had no interest in retaining any specific piece of information.
Learning, Cadbury felt, was really a sordid, near-pornographic, experience, rather than a virtuous journey of enlightenment. So selfish.
Cadbury: I wonder….
With his right hand he made a swiping motion in the air, as if attempting to wipe it clean of something he had previously dirtied it with. Then he looked away.
Cadbury: Okay. Let’s do this thing.