By Jonathan Landaw

Have you ever wished you were a fly? I imagine that such a question will strike most readers as ludicrous. After all, spending the greater portion of one’s waking hours flitting between pieces of decaying meat and excrement isn’t the most attractive lifestyle imaginable. And even though there is the famous story about the stock of merit inadvertently accumulated by the fly who, while floating along on a waterborne cowpat, happened to circumnavigate a religious monument, opportunities for advancement as an insect are notoriously limited.

Despite these obvious drawbacks, on a number of occasions I have heard people express just this wish: to be a fly … at least temporarily. And why? So that without being noticed they could listen in on a private encounter promising high drama and/or intense amusement. For example, while at a party and under the influence of several drinks too many, a husband regales the assembled revelers with entertaining stories about his wife, revealing intimate and embarrassing details of their marriage. The wife’s only reaction is to join in the general laughter, albeit somewhat stiffly, but it is obvious to all save the husband that she is seething inside. After the couple leaves one of the remaining guests says, “Id like to be a fly on the wall in their house tonight” and everyone laughs, imagining the scene to be played out later when no one is watching. (In this example, being a fly suits the imagery with a particular aptness, considering what in all likelihood is destined to be hitting the proverbial fan that night.)

But let us leave these scatological references for now (thank goodness!) and consider the question: if we could attend any event in history as an unseen observer, which one would we select? (I think “unseen observer” is a better choice than “fly on the wall” because, other than a certain range of odors, it is unclear what, if anything, a fly could perceive in even the richest, most interesting encounter.)

I myself have always been intrigued by stories of the meetings between two or more of my cultural heroes. In the 1950s, for example, there must have been occasions when the outfielders of all three New York City baseball teams were gathered together – probably at various All-Star games or testimonial dinners. I would have loved to hear what Mickey Mantle, Willie Mays and my favorite, Duke Snider, had to say to each other out of range of the photographers and reporters.

Another meeting I would have liked to observe took place in Brussels. Some years ago while visiting a hotel in the Belgian capital, I saw a photograph of a conference there in the early years of this century at which many of the pioneers of nuclear physics were present. If my memory is reliable, these included Madame Curie, Rutherford, Einstein, Planck, Bohr and many others. While a fly might have had an easier time than I understanding exactly what these scientists were discussing among themselves, I still would have been intrigued to witness their interaction.

Much easier to appreciate would have been the gatherings at the Café Guerbois and elsewhere in the Paris of the 1860s and 70s where a new approach to art was being discussed by the likes of Zola, Manet, Monet, Degas, Renoir, Pissarro and Cezanne. Even better than attending these discussions would have been watching Manet painting Monet at work aboard his studio-boat on the Seine, or any of the other pairings of Impressionist painters taking place then in the French countryside. In a similar vein, how intriguing to see first-hand what exactly went on in 1888 when Van Gogh and Gauguin were staying together in Arles. Did my dear Vincent play the victim to Paul’s villain, as my imagination suggests, or was their relationship much more complex, as I suspect it must have been? In any event, how exciting to see my hero applying his startling yellows to the canvas. Could a hidden observer detect signs of madness in this creative fury?

In search of further heroes, I travel back a century to the Austria of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven and Schubert. There are so many events I would like to have witnessed: from Leopold Mozart’s discovery that his tiny son possessed the light of pure musical genius to the heart-wrenching scene of Beethoven at the conclusion of the debut performance of his Ninth Symphony, when one of the soloists had to lead the deaf composer to where he could see and acknowledge the enthusiastic ovation he was no longer able to hear. But if I had the choice of just one event to be present at, I think I would select the meeting that took place in 1787 when Beethoven, a 17-year-old keyboard virtuoso from Bonn, was shown into Mozart’s quarters in Vienna for the only meeting between these two. It has been reported that after the younger musician performed improvisations upon a theme suggested by Mozart, Wolfgang remarked to his companions, “This boy will make a big noise in this world,”… or words to that effect?

Finally, I would like to have attended the meeting of Mahavira – the founder of Jainism – and Shakyamuni Buddha. Nowhere in my readings have I come across any evidence that these two great leaders ever met, but I feel it is more than likely that they did. They both lived at the same time in what is now the Indian state of Bihar, and there are a number of sites – Rajgir and Vesali, for example – that are sacred to both Jains and Buddhists. In that same century and half the world away, Confucius and Lao Tzu were said to have met, and I sense the same thing happened between these two spiritual masters in India. Assuming that they did meet, did they say anything? Or was it enough to exchange glances? I remember nights in Kopan when the only sound coming from the living quarters of the old gompa was the piercing laughter of Lama Yeshe and Lama Zopa Rinpoche. Could that have been the sound of this meeting that never took place?