Comfort

When they moved to the new country, who can blame them if they took their names with them, or sought out places with those names? If they were in wide open spaces, clearly they were free to snatch names out of thin air, or memory, or religion, just as they snatched cabins, or farms, or families. They could invent or they could duplicate.

And who can deny the power of comfort in a familiar name, like a too thin sheet, but just about sufficient. The name itself would give rise to the bed, in time, and the room, and the walls, and the roof.

In the cities, the names were set. There was not that freedom to name. In a small town, perhaps, a group of influential townspeople could assemble and vote to name, or change a name. Thus did a town that wanted a university become Oxford. But in a city, it could take a lifetime to acquire the status to name anything but your own child.

People sought out addresses that were ready-made. Sometimes they had to hunt for a very long time. There were those who wanted not only the street but the right number too. That took longer. But the solace derived was considerable. If your sister lived at 11 Pleasant Street in Xantia say, it could be terrifically comforting to live at 11 Pleasant Street in Zumtia, even in a shabby part of town. You would never want to move.

But there were complications. What if your sister visited? Would there be embarrassment, however slight? And what if your sister moved? Imagine the phonecall? The tight anxiety at the news. The sickening information. Oh to Jellyoppity Street. And what number would that be? 279½? Oh, that’s unusual. You feel your heart freeze solid in your chest....