enervated, restive

Maury flopped down on an armchair in Domus Logogustationis and, uncharacteristically, opened a beer and drank straight from the can for several seconds. Elisa Lively, who was at a table entertaining a glass of crémant de Loire and vice versa, looked up. “Thirsty?”

Maury paused his refreshment. “I was feeling restive, so I decided to emulate the example of our friend here” – he nodded in my direction – “and get some exercise.” He hoisted the can for another second and a half, then lowered it and added, “Specifically, I went for a run.”

“And how do you feel now?” Elisa said.

“Enervated.” Maury drank another swallow, then paused to look at the label. It was an English-style ale from Great Lakes Brewery named Pompous Ass. He raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, I brought it,” I said, and gestured with my parallel can.

“Cannibal,” Maury muttered.

“Oh, it’s great that you’re discovering the benefits of exercise,” Elisa said. “I try to do it at least once a year.” She did a quick biceps curl to lift her glass to her mouth again.

“Benefits?” Maury said. “I suppose they will reveal themselves at length.”

“Well, you just said you felt energized and motivated.”

Maury coughed and I almost spat my ale. “Enervated,” Maury said.

“Right,” Elisa said.

Maury cleared his throat. “It comes from Latin enervatus, literally ‘having the nerves taken out of’. It means weakened or, notwithstanding how it sounds, de-energized.”

“Oh,” Elisa said. “Huh. …But at least you’re well rested.”

“I suppose I will be, if my muscles don’t find new ways to cramp.”

“You said you were feeling rested before,” Elisa said.

Maury paused, blinked twice, and then said, “Restive.”

“Which,” I volunteered, “means restless. Of course.” I drank some beer so as not to giggle.

“Well,” Maury said, turning in my direction. “You know it’s not quite that.”

“These days,” I said, “it’s very often used to mean antsy, champing at the bit, feeling cooped up and wanting to break loose.” I added a musical quote from Queen: “I want to break free…”

Elisa, inspired, chimed in with a line from Loverboy: “Why don’t you turn me loose!”

“And yet,” Maury shouted to make us stop, “ironically, it first referred not to an animal that wanted to move but to one that didn’t want to move. A stubborn creature that would not budge.” Maury switched pointedly to French: “Il veut rester.”

“Oh, yeah,” Elisa said. “Funny. Rester in French means ‘stay’.”

“So it was first a stubborn animal that wanted to stay instead of go,” I said, “and then more broadly one that was disobedient, and the sense has now sloshed over generally to refer to wanting to go instead of stay.”

Elisa sang “Ba-da-da-da-da-da-da-da” to the tune of the guitar riff from The Clash’s “Should I Stay or Should I Go.”

“And all the rest,” Maury said to rein her in. “And all of it from the same Latin resto that gives us rest.”

“Speaking of which,” Elisa said, “does either of you guys want to go to a restaurant?”

“Which, resto notwithstanding, is not related to rest,” I said.

“Really?” Elisa said.

“It’s from the same Latin source as restoration,” Maury said. “Because good food and beverage is restorative.”

“So then you’re coming with me, right?” Elisa said, smiling and standing. “You said you were enervated. So come get your nerves back.” She tossed back the last of her glass. “Let’s go, sport!”

Maury looked momentarily bemused and nonplussed, but then terminated the rest of his beer and stood. “She has a point.” He looked around. “And I feel a bit… cooped up in here.”

“James?” Elisa said, looking at me expectantly.

“Sorry,” I said, looking at my watch and knowing I would soon be expected at home. “Gotta run.”