Dianoea (di-a-noe’-a): The use of animated questions and answers in developing an argument (sometimes simply the equivalent of anthypophora).
Sheriff: Can you give me a hug? Sure you can! Can you tickle my ear? Sure you can! Can you give me a smile? Sure you can! Did you shoot Mr. Buckworth in the head with that shotgun over there? Sure you did! Boom! Where’s his head? Over there by the bed! Are you in big trouble? Yes you are! Is murder a big deal? It sure is Miss Pondlake! Come back here! Hey!
Miss Pondlake ran down the stairs and out the front door. The man she had murdered was the plumber. He was rude and too familiar with her. She had phoned him and when he got to her front door, he had pushed it open and barged in waving wrenches and carrying a yellow no, 2 pencil stuck in his protruding butt crack, and he said “ain’t” which frightened her—she had only heard “ain’t” in detective shows on TV. Especially, from the bald man who ate lollipops.
The plumber said he was going to “clear her pipes upstairs in the bathroom.” That alarmed her. She did not want him to “clear her pipes,” it sounded lewd. He said, “Come on. Let’s go upstairs so I can take care of those pipes.” He insisted, so she could give hm a recommendation for his “work.”
She kept a loaded shotgun by her bed since her former husband had broken into her house and insisted on reading her “The Little Prince” to her at gunpoint. It was the worst experience of her life, defamed “The Little Prince,” put her into 2 years of therapy, and motivated her to keep a gun by her bed.
Now she was on the run from a huge misunderstanding. She was living in Mexico City playing accordion in a Mariachi band named “Camino Del Amor.” She learned how to play the accordion in high school, where she played mostly German and Italian music growing up in New Jersey. “Camino” worked in one bar in Mexico City. They played every night and she loved it. However, she missed her cat Toolabelle. Her sister was shipping it to her—quite a convoluted process. Convoluted enough so it put the police on her trail.
Then, one night, what looked like a cop from back home showed up at the bar. He told her the case a had been dropped—it was a tragic misunderstanding, triggered by lingering trauma and threatening-sounding ambiguous language. she thanked him for bringing the news, but she was going to stay in Mexico City. She was going to marry “Camino’s” harmonica man Jesus.
But, then the “policeman” pulled of his jacket revealing a yellow wooden pencil stuck in his butt crack. He said: “Everything I told you is true, but I still can’t accept my father’s murder, and you murdered him.”
She said, “Come over here for a big hug.” The Plumber’s son complied and headed toward her with arms outstretched. He called her “Mommy” as they hugged. She was repulsed, but did not want any trouble.
The plumber’s son left in a couple of days, and Toolabelle, her beloved cat, showed up at the post office. It was wonderful having her to pet and play with again. She stopped thinking about her past and made her way into the future.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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