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Two Weeks Ago.
—Good Morning.
—Is it?
—What, good?
—No, morning.
—Oh…ah, yes I think so. Yes, it is morning.
—What are you watching?
—When Pets Go Bad.
—That's not on in the morning.
—No?
—No.
—Then The Bugs Bunny Road Runner show.
—Excellent. Wile E. Coyote, Sooper Genius
—Exactly. I like this episode.
—Which one?
—The Coyote purchases the mini-helicopter from Acme.
I don't remember how it ends, though; he crashes it somehow.
—Don't bring it up, then.
—What?
—Don't bring it up unless you know how it ends.
—True. Sorry.
—It's alright.
—Wouldn't it be great if we could phone Acme for a…
—Don't.
—Yes...uh, sorry.
—Look, I'm sorry. We're sorry.
—We are.
—What shall we sorry individuals do today?
—Are we finished watching morning television?
—We don't know how it ends now, do we?
—That's it for morning television then.
—Right. Now, how about a stroll through Amsterdam?
—We did that last week. I suggest somewhere more cosmopolitan.
How about Paris?
—Texas or France?
—Uh…France?
—Have you been to Paris, France?
—No.
—Then how do you expect us to get there?
—Remember the time you took me to the mountains and we
sat and watched the sunset from that snowy peak? The sky all
red and yellow and in between. Like a Rothko you said, remember?
Like a Rothko, like a love bomb went off.
—Very poetic.
—You were quite poetic that evening. You also referred
to the mountains as deconstructed origami.
—That's a bit much; I was off on that one.
—I disagree. In context with the mis-en-scene
it was nail-on-the-freaking-head.
—Language.
—Sorry.
—Mountains again, then?
—No, I was just reminiscing.
—Shall we go to the market? Get something to eat?
—That would be nice.
—OK.
—Hmm.
—What?
—I was wondering. Are we following the correct steps
to a sane and orderly world?
—I told you before; I'm not discussing Confucian Philosophy.
—What do you have against K'ung Fu-tzu?
—I have nothing against Confucius. Good man, I'm sure.
—Author of the Golden Rule, can't be bad.
—Don't do unto others. Good rule.
—Exactly.
—I'm only going to say this one last time. You know where
I stand on this; I don't want to have an argument—alright?
—Yes.
—Last time, right?
—Last time.
—OK. Here I am, just some guy named Joe. Right? Joe Average.
—Joe Average.
—I, Joe Average, I am an honest, courageous, and courteous
fellow. Like Gandhi I am so honest, courageous, and courteous.
Problem is I'm unemployed, and so is my wife, Jane. Joe and
Jane Average got no jobs to speak of. No jobs and no prospects.
How can I run the family on only wisdom and love? I ask you.
His whole system falls apart unless you have a job. An orderly
world has no down-sizing.
—It doesn't mean that your family won't be respectful
and moral.
—What would I buy bread with? The kids got to eat their
jelly sandwiches. It's not very moral if I have to send Jane
out to work the streets to get cash! It's not very moral if
I got to steal to put food in my family's mouth! I get caught
and put in prison and now I'm bitter and I say I hate this
government. I'm just trying to feed my family and I get put
away. My wife gets hooked on the smack, or whatever you call
it. She's all horsed up and I can't help her cause I'm too
busy trying to keep my ass virginal in prison. How can I vote
for an ethical government in this kind of situation? I'd be
seeing twelve shades of red. See, it always happens; we start
talking Confucius and next thing you know I'm pimping for
my smacked-out wife and trying to keep my ass cherry doing
three to five for petty theft.
— K'ung Fu-tzu said; to go beyond is as wrong as to fall
short. You go too far.
—Perhaps, but face it, he wasn't being too respectful
or moral when he took all his buddies and went into exile
when his leader didn't follow his advice. He was acting like
a child. I was just throwing variables into his equation to
see if it still stands. Face it, his system isn't reasonable.
—That's just character assassination.
—Is it?
—Well. You're mean.
—You're lost.
—We're lost.
—What do you say we lost individuals go to the market
and get something to eat?
—Let's do. I'm hungry. Is that a plane?
—A bird.
—Just a bird?
—Just a bird.
—Oh.
One Week Ago.
—If you had…uh, a million dollars, what would you
do with it?
—One million?
—Yes. What would you do with it?
—Invest it.
—No. I mean…OK, say somebody offers you a million
dollars with the stipulation that you spend it in a year.
By year end the coffers got to be empty.
—Coffers?
—Coffers.
—OK, what you're asking is how I'll blow the lot? One
million?
—Yes, it's like a fantasy, see? Completely unreal. You're
being put in a wonderful position that no one else has had
a chance to be in. Go with it. Get the creative juices flowing.
—No one else? The Medici Family had a big dollhouse that
they kept fully stocked with dwarves. Sultan Ahmet the First
had two slaves stand by his bed at night whose sole purpose
it was to replace the blankets if they slipped. Then there
was the Roman Emperors; Nero, whose bedroom ceiling showered
rose pedals; Caligula on Capri, who had a swimming pool filled
with little nibbling boys and girls he called his minnows;
Heliogabulus once demanded that his people bring him a thousand
pounds of cobwebs, of course, he was only seventeen.
—Forget it.
—Pope Leo X had a pet elephant.
—Shut up.
Two Days Ago.
—What day was this?
—Tuesday.
—Really?
—I don't know. Does it matter?
—I guess not, no. I was just wondering.
—It's Tuesday then.
—It was some day.
—Some day alright. Hot.
—Clear and hot. I got sunburn on my shoulders.
—Yes, I dare say you're glowing.
—Were you telling the truth?
—OK, not quite a glow, but you know—a bright red.
—No, I mean about the Medicis and the Romans. Couple
of days ago.
—I can't remember.
—It sounded like…
—The wrong steps to a sane and orderly world?
—Yes.
—I know.
—Those were some waves.
—Which waves?
—You know; the waves.
—Don't.
—Well, I'm just saying, they were very high.
—No they weren't.
—No?
—No, by definition they were just high.
—What's the difference?
—Ten feet…or a fraction of an inch. Depending on
how you look at it.
—And the wind. What did the NOAA say about that?
—Force Eleven.
—I thanked you, right?
—What?
—I thanked you?
—Yes.
—You really came through on that one.
—Don't mention it.
—No, I mean it. You're a pal.
—Don't.
—Shall we dine out tonight?
—What would you suggest?
—Something fancy—my treat.
—Something French?
—Could we?
—Well, it is your treat.
—You're one of the good ones. We'll go to La Black Cat
—Le Chat Noir.
—yes, Le Black Cat.
—OK.
—Can we have snails? I'm going to have snails.
—Snails would go down a treat.
One Day Ago.
—Listen.
—What now?
—No, listen! Do you hear it? Come on!!
—Wha-? Where are you going? Hold up!
—Hurry, over here! Now, quiet. Listen, do you hear it?
—I'm listening; I'm not hearing.
—Shhh. Listen! It's a boat.
—No.
—It is! It's a boat!
—OK, look at those trees there. Look at the trees and
listen.
—The leaves, rustling.
—Yes, sorry.
—I'm going mad.
—No.
—Yes, I'm going mad and when I get there you'll have
to smother me with a pillow like the Big Chief did to Jack
Nicklaus!
—Jack Nicholson.
—Whatever!
—Come on now, don't cry. Look, we'll go to the park and
play some cards. It'll do you some good. Maybe roll up our
pants and put our feet in the wading pool.
—Yes, you're right.
—Did you ever find the cards?
—No.
—Well, we'll soak our feet and chat. Have a tête-à-tête.
Enjoy the day in a civilized manner.
—Like right gentlemen.
—There you go.
This Morning.
—Can I borrow your razor?
—Where's yours?
—I don't know. It was here yesterday.
—You didn't shave yesterday.
—No, I didn't shave but I am positive I saw it right
there when I got up. You didn't borrow it, did you? Borrow
it and forget to give it back?
—Why would I do something like that? I have my own razor.
—It's just that it seems that a lot of my things go missing.
—Go missing? Go lost, more the case. You wander around
waving your things in the air as you spout Confucius this
and Tzu Ssu that and you end up misplacing everything—including
facts.
—That's not fair.
—Perhaps, but it's the truth. Once your mind gets going,
it seems to, I don't know, spin out of control and you lose
track of what you're doing—and saying. Your mind becomes
a car with no breaks.
—I can't believe your saying this now, after all this
time here. I thought you were a pal.
—I am a pal but you have to realize that you're prone
to babbling and losing things. You're not perfect. I mean,
it has been a long time here. We have to keep our wits about
us; keep sharp, you know? We rely on our imagination, for
diversion and such, with imagination you're top drawer. Really.
But when it comes to the daily mechanical operations of your
memory and intellect, well, face it, you're lacking. I'm not
picking; I'm trying to show you things as they are. Remember
last week? You talked on for two and a half hours, with your
sandal aloft, about how if man wants to reach maha-parinirvana
he must empty himself of desire. Somewhere along the way you
lost the sandal. How long did we search? Easily twice as long
as you talked. As to your speech…well, come on, humans
emptying themselves of their desires? Talk about a contradiction!
—Nietzschean!
—Get off it! This is tiring; I'm going for a walk!
—Darwinian!!
Lunch Time
—May I join you?
—You really are mean.
—Look, I apologize, OK?
—I'm not the only one who goes on, you know.
—I know. I'm sorry.
—You shouldn't just piss all over the path to enlightenment
like that.
—No. May I sit?
—Think of your karma.
—Uh huh, my karma. Here.
—My razor? Where'd you find it?
—Down by the water.
—Thank you.
—You're welcome.
—Would you like to have a chocolate éclair with
me?
—I'd love to.
—They're small, generously coated in bitter dark chocolate
and inside, the most heavenly crème. The pastry is
so flakey it's almost nonexistent. I've had three already.
—Perfect balance between moist and dry flakey?
—They could have been made in God's personal bakery.
—Oh! They are very good. Very rich.
—Told you. It wonderfully compliments the café
latte I'm drinking.
—You really got a thing for France, don't you?
—Yes.
—If...when we get away from here, I'll take you. We'll
sit in a café and drink lattes and eat éclairs.
—And read the Figaro?
—Well, we'll get some pretty girl to translate for us.
—Two pretty girls.
—Two pretty girls. Like right gentlemen.
—Like right gentlemen.
—I think I'd like it there.
—I'm sorry I called you a Nietzschean.
—There are worse things to be. Don't mention it.
—And a Darwinian.
—It's alright. You are forgiven. I'm sorry I picked on
your intellect.
—It was mean.
—Yes I wasn't following the right steps to a sane and
orderly world.
—No. Latte?
—No, cappuccino, please.
Now.
—First, the waters of Egypt turned to blood; a week later,
the frog swarm materialized out of the Nile, a hopping slime-green
menace causing those with a phobia of warts to swing dead
cats by the tail in midnight graveyards; the dusty maggot
infestation followed soon after; then a cumulonimbus of flies
rolled in, older angry relatives of the maggots being my best
guess; and then a yellow pestilence hit, killing most of the
livestock; then followed a tormenting epidemic of boils in
tender places, like behind the knees and on the armpits; a
desert storm of hail followed, destroying everything left
after the pestilence and boils; locusts then sliced in over
Egypt, carried in hot from the sirocco off the Arabian Desert
and infested Egyptian homes and crops; a palpable darkness
slammed down upon the Egyptians, like a curtain, for three
days, all that could be heard was the clickety-crunch of the
locusts at work; finally, midnight, bloody midnight, all Egyptian
firstborns, human and animal, shivered and keeled over dead.
A massive thud was heard across the land. So they are set
free; Aaron and Moses and their people make the hard trek
to the land of milk and honey.
—And that's the ten plagues of Egypt?
—In a nutshell, yes.
—Hmm.
—What?
—Well, if Moses and Aaron could do all that, why didn't
they just free themselves? Have a plague of laser beams shoot
from their eyes and destroy the chains.
—It wasn't supposed to be them doing it, it was God.
It was intended to show the Pharaoh that God is Lord.
—A plague of eye lasers would have done it for me. There's
a problem, though.
—Oh? What's that?
—Well, if it was such an enormous event, a right awful
time, why isn't it mentioned in any of the ancient Greek or
Egyptian writings? Not once. You would think it would at least
receive a footnote somewhere.
—Sometimes human history is silent.
—I guess you're right.
—Look out there!
—What?
—Right there! On the horizon! See? It flashes every couple
of seconds.
—It's a boat! Will they see us, do you think?
—I don't think so, passing too far out.
—We could get the fire blazing; get them to see us! I
could run and get our mirror and use the sun to signal it,
they'd come then!
—Not much to burn, it would take too long to get a fire
going anyway. They're practically at the horizon now, be over
it before we get the wood together and we haven't found the
mirror yet. Unless you remember where you put it?
—No.
—Look, stop waving your arms around like that! It's a
lost cause, give it up!
—It was worth a try.
—Whatever.
—I don't think you even want to be rescued!
—Don't.
—Do you think we will ever be rescued?
—I don't know.
finis
©2001 Paul Hunter
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