Paul Servini's Blog, page 4

Literary Pastiche

Joesph Gregor K sat on the windowsill wondering what to do. Joesph wanted more than anything to jump. Incensed at the thought of having to spend another minute in the dreaded castle, any alternative seemed preferable to him. But K was not so sure. The distance from the window to the ground was thirty metres, at least. What if the jump went wrong? He didn't dare imagine such a prospect. He would have loved to escape, but sometimes, well you just had to say no. And he didn't want to let that bully Joseph get the better of him every time. He had no intention of ending up flattened on the courtyard below like a strawberry jam pancake, damp and sticky to the touch.

Gregor sighed. He was beginning to get tired of having taking on the role of tie-breaker. Yet, like it or not, if a decision was to be taken, then he would have to take it. Of course, for him the height was no problem, not since the days when his feats as Samson the Great were cut horribly short by waking up one day to discover nothing but a beetle in his bed. He looked out across the vast space that separated their tower from the administration block where a computer had just flickered into life. Not a mac, nor a linux but a genuine windows one… windows to a new life… windows which called out to be explored.

Gregor explained his plan as best he could. K agreed at once. He would back any plan which meant escape and which didn't involve the risks of jumping from a height. But Joseph was adamant. No way was he going to risk further nightmarish happenings. Who knows what lay in the depths of the virtual world where, for all he knew, evil minds lurked behind every screen. If risk they had to take, then he wanted to take them in the real world.

Joseph and K clashed. Mind games turned to insults and the insults gave way to violence as fists flew between the two. Gregor was horrified. The unity he had spent so long building up, the unity which was their only chance of escape, was coming apart before his very eyes. He skidded into the fray in a bid to separate the two. But he pushed too hard. K went flying out of the window. Joseph and and Gregor looked down into the depths. All they could see was a pancake ready for consumption. And for once, they took no time in agreeing upon the inscription they would write on K's tombstone:

Kafkaesque

in life

and

in death

A Worthy Master

"Have you got the courage to become a traitor?"

The light of the flickering candle distorted the features of the three people huddled together on the floor of Huges small hut. He looked across at the two pair of eyes staring at him. A traitor? How could they possibly demand such a thing of him. He met their gaze but remained silent as the two pairs of eyes kept up their expectant bore.

"If I'm going to become a traitor, I need to know why. I need a cause, I can't work without one."

"Your work is your cause." Jean's voice was buoyant, seeking to reassure. "You are under obligation to nobody but yourself and your work. Your discoveries belong to you. You give them to the world but you owe the world nothing. You owe only to yourself."

"Huges." He looked across at Marguerite. She was tranquil, more measured than usual. "Just think how this one discovery could benefit so many of us. A human propelled riding machine. It's unheard of. Why in a hundred years it could even replace the horse."

"But why not develop it here, why go over to the Germanic tribes."

"Huges, your central mechanism is the work of a genius, but it needs a strong material or it will just come apart each time. The best we can offer here, won't stand the tension. But over the hills, they have developed a way of heating and working with metal which suits your purposes exactly. If you want to continue your work, you must leave us and go there. For my part, I can promise to take your part with his Lordship, try and explain, try and forge a way for you to return. But…" He left the words unsaid. They knew their tyrant only to well. No pleading on their behalf could bring him to change their mind.

And Marguerite? She could take the burden of deciding from him. What did she really want? But he didn't ask. It would be wrong to force her into making a decision that only he could shoulder. Remain faithful to his work, submit himself to science. Was science a worthy cause? Would science remain faithful to him. Yet, how could he do otherwise? Stay here? Embrace the fame that brought riches and Marguerite's love that fortune had already granted him. Stay here and die. With a heavy sigh, he acquiesced.

Three nights later Huges left the Prince's New Moon party and made his way home. Arriving at the hollowed out oak he took out the bundle he had prepared beforehand and continued on up the hill and away from his cottage. He sought shelter . It wasn't long before a torch approached the watchtower. It was Marguerite with flesh and wine from the party. Did she feel like a traitor now? Or was she going to enjoy those things she had to do to get Hunker drunk and in a state of slumber? Huges didn't dare answer this question which kept beating its way into his mind with the persistence of a homing pigeon. It took almost an hour before the bridge was lowered inch by aching inch. He crossed but once on the other side felt no exaltation. Marguerite's torch shone through the slit of the tower. She was watching. Was she crying?

Late the next day, Huges reached Toemorta, the main village of the Germanic tribes. He was greeted with scepticism. It wasn't often people came from the valley to them. He showed them Huges' letter, tried to explain. He showed them his drawings. They laughed. Huges had sold his soul to an unworthy master.

Post Scriptum

It took another two hundred years for the human propelled riding machine, aka bicycle to be developed. But Huges became the ancestor to a whole line of scientists who following in his footsteps discovered science to be an unworthy master. Maybe his spiritual ancestor, Berthold Brecht, had Huges in mind when he changed the ending to his most famous play, the Life of Galileo Galilei, having Galileo recant after seeing the savagery inflicted by the scientists' nuclear bomb on Japan.

Linguistic Fun

This week's 3ww words are relish, foolish and mercy. I often write little stories for my adult English students to teach them the meaning of new words. Something along these lines…

Relish had always been an enthusiastic person. Whatever he did, he put his whole heart into it. Sometimes, it landed him in trouble. Like the time he had to translate for a fiery political orator who had set up a makeshift platform at the local market. Now this man was known not only for his way with words but also for jumping about the stage like a monkey let loose. Every point he made was brought home with an accompanying feat of agility. Not for Relish to just stand about translating calmly every word the orator pronounced. He had to leap and bound about too. Unfortunately for Relish his side of the stage was somewhat smaller, than the side where his orator stood and one particular bound took him right over the side and he came crashing down on the egg seller's stand. And I might add, it most certainly was not the last time that Relish was left with egg on his face.

But it must be said, Relish had not courted his friend Foolish for quite a while. Not since the bust-up. Only now did Relish realise he'd try to put all thoughts of Foolish out of his mind. The only thing to do with things that made you uneasy. But conscious was pricking; and resistance to conscience may come naturally but it ends up being by far the more painful. He forced his mind to dwell on the scene; the tears, the disappointment written large in her eyes, even his pathetic little attempts at rationalising on the way home. It was all too clear now. Foolish had merely been true to character. He couldn't have acted otherwise. Relish, of course, had done the same. It had been his enthusiasm that had caused him to blow up like that. But he could have channelled that enthusiasm into different forms of behaviour. He could have built up instead of tearing down.

Relish knew what he had to do. But first he busied himself around at home. He even checked out his put-off-until-last-minute list in a bid to find something that could talk mind off Foolish. When he finally succumbed, it was certainly not in a very relishing way. But it had to be done. So off he went.

Foolish welcomed him in a somewhat subdued manner. Not surprising, he thought to himself. He welcomed him into the small living room and Relish was surprised to see he was not the only visitor that day. A young lady was sitting in the armchair in the corner he himself had so often occupied. Relish was quite sure what to make of her. She seemed quite attractive. Yet, there was something about her Relish didn't quite like. And he most certainly didn't want anyone else present and listening to what he had to say. But Foolish didn't seem to notice and the mysterious visitor showed no signs of leaving. So in characteristic fashion Relish jumped into his speech.

"I… I've just come to say how sorry I am for behaving the way I did the last time we were together. I should have…"

But before he could go on Foolish looked up at the visitor in the corner and smiled.

"I think, you know what you have to do now," replied the visitor.

"Yes, of course, I'll forgive him. And thanks for all your help Mercy," stuttered Foolish before throwing his arms around Relish.

Double Homage

He's probably the English language's greatest writer and today is his birthday. Now as I come second to him in writing and also missing sharing the great man's birthday by just one day, it would seem presumptuous of me to write to even attempt to do just to his achievements. So I won't even try.

But the other day I was discussing with some friends how they were set back years in their reading habits because of bad experiences at school. That reminded me of Mr. Carless. Mr. Carless was my old English teacher. I have no idea where he is now, nor what he is doing. What was special about him. I don't know. He was an ordinary kind of man as far as I remember but he instilled in me a love for reading and for books that has never gone away.

It was under his wings that our class was introduced to Shakespeare and his world. It was fantastic. He made it all seem so magical to my young mind and he hooked me. It was Mr. Carless who introduced me to the world of the school library and showed how libraries and me a school librarian. I almost chose that as my chosen profession, languages finally taken priority. But I've never lost my love for books and I'm sure, were I in the UK today, I would be a volunteer in one of those libraries threatened with closure.

So, Happy Birthday William and thanks very much Mr. Carless.

A Dash Across Town

This week's Friday Fiction challenge: Why was Easter Bunny held up with deliveries this year?
______________________
 

Jeff stepped out into the bright sunshine. His one regret, that he'd not managed to finish some thirty minutes earlier. Due to the rain he'd not been on a run once that week. And today, with near perfect conditions, all he could think of was getting across town to the crafts shop and then heading home as quickly as possible.

Bus or taxi? A quick glance at his watch and he turned away from the bus stop and headed towards the Les Halles, ignoring the bustling crowds enjoying the sunshine and some Easter shopping. His luck was in as half way down the road he spied an empty taxi coming towards him. Despite having been in France almost six months now, he still baulked at the French method of stopping taxis. Instead, he merely raised an arm in the hope that no suicidal Frenchman would jump out onto the road in front of him and whisk the taxi away. Again, he was in luck.

"23 impasse des lilas."

The taxi driver gave a blank look in return.

"Quartier Lemans?"

The driver's face brightened and Jeff relaxed. Things should still work out. In his best French he explained to the driver that he wanted to stop very briefly en route. He'd tell the driver when. The latter merely shrugged his shoulders and pointed at the metre. This was going to be an expensive taxi ride. Still, it would be worth it. He closed his eyes and imagined the radiant faces of his children as they set out all together on the hunt for those brightly coloured Easter eggs. Pity, there weren't more shops that sold egg colouring. He could have done without this last minute dash across town.

He started taking more interest in his surroundings. The taxi was making pretty good progress despite the rush hour and he didn't want to miss the shop. That was when he saw her. Lucy, in a red dress and coming out of a side-entrance between a wine shop and a hairdressers. What on earth was she doing there? This wasn't her usual shopping territory. His mind began to work overtime. He saw her standing before him pleading all sorts of excuses, none of which were plausible. He saw himself climbing up a narrow staircase to the door of a dingy looking office, bearing the plaque…

A screeching noise as the taxi pulled up with a jolt at a red light. Jeff awoke with a start just in time to catch another expletive-like expression which, this time, Jeff did not bother noting down. He felt ashamed. How could he possibly have thought… And then he realised where his thoughts had taken him. About five minutes beyond the crafts shop and the egg colouring. He tried to explain to the driver that he wanted him to turn around and go back. More expletives as the thickset arms waved towards the metre. The sight of Jeff's credit card seemed to calm him slightly.

How could he have been so stupid? How could he have even entertained the suspicion that she…? He shoved all further thoughts about this out of his mind.

It was another half hour before Jeff, egg colouring safely stored away in his briefcase, climbed out of the taxi and handed the driver his credit card. Not yet used to the creative arithmetic of French taxi drivers he punched in the code without a word, picked up his briefcase and headed inside.

"Hi! I'm home."

He went through into the living room where his wife was standing at the window watching the kids playing in their sandbox.

"Sorry, I'm late love. I drove straight past the crafts shop, had to get the taxi to turn around," he stammered, reddening.

"Never mind, dear. We've only just got back from the park ourselves. Come on, let's get straight at it. If we do them now, they'll still be dry by tomorrow morning. And you can hide them in the garden while we're having breakfast. The kids won't notice a thing. But before that…"

She went out towards the kitchen and returned, bottle in hand.

"I was going to keep this until tomorrow. Look, I've not even wrapped it yet. But you look as if you need some of this right now."

"My favourite Cognac! Thanks, darling." He leant over and gave her a peck on the cheek.

"But, of course, that's what you were doing in that shop. I saw you coming out. I was in the taxi and I thought…"

And he was so busy wrapped up in his explanations, he failed to see the fear staring out of his wife's eyes.

Class Have Mercy

Luap glanced up at the mirror as he passed through to the bathroom. The image that stared back at him taught him nothing new. A glance at the clock would have been more beneficial. But that was the last thing he needed right now. Two straight concerts and last night's ball had done it in for him. There was a time, yes. But that time was long gone. Next year he'd be 50. Time to slow down a bit. He'd tried to explain it to the group last week. But they wouldn't hear none of it. Their only concession was to promise to take things a little easier next season.

The cold water had a cleansing effect on his mind and he soon found himself facing up to the future; at least that part of the future that could be negotiated in the next couple of hours. His first task was to prepare something for that day's conversation class. What day was it? The subsequent groan showed the extent of Luap's enthusiasm. An idiom a week. How on earth could he be expected to come up with one of those, today of all days. If only Gina were there. Last time her hands had worked wonders as they kneaded out the knots in his head one after the other. But Gina was long gone. He'd hoped to visit her in Italy in the summer but until then he'd have to make do alone.

In order to create a semblance of trying, Luap sat down at his desk and opened his idiomatic dictionary. But it wasn't long before the words were melting into one another Luap slipped down the ladder of consciousness before being rudely reminded by the church clock that it was time he was off.

Grabbing his bag, he somehow dragged himself down the stairs and across the road to the school. The few latecomers who had joined him looked at him with a bemused expression. Obviously they weren't used to seeing the college keep-fit fanatic riding up with them. Or so he thought. Arriving on the third floor, he stepped out as gingerly as he could, straightened up and entered the classroom as if nothing had happened. He placed his bag on the desk and emptied it of its contents in the usual way. But this time nothing came out. He shook it a little firmer. When that still didn't produce the desired result, he looked inside. Nothing! He straightened up and gave the class the best smile he could muster. Applause broke out from every corner. Luap gawked at the class shell-shocked. Then Sun Li stood up. He only did that when he thought he had guessed the meaning of an idiom.

"Sir, I see you have been burning the candle at both ends."

Blundering Into Someone Else's Story

I stumbled upon her quite by accident. Unaware of her tragic past history, I was afraid, I'd woken her up. Not for the first time had my blundering threatened to bring about misfortune. Luckily, she didn't move. She looked so peaceful as she lay there in the hills, her regular breathing conveying a feeling that all was well with the world.

Of course, I was captivated. Who wouldn't have been after contemplating those wine-red lips, that alabaster face framed by her ebony strands. I knelt down beside her and stared. As long as she didn't wake up, I was safe. She seemed to beckon to me. Was it an illusion? I leant over and lowering myself inch by inch, barely brushed her lips with mine.

As I did so, she opened her eyes and smiled. I returned the smile. She blinked but the words her lips were beginning to form refused to come out. That she was puzzled, was evident. She blinked again before finally managing:

"But you're not my prince!"

No, I was no prince. Sure, I may have had his charm, but that was about all. However, we still lived happily ever after, despite my blundering.