go back and read the beginning part 1, part 2, & part 3...
Three drinks ago Davis and Viv met up with Hanson at the bar of the centro restaurant, a swanky rat pack inspired joint with black and white pictures of dead mobsters adorning the walls. It was quite obvious to Davis, three drinks ago, that Hanson has a thing for Viv. In fact, it was also quite obvious to Davis that Hanson not only has a thing for Viv, but that there was also some sort sordid history shared between the two.. Standing tall with his footballer’s physique, stories about smuggling Cuban cigars into Miami by high speed motor boats, bar room brawls in Bangkok with juiced up trannies, wrestling dwarfs for money in mexico city – Hanson played the part of the archetypical male that Viv would fall for – not your average Joe. It was through this insecure discomfort that Davis found himself on his third glass of Speyside single malt; and with hints of jealousy brooding his thoughts he orders his fourth.
Hanson knew what was going on with this granola looking tree hugger. After their acrimonious breakup, viv wanted something easy, something predictable, something she could control, and that’s why she’s dating this… this guy. From his mannerisms and small talk, Hans quickly singled him out as a phish listening pot smoking homemade bread-baking ex-hippie who probably made his own compost with all the fruit peels and biodegradable garbage in his house, or some shit like that. The fact was, and still remains that this guy has no idea what he’s gotten himself into with Viv, but Hanson knew only too well. His whirlwind romance with viv led them both onto a path of wild jaunts, strange brews, mind-altering drugs, and forged press passes. In the two years that they were a couple, they gate crashed some ridiculously insane parties; made wild animal love at sunset, atop the observation deck of a skyscraper; hauled lobster traps to see how tedious of a job it really was; get arrested a couple of times; and get a number of stitches to just name a few.. good times he thought.. real good times..
Not wanting to keep Davis feeling uncomfortable with Hanson’s brutish talk, Viv Interrupts his daydreaming with the tapping of her watch, and the three pay off their tab and set out on their way. Grabbing hold of Davis’ arm, Viv flashes him her pearly whites and he suddenly feels a little better.. no matter what, she was here with him, that guy may have the stories and scars to prove he’s her type, but she’s here with him, and that suited him just fine, for now.. Hans also notices the grins shared between the two and does little to hide the disappointed look on his face..
Three blocks down Regent Street, the trio makes a right down to southland square and end up at a nondescript door with a small sign reading “Savon Masculin”. The “gentlemen only” sign hung outside this unknown, but extremely well hidden establishment. The little door is opened by a sharply cut man in uniform who eyes the three up and down before leading them down a hallway to what they assume to be the dining room.
“Savon Masculin” has been an institutional gentlemen’s club in the city for almost two hundred years now. Originally begun as a card room and opium den for the wealthy French denizens of the city, the club had taken a number of transformations, including a private speakeasy during the prohibition, and a a hush-hush burlesque cabaret with dancers shipped in from Paris. Maintaining its highbrow membership tracing back generations, “Savon Masculin” remained one of the best-kept secrets of the city, until now. The name is supposed to have been decided over a game of cards in which the winner, an entrepreneur in the soap business, went with a name to continue his legacy. The secret exclusivity of this place was felt as the three followed their guide walking past the grand foyer, closed doors, historical paintings, and shifty eyes, although they had every right to have their meal in their establishment, they certainly weren’t welcome.
‘ello ow may I ‘elp you? Yes, my name is hanson adams, I have a reservation for the degustation. Ah yes monsieur adams, I see you are three peepole, mais, the reservation is for two, you are aware that tonight eez a set dinner for a specific number of guests. You cannot expect the chef to accommodate you for not fully understanding ze strict regulations of tonight’s meal.. I ‘ave ‘alf a nerve to send you ‘ome.. I completely understand, but they will be eating, I will just seat myself with them at the table, if that’s all right with you and this friend of mine printed on this piece of paper the rest of the population accepts as legal tender. Well I suppose the torture of watching your meal eaten by someone else should compensate.. I will arrange it. Thank you for accommodating me..
Sliding up to Hanson, Viv starts questioning his motives and what his intentions really were. She couldn’t help but feel this was a deranged attempt by Hans to get into her good graces. Hans retorted with the most innocent of excuses offering his seat so the two could enjoy the meal, after all, she was more excited about tonight’s dinner than anyone of the three.. Davis, feeling awkward about being a spectator in a squabble that extended before his arrival into viv’s life, kept his mouth shut waiting in the wings. His suggestion to sit this meal out, was met with a firm no from Hanson, who insisted that his intentions remain as white as the linens on their table. In fact this would give him the opportunity to get to know Davis a little better and make up for the messy breakup and the drama that followed.
The dining room is not lavish for lavish sake, but still more than what you would normally consider rich in its settings with remaining functional and organized. The staff, standing around ready to pounce on the needs of any of the diners are stressed in their sharp uniformed Japanese designed outfits; they methodically pull chairs out, place napkins and bring forth the water.. Seating the trio at their table, the waiters orderly scurry off through their assigned walkways and flit and flutter in and out of the kitchen.. One of the well dressed crew approaches the table decanting some glasses of what looks to be a very promising new world vintage from a place you’d never consider visiting.. Another well-dressed attendant arrives to the table and begins to elucidate the experience soon to begin.
Good evening. My name is not necessary; neither are the names of the other servers. In fact we are all insignificant lemmings put in this room for one purpose, to be at your service. All you need to do is think about lifting an eyebrow and we will telepathically know you need something. In fact we will probably know, telepathically, what it is that you need before you actually voice it out. Please feel free to be as demanding and unnoticing of our effort as you please, after all, this is your experience, not ours. Tonight’s tasting will come in the form of 6 courses in no particular order except that of what the chef chooses and consists of a cheese, vegetable, fish, pheasant, essence and dessert. I hope you truly enjoy your meal and relish this opportunity to eat from the crafted hand of Chef Antoine, because chances are, you will never sample his fare again.
And with that, the enthusiasm from the diners fills the air as the other servers finish from their monologues and scurry off to the kitchen at the sound of a barrage of little bells ringing.. calling the waitstaff back to the kitchen 60 little bells resonate loudly enough through the room to announce the beginning of the first course...
The mini bells all ringing in a disorganized unison give off a parochial feel to the moment, too bad for Davis, he didn’t feel very spiritual about the whole experience to begin with. Everything happening with Viv was just turning into the sweetest love story of modern times, yet, the carnivorous exploits he had been on were enough to butcher his soul and force him down a path of bludgeoned character. One after the other, different types of meat, the taste, the idea of consuming a living being, just going up against everything he had ever been taught and known. The shame, the remorse, such strong emotions so quickly substituted with the joy and satisfaction with the presence of the beautiful companion he found in this amazing woman. Life, love, happiness, all have been enjoyed and felt on levels Davis never even knew existed.. Although too early to tell, Davis did know that this was a person he could actually see himself with, a lover he could never tire of, this relationship was quickly picking the steamy moniker of “it” – a tag that seemed to echo inside viv… With thoughts of his beloved shooing away his vegetarian conscious, she nudges Davis under the table and gives him an “I’m so excited!!” look and helps ready him for his next brush with his now shaky principles.
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Monday, December 04, 2006
Our Man Davis Part 3
if you didn't read Part 1, here it is
and if you didn't read Part 2, here it is
BEEP
Viv, I know it’s been a while, but this is kinda important, so just hear me out.. Remember how we both agreed that if and when Chef Antoine makes a stateside appearance, we promised ourselves that we weren’t going to miss it? Well It seems good fortune took a very nice dump on us. After registering an interest on his forum six months ago, I got a mysterious email last week about a reservation for the day after tomorrow. It seems the master is back in town and we’ve got tickets to the show. Now I know, you might be still be a little upset about what happened with your cat, I mean it was wrong and stupid of me to try and break into your apartment, and then inadvertently stomp and kill your cat in the whole mess, I can see why you’d be upset. There really was no excuse for my actions. But I am past that period in my life and after countless hours of therapy, medication and a lot of soul searching and soul answering, I am completely over the whole situation, I really feel fine and want us to get back to being friends again. I just got a call this morning confirming the reservation, actually it felt more like it was being dictated to me, but hey it’s Antoine, I’m not arguing.. I agreed over the phone and the amount was immediately deducted – so I’ve committed us to dinner. I know whatever you’re thinking, and let me ease your worries by dispelling those thoughts from your head, I’m calling because this is Chef Antoine, not just some decorated 3 star chef, this is the underbelly of haute cuisine. Daring, and unperturbed by any morsel, this is the ultimate adventure in our culinary exploits – we will walk the tightrope of fine dining and gastronomical anomalies.. I feel like a babbling idiot for having drawn this message out so long, give me a call and lets enjoy this experience together, as friends of course..
END OF MESSAGE
BEEP
Hanson, wow, I really wasn’t expecting to hear from you, really. I mean, I thought we agreed I wouldn’t press charges as long as you left me alone… You tried to break into my apartment, then climbed up the fire escape, broke my window and cut yourself in the process, stomped and murdered my cat, and bled all over my floor. I walked into my apartment and found you laying there unconscious bleeding all over my carpet. I had to call the paramedics and then carpet cleaners immediately – do you know how difficult it is to clean human and feline bloodstains? I know about the therapy and the medication, I spoke to your mother and although I can empathize with her reasoning and attempts to convince me that you weren’t a cretin. It was very nice of you to think of me with the reservations and all, considering it was me who first introduced you to the epicurean realm of Antoine – and it was me who said that I’d gladly lop off and give away your left nut for an 8 course degustation by the chef.. All that said, I admit I am impressed that you managed to score a reservation, the last time he was in town, tables were being scalped for a couple of thousand dollars a pop – hats off, really.. Unfortunately, I can’t make it for a couple of reasons, the obvious one being that I still think you’re capable of going postal on me, and, I’m trying to think of the best way of saying this, but the words aren’t forming so I’ll just come out and say it: I’m seeing someone... I’m seeing someone, and I’m happy with him, and I don’t know how comfortable he’d feel with me going out to dinner with you. So thanks for the invite, but I’m seeing someone and I just can’t do dinner with you behind his back, and I don’t feel like explaining everything to him about us, so it’s just too messy.. Enjoy the meal
END OF MESSAGE
BEEP
Listen viv, I totally understand why you’d refuse the invitation, considering everything that’s happened between us the last couple of months, but I really did call you as a friend. It really is insulting that you’d think of me wanting to try and win you back – or that I haven’t healed completely in regards to our relationship. I’m a different person now, and I have started seeing someone myself, but she’s just not that into food, and I would’ve invited a buddy of mine, but you were the only one who’d really appreciate the meal and the effort that went into it. If it would make you feel better, why don’t you invite your boyfriend. I just called and squeezed a table for the three of us, if he’s interested.. Everything is so secretive, I won’t know the destination till a couple of hours before the meal.. maybe we should all meet up for a drink before dinner and then head out there.. I’ll give you a call..
END OF MESSAGE
BEEP
Hey it’s me, just wanted to say hi and see if you’re were free and interested in having the most exclusive / exquisite meal in town tonight.. dare I say it? maybe even this year... spoke to a friend of mine, well he’s more of an acquaintance and it seems chef Antoine de Baussy, umpteen star rated chef is in town and is looking to really cook up a storm. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of him, but Antione’s meals are always unconventional, strange and incredibly delicious. Having studied under the greatest of masters, his eccentricity has always gotten him kicked out of kitchens and restaurants – but he has a faithful following that will do whatever to taste his creations. He spends four months a year traveling the world sampling some of the most peculiar fare and exclusively preparing meals for those that can afford it. Eating a dish prepared by him is up there with drinking absinthe and taking art classes with van gogh. To be honest with you, I would die to eat his food, but I don’t like the person pushing out the invite too much. I mentioned having a boyfriend and you were immediately invited. I know it doesn’t mean much to you, but it does to me, and having you there would really make this special meal more memorable.. so what do you say? Wanna help a cute girl out? I promise to make it worth your while..
END OF MESSAGE
and if you didn't read Part 2, here it is
BEEP
Viv, I know it’s been a while, but this is kinda important, so just hear me out.. Remember how we both agreed that if and when Chef Antoine makes a stateside appearance, we promised ourselves that we weren’t going to miss it? Well It seems good fortune took a very nice dump on us. After registering an interest on his forum six months ago, I got a mysterious email last week about a reservation for the day after tomorrow. It seems the master is back in town and we’ve got tickets to the show. Now I know, you might be still be a little upset about what happened with your cat, I mean it was wrong and stupid of me to try and break into your apartment, and then inadvertently stomp and kill your cat in the whole mess, I can see why you’d be upset. There really was no excuse for my actions. But I am past that period in my life and after countless hours of therapy, medication and a lot of soul searching and soul answering, I am completely over the whole situation, I really feel fine and want us to get back to being friends again. I just got a call this morning confirming the reservation, actually it felt more like it was being dictated to me, but hey it’s Antoine, I’m not arguing.. I agreed over the phone and the amount was immediately deducted – so I’ve committed us to dinner. I know whatever you’re thinking, and let me ease your worries by dispelling those thoughts from your head, I’m calling because this is Chef Antoine, not just some decorated 3 star chef, this is the underbelly of haute cuisine. Daring, and unperturbed by any morsel, this is the ultimate adventure in our culinary exploits – we will walk the tightrope of fine dining and gastronomical anomalies.. I feel like a babbling idiot for having drawn this message out so long, give me a call and lets enjoy this experience together, as friends of course..
END OF MESSAGE
BEEP
Hanson, wow, I really wasn’t expecting to hear from you, really. I mean, I thought we agreed I wouldn’t press charges as long as you left me alone… You tried to break into my apartment, then climbed up the fire escape, broke my window and cut yourself in the process, stomped and murdered my cat, and bled all over my floor. I walked into my apartment and found you laying there unconscious bleeding all over my carpet. I had to call the paramedics and then carpet cleaners immediately – do you know how difficult it is to clean human and feline bloodstains? I know about the therapy and the medication, I spoke to your mother and although I can empathize with her reasoning and attempts to convince me that you weren’t a cretin. It was very nice of you to think of me with the reservations and all, considering it was me who first introduced you to the epicurean realm of Antoine – and it was me who said that I’d gladly lop off and give away your left nut for an 8 course degustation by the chef.. All that said, I admit I am impressed that you managed to score a reservation, the last time he was in town, tables were being scalped for a couple of thousand dollars a pop – hats off, really.. Unfortunately, I can’t make it for a couple of reasons, the obvious one being that I still think you’re capable of going postal on me, and, I’m trying to think of the best way of saying this, but the words aren’t forming so I’ll just come out and say it: I’m seeing someone... I’m seeing someone, and I’m happy with him, and I don’t know how comfortable he’d feel with me going out to dinner with you. So thanks for the invite, but I’m seeing someone and I just can’t do dinner with you behind his back, and I don’t feel like explaining everything to him about us, so it’s just too messy.. Enjoy the meal
END OF MESSAGE
BEEP
Listen viv, I totally understand why you’d refuse the invitation, considering everything that’s happened between us the last couple of months, but I really did call you as a friend. It really is insulting that you’d think of me wanting to try and win you back – or that I haven’t healed completely in regards to our relationship. I’m a different person now, and I have started seeing someone myself, but she’s just not that into food, and I would’ve invited a buddy of mine, but you were the only one who’d really appreciate the meal and the effort that went into it. If it would make you feel better, why don’t you invite your boyfriend. I just called and squeezed a table for the three of us, if he’s interested.. Everything is so secretive, I won’t know the destination till a couple of hours before the meal.. maybe we should all meet up for a drink before dinner and then head out there.. I’ll give you a call..
END OF MESSAGE
BEEP
Hey it’s me, just wanted to say hi and see if you’re were free and interested in having the most exclusive / exquisite meal in town tonight.. dare I say it? maybe even this year... spoke to a friend of mine, well he’s more of an acquaintance and it seems chef Antoine de Baussy, umpteen star rated chef is in town and is looking to really cook up a storm. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of him, but Antione’s meals are always unconventional, strange and incredibly delicious. Having studied under the greatest of masters, his eccentricity has always gotten him kicked out of kitchens and restaurants – but he has a faithful following that will do whatever to taste his creations. He spends four months a year traveling the world sampling some of the most peculiar fare and exclusively preparing meals for those that can afford it. Eating a dish prepared by him is up there with drinking absinthe and taking art classes with van gogh. To be honest with you, I would die to eat his food, but I don’t like the person pushing out the invite too much. I mentioned having a boyfriend and you were immediately invited. I know it doesn’t mean much to you, but it does to me, and having you there would really make this special meal more memorable.. so what do you say? Wanna help a cute girl out? I promise to make it worth your while..
END OF MESSAGE
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Our Man Davis Part 2
if you didn't read part 1 here it is
With his vision shifting tricks on him, Davis woke up tussled in a strange bed of a strange room in a strange apartment. To add more confusion to his aching head, blurry vision and parched mouth, he was stripped down to his boxers. Fearing the worst, Davis wondered how many drinks he had? Did he do something stupid? What was the outcome of the evening with viv? He wondered if this was her Egon Scheile print staring back at him. Noticing his pants, Davis struggles out of bed and almost knocks over the wastebasket smelling of dried vomit and things not too ticklish to tell. This was bad, he thought, going home with viv and then just when the mood for animal sex is set, he ends up throwing up in her apartment in front of her.. What an impression, what grief, what a horrible smell. The events of last night flashed in front of his eyes, bringing a sharp stabbing pain gushing fake blood all over the floor. He ate meat.. he ate a fellow living animal.. he propagated the idea that cannibalism was ok.. The cold air above the covers sends shivers through his guilt-riddled body, and then he smells something all too familiar infiltrating his nostrils, something that reminds him of home. Fresh pumpernickel bread..
Exiting the room, Davis encounters his two best friends and resident couple of their group of pals, Jake and Rain. It was sometime during senior year in college that Jake and Rain hooked up and they haven’t looked back since. It was a beautiful summer day in which the constitution of the vegan icing held up, the experimental indie band “broken taillights lead to love” folked it up on the dance floor, and their wedding cake was consumed by all. Although Davis sometimes feels like a third wheel hanging out with them, they see things completely different.. Handing over the fresh bread and some softened almond butter to help settle his stomach, Rain begins with the grilling.
Well it looks like our upchucking troubled romeo is up, care to explain yourself nicknolte? You look like a train wreck, what the hell happened to you? Mustering an embarrassed smile, Davis approaches his friends and begins to mouth an apology for his antics, whatever they were.. Secretly, he was thankful he wasn’t doing this walk of shame in front of Viv.. His shrugged shoulders invited his friends to relate to him the events of their evening. After a scrumptious dinner of Jake’s famous vegetarian spinach and mushroom lasagna followed by a movie, the duo is awakened by the drunken cheers and jeers of someone out their window. Lo and behold, the drunken sot just so happens to be their dear friend Davis, who is looking like he desperately needs to sober up.. once helped inside their until just recently quiet abode, Davis regales to his friends the marvelous encounter with viv and how this is the happiest he’s been in years. He tells them of the wonderful laughs they shared, the interests in common, the connection, and most importantly the way her hand fit in his.. it all felt so natural.. and then, in an emotional train wreck his mannerisms take a 180 degree turn from his very drunk and happy self, to the manic depressive they never knew him to be.. Squawking on about not being able to live with himself, the hypocrisy, his wicked soul, the despicable despicability of his evening.. It was soon after announcing how disgusted he was with himself that his awareness began to flee his body. Feeling the slump, Davis ends up passed out in Jake’s lap.. the gurgles and burbles jake felt in his lap prompted a swift response leading to the disposal of their inebriated friend in their newly redecorated second bedroom.. Davis kept the peace disturbed for the rest of the night alternating between concert acoustical projectile vomiting and loud snoring.. Rain did mention that the only thing that kept her from throwing her friend out on the street was the hilarious early morning drunken rendition of “we built this city” by starship, in which Davis awoke, threw up, belted out a couple of lines hanging on the “rock and rollll” bit and then fell back asleep.. Davis, embarrassed, but slightly pleased that it wasn’t viv he was explaining himself to, apologized to his friends and chalked up the evening up to the foolproof defense of lots and lots of alcohol, and probably some unwashed vegetables.
*Cell phone ringing*
Davis fumbles through his pockets and produces his cellular phone which has “viv” blinking all over it.. the screen is showing off a picture of viv, taken last night with her lips puckered up.. good sign, at least she’s puckered up. Answering the call, the air suddenly feels cleaner.. the sound of her hello launches our man Davis back into a lull of serenity.. the pounding headache is soon a distant memory as the laughs and connections from the previous night are quickly brought back into the forefront.
Dropping the rules and dating standards of the late 90s and early naughties, Viv abandons the 2-3 day callback rule or whatever that silly movie pop culture inference was. She felt like talking to him and wanted to see if he felt the same, so she called. On this day, this very particular day, she wasn’t prepared to sit there and wonder what if. After all, it felt very right with Davis, in fact, it felt more right with him than anyone else in a longtime.. the idea of everything all happening too suddenly did strike her like a blunt object upside her head, or was that her own hangover? It didn’t matter because whether it was too early or too sudden, it wasn’t really registering in her head, she will do what she wants.. Viv composed herself and was just calling to see if he was suffering from a hangover like her, and if he’d like to continue their date aided by the perfect hangover cure…
Stepping into a puddle of sunshine, Davis couldn’t believe his luck - another date with the dame - this time lunch… viv asks for a little time to look somewhat presentable, a request happily agreed upon by the crusty looking dried vomit breath granola.. a quick trip back home, shower change and then meet up outside her building - very promising..
Staying in radio, they reconvene from their previous evening outside her delightful rennovated brownstone. Strolling down the neighborhood, a hodgepodge of identities.. Colombian flags hanging out the bodegas, the Pakistani curry palace and butcher shop, the bike messenger gangs, artists lugging their supplies, junkies passed out on the sidewalk, yuppies and their puppies, a lot of hodging and quite a bit of podging too. Taking a turn down summers they arrive at their destination… little defe.. The clientele and staff in the main room are all glued to the TV bolted to the ceiling, the number one Hispanic soap opera in terms of viewer-ship, Esmeralda.
Pedro greets his regular Saturday lunch crowd with much love, because they are like family, and that’s how the burly man does business, on a familial level. On Saturdays, they come for one thing and that’s his Menudo fin de semana. People drag themselves from all over both sides of the river for his famous hangover special. Today was turning into a soso day he thought, guess it was a tame weekend for many, an opinion soon altered once he spotted one of his regulars, who smiles back as she drags a companion in tow. Borracha, Cómo estás? I’m fine thanks, can we get a table for two? Jaayys of course, la casa de pedro es tu casa. Y tu novio? Yeah we just had a little to much to drink last night.. need a little recovery.. vamos, take that table there and I send someone. Gracias Gordo. borracha..
Viv’s two finger raise sends the waiter off with the mental order – he knows what to bring and soon scurries back with two orange sodas, and then scampers off again as the straws begin to bob up the bottles … back to their date, the two fall back into that easygoing conversation that just seems to work wonders for them. On the right foot, they have enough in common and enough not in common to make the whole polar opposite and parallel concepts seem more than just promising. She finds out about his parents and their organic tendencies, while he pictures her descriptions of spending her summers growing up at the beach. Prompted by his inquisitive looks around the restaurant, Viv does a little introduction to la casa de pedro, your own slice of little defe, Mexico city.. Pedro, originally from Guadalajara, came here and spent many years as a dishwasher, working his way up as a line cook at a fancy restaurant until he managed to save up some cash and open up a little piece of home here on foreign soil.. Incorporating the recipes of his mother and grandmothers, they make a mean mole (pronounced mohlay) and real Mexican food, none of that texmex mexas mumbo gumbo.. briefly touching on last night, they both admit to not remembering much other than that it was a great night, one to be relived again. Their level of comfort with each other, a clear indication that they’re more than just clicking together has them thinking all sorts of interesting thoughts lacing their conversations in the sexiest of talk. Davis mentioned the alcohol and how he really couldn’t stomach the idea of meat this midmorning, truth be told, he couldn’t stomach the guilt again and wanted to forget the carnivorous events of the previous night.. Viv told him to sit back and relax, she’s already ordered the dish with the magical hangover healing properties.. meat or no meat, this was the only thing on this planet that will cure their pain..
Strolling over in his checks and chef whites, pedro carries two steaming bowls over to their table. Although he now spent more time at the counter watching the Mexican soaps, Pedro still liked to dress up in his chef getup - just incase he had to teach those incompetent cousins of his a thing or two about real Mexican cuisine. Pedro noticed table six were suffering from a bad presentation of Guillermo and his shabby tamales, pendejo. The Menudo was all him though, aided by his wife Begoña, Pedro picks the choicest cuts of unwanted meat for this traditional soup and starts up from early Saturday morning to prepare for the breakfast/brunch/lunch/afternoon Menudo rush. Placing the two bowls of reddish soup in front of his customers he plants a crafty aluminium foil basket containing some warm tortillas, chopped onion, dried oregano, freshly chopped cilantro, and a couple of lime wedges on their crowded table.. bon provencho borracha. Gracias gordo.
The aroma wafting from the bowl up Davis’ nose was definitely foreign – yet alluring at the same time. There was a sun kissed touch of funk, a chilli citrus scent which excited his nostrils – but it all seemed to calm the throbbing pain in his head. His admittance of never having tried Menudo, prompted a Try it first and let me know what you think. Dutifully listening to his siren, Davis sprinkles some oregano, cilantro and chopped white onion into his soup.. a squeeze of lime followed by a stir of his spoon and prepares himself for his first bite.. his spoon reveals a number of little tidbits: some onion, chillies, hominy, but one thing’s for sure there’s meat in there..
A lifetime spent without ever having meat grace his lips and he’s forced into a situation twice in less than 24 hours.. Davis shudders looking at his date tuck into her soup and immediately notices a change in the demeanour in her face.. nothing kills a hangover like Menudo.. he nods off and stares at his spoon.. Although her company was enough to put his mind off the dehydrating effects of the alcohol consumed last night, the slice of pumpernickel and almond butter did very little for soaking up the pains in his stomach and his head.. The smell was starting to invade and convince him that a spoon would be worth it.. maybe he didn’t have to try the meat.. just a quick slurp of broth, little taste for curiosity’s sake. another little taste later, and the spicy chilliness of the broth with a crunchy sliced white onion and zesty lime juice combined for an incredibly tangy and nourishing taste in his mouth.. it didn’t just go down well, it went down great.. another spoonful of the broth tasted even better, wow, pedro really knows his Menudo.. Maybe it was time to try the meat he thought.. his body was telling him something, that whatever he was feeding it was working and he was actually feeling better.. quickly closing his eyes, Davis shoved a spoonful of soup into his mouth, this time with a little bit of meat. The wavy texture of the meat releasing tangy bits of soup onto his tongue carried a multitude of flavours.. the chilli, lime, onion, tang and a little bit of funk worked great. Feeling foreign in his mouth, the meat rubbed against his tastebuds and pushed a little bit of funk into his mouth.. the chew was slightly easy and slightly rubbery.. Going down his throat the wavy texture went down easier than he thought..
You like it? A question Davis replied with a serious nod and another spoonful.. I don’t like telling people what Menudo is until people have tried it. Keeping information from people isn’t the best way to have a meal of something you don’t know. Pedro probably has the best one in town and I just wanted you to have a taste see if you can handle the soup and then see if you’re man enough to handle the truth. Of course he is man enough, Davis and his sundried tomato and grilled zucchini panini sandwiches are definitely man enough, the fact that he’s shoved his principles to the back of his throat is proof he’s man enough, but she doesn’t know that.. Perturbed at how his wonderful date has been constantly surprising his morality, Davis remembers the caveat to this quandary: he never mentioned his vegetarian ways, no fault of hers – how can he fault her, she’s just acting on the information he’s given her.. I just thought it was latin america’s homage to Puerto Rican boy bands.. to remain polite, viv employs recycled laughter track 23..
Really enjoying her soup, she gets underway in her explanation of the time-honoured tradition of global peasant food. In the days long gone, the Patrons of the haciendas used to get the choicest cuts of meat from the animals, leaving the offals and waste parts to the peasants. It was through slow cooking and experimentation, that led some cook to the discovery of the edible and deliciousness of this unwanted bit of animal meat. I mean who would’ve though that the honeycomb pocket texture of a slow cooked cow’s stomach would be the best method to deliver the tangy spicy broth onto the diners palette. She explained that beef tripe soup was almost a national dish in Mexico and is known to have magical healing effects on alcohol beaten bodies - a replenishing quality Davis was feeling throughout his body.. Menudo normally takes a long time to prepare, with the meat being so tough and all, and is normally served after a wedding or new-years eve to help with people’s hangovers. Halfway through her explanation, Davis comes to an impasse, his hangover is calling for more of this funky cow stomach soup, while his head is telling him he might as well go out and try freebasing cocaine while he’s at it. The evil bastard that he is has just disappointed everyone close to him, from his parents to his friends to his ideals and to the animals, the poor little animals... Luckily or unluckily for his conscience, the irresistible charms of viv have helped ease his guilt and push his principles at the bottom of his worry pile.
I know I should’ve told you earlier on about Menudo, but I just wanted you to try it, and if you were as hung-over as I was then maybe this helped. Some people can’t handle the fact that they’re eating the stomach, but then they turn around and eat different cuts of meat off the animal.. to me, I say, if they’re going to butcher the animal to begin with, then we might as well eat everything we can. And with that, Davis finds a rope of logic in her words leading him to another spoonful of the soup and wavy honeycombed meat once known as a buttercup’s belly..
With his vision shifting tricks on him, Davis woke up tussled in a strange bed of a strange room in a strange apartment. To add more confusion to his aching head, blurry vision and parched mouth, he was stripped down to his boxers. Fearing the worst, Davis wondered how many drinks he had? Did he do something stupid? What was the outcome of the evening with viv? He wondered if this was her Egon Scheile print staring back at him. Noticing his pants, Davis struggles out of bed and almost knocks over the wastebasket smelling of dried vomit and things not too ticklish to tell. This was bad, he thought, going home with viv and then just when the mood for animal sex is set, he ends up throwing up in her apartment in front of her.. What an impression, what grief, what a horrible smell. The events of last night flashed in front of his eyes, bringing a sharp stabbing pain gushing fake blood all over the floor. He ate meat.. he ate a fellow living animal.. he propagated the idea that cannibalism was ok.. The cold air above the covers sends shivers through his guilt-riddled body, and then he smells something all too familiar infiltrating his nostrils, something that reminds him of home. Fresh pumpernickel bread..
Exiting the room, Davis encounters his two best friends and resident couple of their group of pals, Jake and Rain. It was sometime during senior year in college that Jake and Rain hooked up and they haven’t looked back since. It was a beautiful summer day in which the constitution of the vegan icing held up, the experimental indie band “broken taillights lead to love” folked it up on the dance floor, and their wedding cake was consumed by all. Although Davis sometimes feels like a third wheel hanging out with them, they see things completely different.. Handing over the fresh bread and some softened almond butter to help settle his stomach, Rain begins with the grilling.
Well it looks like our upchucking troubled romeo is up, care to explain yourself nicknolte? You look like a train wreck, what the hell happened to you? Mustering an embarrassed smile, Davis approaches his friends and begins to mouth an apology for his antics, whatever they were.. Secretly, he was thankful he wasn’t doing this walk of shame in front of Viv.. His shrugged shoulders invited his friends to relate to him the events of their evening. After a scrumptious dinner of Jake’s famous vegetarian spinach and mushroom lasagna followed by a movie, the duo is awakened by the drunken cheers and jeers of someone out their window. Lo and behold, the drunken sot just so happens to be their dear friend Davis, who is looking like he desperately needs to sober up.. once helped inside their until just recently quiet abode, Davis regales to his friends the marvelous encounter with viv and how this is the happiest he’s been in years. He tells them of the wonderful laughs they shared, the interests in common, the connection, and most importantly the way her hand fit in his.. it all felt so natural.. and then, in an emotional train wreck his mannerisms take a 180 degree turn from his very drunk and happy self, to the manic depressive they never knew him to be.. Squawking on about not being able to live with himself, the hypocrisy, his wicked soul, the despicable despicability of his evening.. It was soon after announcing how disgusted he was with himself that his awareness began to flee his body. Feeling the slump, Davis ends up passed out in Jake’s lap.. the gurgles and burbles jake felt in his lap prompted a swift response leading to the disposal of their inebriated friend in their newly redecorated second bedroom.. Davis kept the peace disturbed for the rest of the night alternating between concert acoustical projectile vomiting and loud snoring.. Rain did mention that the only thing that kept her from throwing her friend out on the street was the hilarious early morning drunken rendition of “we built this city” by starship, in which Davis awoke, threw up, belted out a couple of lines hanging on the “rock and rollll” bit and then fell back asleep.. Davis, embarrassed, but slightly pleased that it wasn’t viv he was explaining himself to, apologized to his friends and chalked up the evening up to the foolproof defense of lots and lots of alcohol, and probably some unwashed vegetables.
*Cell phone ringing*
Davis fumbles through his pockets and produces his cellular phone which has “viv” blinking all over it.. the screen is showing off a picture of viv, taken last night with her lips puckered up.. good sign, at least she’s puckered up. Answering the call, the air suddenly feels cleaner.. the sound of her hello launches our man Davis back into a lull of serenity.. the pounding headache is soon a distant memory as the laughs and connections from the previous night are quickly brought back into the forefront.
Dropping the rules and dating standards of the late 90s and early naughties, Viv abandons the 2-3 day callback rule or whatever that silly movie pop culture inference was. She felt like talking to him and wanted to see if he felt the same, so she called. On this day, this very particular day, she wasn’t prepared to sit there and wonder what if. After all, it felt very right with Davis, in fact, it felt more right with him than anyone else in a longtime.. the idea of everything all happening too suddenly did strike her like a blunt object upside her head, or was that her own hangover? It didn’t matter because whether it was too early or too sudden, it wasn’t really registering in her head, she will do what she wants.. Viv composed herself and was just calling to see if he was suffering from a hangover like her, and if he’d like to continue their date aided by the perfect hangover cure…
Stepping into a puddle of sunshine, Davis couldn’t believe his luck - another date with the dame - this time lunch… viv asks for a little time to look somewhat presentable, a request happily agreed upon by the crusty looking dried vomit breath granola.. a quick trip back home, shower change and then meet up outside her building - very promising..
Staying in radio, they reconvene from their previous evening outside her delightful rennovated brownstone. Strolling down the neighborhood, a hodgepodge of identities.. Colombian flags hanging out the bodegas, the Pakistani curry palace and butcher shop, the bike messenger gangs, artists lugging their supplies, junkies passed out on the sidewalk, yuppies and their puppies, a lot of hodging and quite a bit of podging too. Taking a turn down summers they arrive at their destination… little defe.. The clientele and staff in the main room are all glued to the TV bolted to the ceiling, the number one Hispanic soap opera in terms of viewer-ship, Esmeralda.
Pedro greets his regular Saturday lunch crowd with much love, because they are like family, and that’s how the burly man does business, on a familial level. On Saturdays, they come for one thing and that’s his Menudo fin de semana. People drag themselves from all over both sides of the river for his famous hangover special. Today was turning into a soso day he thought, guess it was a tame weekend for many, an opinion soon altered once he spotted one of his regulars, who smiles back as she drags a companion in tow. Borracha, Cómo estás? I’m fine thanks, can we get a table for two? Jaayys of course, la casa de pedro es tu casa. Y tu novio? Yeah we just had a little to much to drink last night.. need a little recovery.. vamos, take that table there and I send someone. Gracias Gordo. borracha..
Viv’s two finger raise sends the waiter off with the mental order – he knows what to bring and soon scurries back with two orange sodas, and then scampers off again as the straws begin to bob up the bottles … back to their date, the two fall back into that easygoing conversation that just seems to work wonders for them. On the right foot, they have enough in common and enough not in common to make the whole polar opposite and parallel concepts seem more than just promising. She finds out about his parents and their organic tendencies, while he pictures her descriptions of spending her summers growing up at the beach. Prompted by his inquisitive looks around the restaurant, Viv does a little introduction to la casa de pedro, your own slice of little defe, Mexico city.. Pedro, originally from Guadalajara, came here and spent many years as a dishwasher, working his way up as a line cook at a fancy restaurant until he managed to save up some cash and open up a little piece of home here on foreign soil.. Incorporating the recipes of his mother and grandmothers, they make a mean mole (pronounced mohlay) and real Mexican food, none of that texmex mexas mumbo gumbo.. briefly touching on last night, they both admit to not remembering much other than that it was a great night, one to be relived again. Their level of comfort with each other, a clear indication that they’re more than just clicking together has them thinking all sorts of interesting thoughts lacing their conversations in the sexiest of talk. Davis mentioned the alcohol and how he really couldn’t stomach the idea of meat this midmorning, truth be told, he couldn’t stomach the guilt again and wanted to forget the carnivorous events of the previous night.. Viv told him to sit back and relax, she’s already ordered the dish with the magical hangover healing properties.. meat or no meat, this was the only thing on this planet that will cure their pain..
Strolling over in his checks and chef whites, pedro carries two steaming bowls over to their table. Although he now spent more time at the counter watching the Mexican soaps, Pedro still liked to dress up in his chef getup - just incase he had to teach those incompetent cousins of his a thing or two about real Mexican cuisine. Pedro noticed table six were suffering from a bad presentation of Guillermo and his shabby tamales, pendejo. The Menudo was all him though, aided by his wife Begoña, Pedro picks the choicest cuts of unwanted meat for this traditional soup and starts up from early Saturday morning to prepare for the breakfast/brunch/lunch/afternoon Menudo rush. Placing the two bowls of reddish soup in front of his customers he plants a crafty aluminium foil basket containing some warm tortillas, chopped onion, dried oregano, freshly chopped cilantro, and a couple of lime wedges on their crowded table.. bon provencho borracha. Gracias gordo.
The aroma wafting from the bowl up Davis’ nose was definitely foreign – yet alluring at the same time. There was a sun kissed touch of funk, a chilli citrus scent which excited his nostrils – but it all seemed to calm the throbbing pain in his head. His admittance of never having tried Menudo, prompted a Try it first and let me know what you think. Dutifully listening to his siren, Davis sprinkles some oregano, cilantro and chopped white onion into his soup.. a squeeze of lime followed by a stir of his spoon and prepares himself for his first bite.. his spoon reveals a number of little tidbits: some onion, chillies, hominy, but one thing’s for sure there’s meat in there..
A lifetime spent without ever having meat grace his lips and he’s forced into a situation twice in less than 24 hours.. Davis shudders looking at his date tuck into her soup and immediately notices a change in the demeanour in her face.. nothing kills a hangover like Menudo.. he nods off and stares at his spoon.. Although her company was enough to put his mind off the dehydrating effects of the alcohol consumed last night, the slice of pumpernickel and almond butter did very little for soaking up the pains in his stomach and his head.. The smell was starting to invade and convince him that a spoon would be worth it.. maybe he didn’t have to try the meat.. just a quick slurp of broth, little taste for curiosity’s sake. another little taste later, and the spicy chilliness of the broth with a crunchy sliced white onion and zesty lime juice combined for an incredibly tangy and nourishing taste in his mouth.. it didn’t just go down well, it went down great.. another spoonful of the broth tasted even better, wow, pedro really knows his Menudo.. Maybe it was time to try the meat he thought.. his body was telling him something, that whatever he was feeding it was working and he was actually feeling better.. quickly closing his eyes, Davis shoved a spoonful of soup into his mouth, this time with a little bit of meat. The wavy texture of the meat releasing tangy bits of soup onto his tongue carried a multitude of flavours.. the chilli, lime, onion, tang and a little bit of funk worked great. Feeling foreign in his mouth, the meat rubbed against his tastebuds and pushed a little bit of funk into his mouth.. the chew was slightly easy and slightly rubbery.. Going down his throat the wavy texture went down easier than he thought..
You like it? A question Davis replied with a serious nod and another spoonful.. I don’t like telling people what Menudo is until people have tried it. Keeping information from people isn’t the best way to have a meal of something you don’t know. Pedro probably has the best one in town and I just wanted you to have a taste see if you can handle the soup and then see if you’re man enough to handle the truth. Of course he is man enough, Davis and his sundried tomato and grilled zucchini panini sandwiches are definitely man enough, the fact that he’s shoved his principles to the back of his throat is proof he’s man enough, but she doesn’t know that.. Perturbed at how his wonderful date has been constantly surprising his morality, Davis remembers the caveat to this quandary: he never mentioned his vegetarian ways, no fault of hers – how can he fault her, she’s just acting on the information he’s given her.. I just thought it was latin america’s homage to Puerto Rican boy bands.. to remain polite, viv employs recycled laughter track 23..
Really enjoying her soup, she gets underway in her explanation of the time-honoured tradition of global peasant food. In the days long gone, the Patrons of the haciendas used to get the choicest cuts of meat from the animals, leaving the offals and waste parts to the peasants. It was through slow cooking and experimentation, that led some cook to the discovery of the edible and deliciousness of this unwanted bit of animal meat. I mean who would’ve though that the honeycomb pocket texture of a slow cooked cow’s stomach would be the best method to deliver the tangy spicy broth onto the diners palette. She explained that beef tripe soup was almost a national dish in Mexico and is known to have magical healing effects on alcohol beaten bodies - a replenishing quality Davis was feeling throughout his body.. Menudo normally takes a long time to prepare, with the meat being so tough and all, and is normally served after a wedding or new-years eve to help with people’s hangovers. Halfway through her explanation, Davis comes to an impasse, his hangover is calling for more of this funky cow stomach soup, while his head is telling him he might as well go out and try freebasing cocaine while he’s at it. The evil bastard that he is has just disappointed everyone close to him, from his parents to his friends to his ideals and to the animals, the poor little animals... Luckily or unluckily for his conscience, the irresistible charms of viv have helped ease his guilt and push his principles at the bottom of his worry pile.
I know I should’ve told you earlier on about Menudo, but I just wanted you to try it, and if you were as hung-over as I was then maybe this helped. Some people can’t handle the fact that they’re eating the stomach, but then they turn around and eat different cuts of meat off the animal.. to me, I say, if they’re going to butcher the animal to begin with, then we might as well eat everything we can. And with that, Davis finds a rope of logic in her words leading him to another spoonful of the soup and wavy honeycombed meat once known as a buttercup’s belly..
Monday, November 13, 2006
Our Man Davis Part 1
Just a little introduction: a idea hatched that has quickly manifested into a multi-part short story. If you like it, there's a part 2, and if you like that, well lets not get too carried away. Anyways, without any further delay...
Amidst the laughing and loud exchanges of the restaurant's main dining room, the server comes around with his powerfully bleached white shirt carrying two oversized extremely heavy plates, weaving in and out of earshot conversations, pirouetting around table 7 with great ease. It was the type of eatery that tried to loudly insinuate its class and fine dining experience by weighing down their tables with those huge oversized extremely heavy plates.. Rudolpho was enjoying serving the diners at table 7, his sixth sense felt a first date, and from what he could tell, things were going well. Muy Bien Rudolpho thought, Muy Bien indeed..
So far, dinner with Vivienne had gone off magnificently, Davis still couldn't believe his luck at how well he was connecting with this girl.. From their chance encounter at the coffee shop, where he fell victim to her smoke scarred voice box and oversized black sunglasses ordering her black coffee, to this dinner in which her cigarette smoke made her look even more mysterious and alluring like in a old black and white film.. What she saw in his Birkenstock shuffling self, he'll never know, but as they say, fortune favors the brave, and on that specific morning, our man Davis took his chances.. in all honestly, it wasn't Davis who took his chances, Viv noticed the neat little granola bar trying to check her out and she decided he was a pretty nice on the eyes.. After a quick quip, they were soon chuckling about the extravagant drawn out orders at these overpriced coffeehouses, a joke Davis snorted at while he hid his grande decaf saffron chai tea latte with no fat skimmed soymilk and refugee free raw cane brown sugar from her inquisitive eyes. The persistent ticking on their wristwatches ushered them both to rush off to their respective places of employment, leaving a short pause in the air soon followed by plans for dinner. Davis suggested the time and Viv suggested the place.
Throughout the time at the bar waiting for their table, Viv, found out more about her mysterious granola bar over a number of quickly drunk martinis.. She could sense his uneasy relaxed manner as he shuddered at her thing for athletes and retorted with his accuracy at bocce, a joke or not, she still wasn't sure.. He did have some funny stories with his travels around the world and his animal stories, like the snake slithering incident while relieving himself out on an ancient burial ground in the dense jungle during his time in South America with the Peace Corps. Round after round of drinks, they laughed away the nervousness one would experience from a first date with someone they were attracted to.. swill after sip they invited the comfort bubble to encompass them both..
The server made his way to the table and kerplunked the plates with a smile in front of the two hitting it off.. Davis really paid no attention to what he was ordering, a quick I'll have whatever you're having, resulted in an incomprehensible order with a wink from the server.. Since pre-dinner drinks had gone so well, he thought this would be the perfect mantra to carry him through the evening, a little bit of blind faith and trust in his companion's order. With an instructed air of pomposity, Rudolpho, calls on the attention of the diners at table 7 for something resembling a pre-meal shuffle, in which he presents a sliver of his incredible knowledge of the Bolero. The onus is on him to dazzle the diners with his dance moves and foot shuffling – this could make or break the date, he thinks, best give them the big finale making it all so memorable. He finishes off his moves with a suppressed but definitely personalized stamp and then directs their eyes to the two plates of sirloin steak in front of them..
In a spell resembling a touch of vertigo, Davis sat there frozen and shocked. He remained traumatized staring at the plate of chopped up meat of a fellow living being grilled to the point of visible markings.. Aghast at what he got himself into, somewhere in the middle of having drinks with the woman who has occupied his dreams of recent, our man here forgot to mention he is a strict vegetarian. Actually not just a strict vegetarian, an austere vegetarian. Davis founded the Vegan movement in college, in which he petitioned to get organic vegetarian food served at all the food outlets on campus. He led the line at the "great meat massacre" in '04, a very nicely staged protest against the illegal slaughtering of the pink spotted calves of western Greenland. He participated in the farmer’s market sit in, demanding minimum wage for the cheap labor lettuce pickers. How could he have forgotten to mention to his date that he does not eat meat? Damning the martinis under his breath, his eyes drifted to a place where the poor little steak was un-cooked, un-hacked, re-fused, re-skinned, and re-animated. Not exactly sure on what he should be doing, the fork rests difficultly in his hands.
Meanwhile, Viv turns to her date and proceeds to explain her love of meat and how being a carnivore is all she's ever known, a chord that struck a cringe in Davis.. in fact she wouldn't know what to do with vegetables if they didn't come with a side order of meat, a gag that drew out a panicky laugh from our man. She proceeded to tell him that this Sirloin presented for his epicurean pleasure was actual Kobe beef.. You can only call it Kobe beef if the cow was slaughtered in Kobe, Japan – otherwise it's Kobe Style (not the real thing). The special thing about this meal is that the meat has been specially flown in from Japan, giving them the "real deal", making this experience even more exclusive than he thought. Viv knows the head chef, and thought it would be a fitting surprise for what's turning into a great first date. She went on for a bit about the diet of beer and sake makes a world of difference with the marbling and how you can really tell the difference between Kobe and Kobe style.. the fat melts just perfectly helping the meat sear from the outside..
Little beads of sweat began dotting Davis' forehead as his level of comfort crashes through the floor.. Since the backdrop of this meal was a special occasion, he found it difficult to admit his abhorrence of cooked meat to his date. He thought about the situation.. Him being a strict vegetarian, meeting someone who could potentially be the woman of his dreams, and having her invite him to an exquisite meal. What was he to do? He thought about his parents, the former radicals and now organic farmers that vandalize local farms that use pesticides and unnatural growing processes on weekends with spray paint. He thought about how he spent his entire life having never tasted any kind of meat thanks to his mom's homemade veggie burgers and tofurkey. He considered their disappointment at their proud vegelete actually indulging in the one thing they tried so hard to teach him was wrong. The plate stared back at him as he pondered his options.. This poor defenseless animal was fed alcohol, massaged and then slaughtered and flown across the globe to be hacked into pieces by a mad machete wielding butcher, cooked, sizzled, eaten and digested by Viv and himself.. Then again, he had never tried steak before, and if he was going to indulge in the ultimate of sins, he might as well consider Prized Kobe Wagyu Beef a good place to start..
Slicing through her cut of dead cow, Viv shows off the undercooked cooked raw meat pink center surrounded by the expertly marked grilled crust. Making contact with the succulent morsel, her taste buds are awash in a sensation best described as the best perfectly cooked piece of meat she has ever had. There was the slightest inkling of displeasure knowing that the animal was raised with such care for the sole purpose of being killed - cooked - eaten - and passed. However, said displeasure was placated by the incredible softness of the meat, melting on her tongue sending her ideals off for a night of dancing. Amidst the orgasmic sounds reflecting her opinion and possible events to come, she notices a strange air about her companion - who although is really pushing her “no sex on a first date” rule, has gone a little quiet. Her date was sitting across inspecting his plate... Just as he begins to look slightly like melting into his seat, he shakes his head and begins to tackle his meal. She then watches him and his little oddities around the steak, which inadvertently reveal him to be the connoisseur as he carefully slices into his steak and inspect the doneness of the meat with a certain smidgen of skepticism.
After beating logic at his own game, Davis decided that it’s best to know what meat tastes like in order to appreciate his vegetarian ways further. His mind was made up.. just this once and only this once he was going to bend the rules a little, and shelve his ethics for a slice of love pie. After all, this was the best date he’d been on in years; there was no way he was going to make the whole situation uncomfortable now. No one has to know about this, he was just going to sample this exquisite fare and then he’ll know.. he stabbed the chunk of meat he just sliced through and began to raise the fork to his mouth.. His lips trembled with the idea of committing the definitive of sins in his leftwing doctrine of life, but a smile from Viv seemed to remind him of why he was doing this, why he was going to eat this banned meat and why he was going to prevail. With a revived drive, Davis sunk his fork into his mouth and began his dance with the devil, the meat devil that is.. At first, the texture of the meat fooled him, there was no crunch, it was soft, yet there was a certain resistance from the crust of the steak, the bite carried the same consistency that Davis envisioned meat would. The flavor released on his taste buds carried the salt and pepper used to rub the meat, a twinge of smokiness due to the grilling process. The meat in itself rolled around his tongue and with each bite, the juices were freed into his mouth releasing a certain melt away quality. The chewing continued, the meat gave away with every bite releasing more and more flavor into his mouth. And then with the first swallow, Davis decided that once you put the thought of eating a once living being, Kobe Beef actually tasted pretty good.. A smile eased its way back onto Davis’ face, another bite was eaten, and the conversation came flowing back.. he soon thought less and less of the defenseless cow that was slaughtered and more about the deliciousness of the cooked meat and the wonderful evening he was having with Viv.
Thinking about his actions, about his big secret, Davis thought it would be best if he kept his mouth shut about his evening, after all no one knew he was a vegetarian…
Amidst the laughing and loud exchanges of the restaurant's main dining room, the server comes around with his powerfully bleached white shirt carrying two oversized extremely heavy plates, weaving in and out of earshot conversations, pirouetting around table 7 with great ease. It was the type of eatery that tried to loudly insinuate its class and fine dining experience by weighing down their tables with those huge oversized extremely heavy plates.. Rudolpho was enjoying serving the diners at table 7, his sixth sense felt a first date, and from what he could tell, things were going well. Muy Bien Rudolpho thought, Muy Bien indeed..
So far, dinner with Vivienne had gone off magnificently, Davis still couldn't believe his luck at how well he was connecting with this girl.. From their chance encounter at the coffee shop, where he fell victim to her smoke scarred voice box and oversized black sunglasses ordering her black coffee, to this dinner in which her cigarette smoke made her look even more mysterious and alluring like in a old black and white film.. What she saw in his Birkenstock shuffling self, he'll never know, but as they say, fortune favors the brave, and on that specific morning, our man Davis took his chances.. in all honestly, it wasn't Davis who took his chances, Viv noticed the neat little granola bar trying to check her out and she decided he was a pretty nice on the eyes.. After a quick quip, they were soon chuckling about the extravagant drawn out orders at these overpriced coffeehouses, a joke Davis snorted at while he hid his grande decaf saffron chai tea latte with no fat skimmed soymilk and refugee free raw cane brown sugar from her inquisitive eyes. The persistent ticking on their wristwatches ushered them both to rush off to their respective places of employment, leaving a short pause in the air soon followed by plans for dinner. Davis suggested the time and Viv suggested the place.
Throughout the time at the bar waiting for their table, Viv, found out more about her mysterious granola bar over a number of quickly drunk martinis.. She could sense his uneasy relaxed manner as he shuddered at her thing for athletes and retorted with his accuracy at bocce, a joke or not, she still wasn't sure.. He did have some funny stories with his travels around the world and his animal stories, like the snake slithering incident while relieving himself out on an ancient burial ground in the dense jungle during his time in South America with the Peace Corps. Round after round of drinks, they laughed away the nervousness one would experience from a first date with someone they were attracted to.. swill after sip they invited the comfort bubble to encompass them both..
The server made his way to the table and kerplunked the plates with a smile in front of the two hitting it off.. Davis really paid no attention to what he was ordering, a quick I'll have whatever you're having, resulted in an incomprehensible order with a wink from the server.. Since pre-dinner drinks had gone so well, he thought this would be the perfect mantra to carry him through the evening, a little bit of blind faith and trust in his companion's order. With an instructed air of pomposity, Rudolpho, calls on the attention of the diners at table 7 for something resembling a pre-meal shuffle, in which he presents a sliver of his incredible knowledge of the Bolero. The onus is on him to dazzle the diners with his dance moves and foot shuffling – this could make or break the date, he thinks, best give them the big finale making it all so memorable. He finishes off his moves with a suppressed but definitely personalized stamp and then directs their eyes to the two plates of sirloin steak in front of them..
In a spell resembling a touch of vertigo, Davis sat there frozen and shocked. He remained traumatized staring at the plate of chopped up meat of a fellow living being grilled to the point of visible markings.. Aghast at what he got himself into, somewhere in the middle of having drinks with the woman who has occupied his dreams of recent, our man here forgot to mention he is a strict vegetarian. Actually not just a strict vegetarian, an austere vegetarian. Davis founded the Vegan movement in college, in which he petitioned to get organic vegetarian food served at all the food outlets on campus. He led the line at the "great meat massacre" in '04, a very nicely staged protest against the illegal slaughtering of the pink spotted calves of western Greenland. He participated in the farmer’s market sit in, demanding minimum wage for the cheap labor lettuce pickers. How could he have forgotten to mention to his date that he does not eat meat? Damning the martinis under his breath, his eyes drifted to a place where the poor little steak was un-cooked, un-hacked, re-fused, re-skinned, and re-animated. Not exactly sure on what he should be doing, the fork rests difficultly in his hands.
Meanwhile, Viv turns to her date and proceeds to explain her love of meat and how being a carnivore is all she's ever known, a chord that struck a cringe in Davis.. in fact she wouldn't know what to do with vegetables if they didn't come with a side order of meat, a gag that drew out a panicky laugh from our man. She proceeded to tell him that this Sirloin presented for his epicurean pleasure was actual Kobe beef.. You can only call it Kobe beef if the cow was slaughtered in Kobe, Japan – otherwise it's Kobe Style (not the real thing). The special thing about this meal is that the meat has been specially flown in from Japan, giving them the "real deal", making this experience even more exclusive than he thought. Viv knows the head chef, and thought it would be a fitting surprise for what's turning into a great first date. She went on for a bit about the diet of beer and sake makes a world of difference with the marbling and how you can really tell the difference between Kobe and Kobe style.. the fat melts just perfectly helping the meat sear from the outside..
Little beads of sweat began dotting Davis' forehead as his level of comfort crashes through the floor.. Since the backdrop of this meal was a special occasion, he found it difficult to admit his abhorrence of cooked meat to his date. He thought about the situation.. Him being a strict vegetarian, meeting someone who could potentially be the woman of his dreams, and having her invite him to an exquisite meal. What was he to do? He thought about his parents, the former radicals and now organic farmers that vandalize local farms that use pesticides and unnatural growing processes on weekends with spray paint. He thought about how he spent his entire life having never tasted any kind of meat thanks to his mom's homemade veggie burgers and tofurkey. He considered their disappointment at their proud vegelete actually indulging in the one thing they tried so hard to teach him was wrong. The plate stared back at him as he pondered his options.. This poor defenseless animal was fed alcohol, massaged and then slaughtered and flown across the globe to be hacked into pieces by a mad machete wielding butcher, cooked, sizzled, eaten and digested by Viv and himself.. Then again, he had never tried steak before, and if he was going to indulge in the ultimate of sins, he might as well consider Prized Kobe Wagyu Beef a good place to start..
Slicing through her cut of dead cow, Viv shows off the undercooked cooked raw meat pink center surrounded by the expertly marked grilled crust. Making contact with the succulent morsel, her taste buds are awash in a sensation best described as the best perfectly cooked piece of meat she has ever had. There was the slightest inkling of displeasure knowing that the animal was raised with such care for the sole purpose of being killed - cooked - eaten - and passed. However, said displeasure was placated by the incredible softness of the meat, melting on her tongue sending her ideals off for a night of dancing. Amidst the orgasmic sounds reflecting her opinion and possible events to come, she notices a strange air about her companion - who although is really pushing her “no sex on a first date” rule, has gone a little quiet. Her date was sitting across inspecting his plate... Just as he begins to look slightly like melting into his seat, he shakes his head and begins to tackle his meal. She then watches him and his little oddities around the steak, which inadvertently reveal him to be the connoisseur as he carefully slices into his steak and inspect the doneness of the meat with a certain smidgen of skepticism.
After beating logic at his own game, Davis decided that it’s best to know what meat tastes like in order to appreciate his vegetarian ways further. His mind was made up.. just this once and only this once he was going to bend the rules a little, and shelve his ethics for a slice of love pie. After all, this was the best date he’d been on in years; there was no way he was going to make the whole situation uncomfortable now. No one has to know about this, he was just going to sample this exquisite fare and then he’ll know.. he stabbed the chunk of meat he just sliced through and began to raise the fork to his mouth.. His lips trembled with the idea of committing the definitive of sins in his leftwing doctrine of life, but a smile from Viv seemed to remind him of why he was doing this, why he was going to eat this banned meat and why he was going to prevail. With a revived drive, Davis sunk his fork into his mouth and began his dance with the devil, the meat devil that is.. At first, the texture of the meat fooled him, there was no crunch, it was soft, yet there was a certain resistance from the crust of the steak, the bite carried the same consistency that Davis envisioned meat would. The flavor released on his taste buds carried the salt and pepper used to rub the meat, a twinge of smokiness due to the grilling process. The meat in itself rolled around his tongue and with each bite, the juices were freed into his mouth releasing a certain melt away quality. The chewing continued, the meat gave away with every bite releasing more and more flavor into his mouth. And then with the first swallow, Davis decided that once you put the thought of eating a once living being, Kobe Beef actually tasted pretty good.. A smile eased its way back onto Davis’ face, another bite was eaten, and the conversation came flowing back.. he soon thought less and less of the defenseless cow that was slaughtered and more about the deliciousness of the cooked meat and the wonderful evening he was having with Viv.
Thinking about his actions, about his big secret, Davis thought it would be best if he kept his mouth shut about his evening, after all no one knew he was a vegetarian…
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Streaming Consciousness
No stimulants, no chemicals, no spirits, no elixirs, just my imagination and some thoughts that’ve bounced around today..
Sex with a puffin was interesting until she asked if she could read me some Attar, he’s cool I suppose, but I then decided she was getting a little too spiritual for spirit’s sake. The only place I wanna conference birds is between the sheets. I asked her if she had anything to eat, she complained about not having any time to hit the super, so I ended up snacking on some seeds. She wanted a "sit down" regarding our commitment, I told her that I ain’t no goose. She cried and I left.. probably for the best, my breath always smelt of herring and she always beat me at Mancala. I hate losing at Mancala.
And then there were three: the coat check girl of a gentlemen’s club, a carnival ride operator, and a librarian’s assistant.. it was a task and a half trying to negotiate their way out of the giant mosquito’s nest – but the promise of thirteen pints of blood from a satanic virgin goat in heat was too good to pass up, the Giant Mosquito thought. they had 23 hours and 42 minutes to come good with the plasma or else it was their haemoglobin what was to be gobbled. The brutal death of the magician’s assistant was fresh in the back of their minds, their outcome in case of failure,, poor bunny, poor little bunny… looking on the bright side of things, this was their opportunity to break free from their sidekick labels and actually have their own adventure - even if it did come at the price of a spin-off with a group of number twos taking the lead..
Crossing the street to an internet café, I get hit by a thunderbolt in the form of a fox in pinks kicks navigating a Vespa.. she smiles my way and offers me a peek into my future.. I see room and push myself on. Inviting her for a cappuccino, she takes half the foam with a spoon and folds the rest in, I grind the beans with my molars and suck on the coffee mulch – caffeinated love perks us both up. “I wish you were here” she pauses as the phone crackles - I am enthralled by her pauses, not so much the crackles. I unwrap her like the cds I covet so dearly, eagerly hoping for electric ladyland and getting it. weird and charming she calls me, the perfect foil to her elegance and wit. In competition for coordination, I run through the fields collecting thoughts in a glass jar to light our way home..
I’m led to the dentist chair and told he’ll be a minute or two.. looking around I see the instruments of terror to be inflicted on my chompers.. to calm my nerves I get up and take a swig or 20 of the nitrous oxide in the corner.. hhhrrrmmm.. life is good.. a marsupial hops into the room and tells me that life as a marsupial all depends on if I view myself inside the pouch or outside the pouch.. just then a zebra appears out of thing air, grows fangs and dives straight for the marsupial’s neck. The blood gushes everywhere and starts to freak me out a little.. another 20 swigs, aaahhh much better…
So what is ballsy art? Handing me a cup with some nudey magazines she points to the bathroom and tells me to do my business.. she pulled the blinds and turned on the black lights, revealing her work in progress on the sheet up against the wall.. trying to walk me through her masterpiece, she points out the brush strokes and wants me to see the waterfall.. amazed, shocked, and slightly grossed out, I sat around trying to grasp her madness in an aesthetic light.. spart she calls it.. that’s the last time I spend the night at her place..
A café coretto a la grappa sets me straight.. 28 hours travelling, no sleep and Rem Koolhaas is pouring more grappa in my coffee.. the funny thing about architecture he says while we sip our spiked morning,, is that it’s not funny at all. I couldn’t agree more.. shaking the fatigue out of me, William Gibson shows up and invites himself to my scrambled egg whites.. after breakfast, lets go hit on some cyber samurai dressed high school girls in Harajuku he says.. cyberpunk or cyberperv I still haven’t figured him out.. Rem laughs, and Gibson looks at me weird like he’s hoping to insert wires into my head.. I need another coretto..
Sex with a puffin was interesting until she asked if she could read me some Attar, he’s cool I suppose, but I then decided she was getting a little too spiritual for spirit’s sake. The only place I wanna conference birds is between the sheets. I asked her if she had anything to eat, she complained about not having any time to hit the super, so I ended up snacking on some seeds. She wanted a "sit down" regarding our commitment, I told her that I ain’t no goose. She cried and I left.. probably for the best, my breath always smelt of herring and she always beat me at Mancala. I hate losing at Mancala.
And then there were three: the coat check girl of a gentlemen’s club, a carnival ride operator, and a librarian’s assistant.. it was a task and a half trying to negotiate their way out of the giant mosquito’s nest – but the promise of thirteen pints of blood from a satanic virgin goat in heat was too good to pass up, the Giant Mosquito thought. they had 23 hours and 42 minutes to come good with the plasma or else it was their haemoglobin what was to be gobbled. The brutal death of the magician’s assistant was fresh in the back of their minds, their outcome in case of failure,, poor bunny, poor little bunny… looking on the bright side of things, this was their opportunity to break free from their sidekick labels and actually have their own adventure - even if it did come at the price of a spin-off with a group of number twos taking the lead..
Crossing the street to an internet café, I get hit by a thunderbolt in the form of a fox in pinks kicks navigating a Vespa.. she smiles my way and offers me a peek into my future.. I see room and push myself on. Inviting her for a cappuccino, she takes half the foam with a spoon and folds the rest in, I grind the beans with my molars and suck on the coffee mulch – caffeinated love perks us both up. “I wish you were here” she pauses as the phone crackles - I am enthralled by her pauses, not so much the crackles. I unwrap her like the cds I covet so dearly, eagerly hoping for electric ladyland and getting it. weird and charming she calls me, the perfect foil to her elegance and wit. In competition for coordination, I run through the fields collecting thoughts in a glass jar to light our way home..
I’m led to the dentist chair and told he’ll be a minute or two.. looking around I see the instruments of terror to be inflicted on my chompers.. to calm my nerves I get up and take a swig or 20 of the nitrous oxide in the corner.. hhhrrrmmm.. life is good.. a marsupial hops into the room and tells me that life as a marsupial all depends on if I view myself inside the pouch or outside the pouch.. just then a zebra appears out of thing air, grows fangs and dives straight for the marsupial’s neck. The blood gushes everywhere and starts to freak me out a little.. another 20 swigs, aaahhh much better…
So what is ballsy art? Handing me a cup with some nudey magazines she points to the bathroom and tells me to do my business.. she pulled the blinds and turned on the black lights, revealing her work in progress on the sheet up against the wall.. trying to walk me through her masterpiece, she points out the brush strokes and wants me to see the waterfall.. amazed, shocked, and slightly grossed out, I sat around trying to grasp her madness in an aesthetic light.. spart she calls it.. that’s the last time I spend the night at her place..
A café coretto a la grappa sets me straight.. 28 hours travelling, no sleep and Rem Koolhaas is pouring more grappa in my coffee.. the funny thing about architecture he says while we sip our spiked morning,, is that it’s not funny at all. I couldn’t agree more.. shaking the fatigue out of me, William Gibson shows up and invites himself to my scrambled egg whites.. after breakfast, lets go hit on some cyber samurai dressed high school girls in Harajuku he says.. cyberpunk or cyberperv I still haven’t figured him out.. Rem laughs, and Gibson looks at me weird like he’s hoping to insert wires into my head.. I need another coretto..
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
the cameo of cameos
free crack and everyone gets laid
I let spontaneity be my guide and that’s the reason for my demise. I am under house arrest (a better word than grounded). The case: feeding my need for speed. Tonight bahraini guy’s invitation to appear as his guest is the only way to nourish my madness.
10 pm. kissed my mother good night and locked myself in my room, immersed in ablution contemplating every scheme in the book to break out of the house. Took a good look down from the balcony, testing the fall, threw down my brother’s stupid cat to see how she lands. Boredom postponed, no broken bones. Fought the faithful donkey in a hurry and bid him farewell. Tied everything together into a rope, climbed the Azalea bush and jumped over the wall into a furry red cab with Harshit the driver.
Monstrous black line around my eye, question mark drawn on a course cloth. Like wind to my endless story, we head to Al Ain, club 44. Looking out to black dunes, flimsy girls picking dates of nakhl trees looking for a magic gang bang, cowboy ghosts rise from the grave to play, feet tied, chain in hands. Between them and oasis full of love.
Arrived at the door, the kandoora asked me for the code. Grasped my ankles to worship an ironic Japanese number seven. He let me in and complemented me on my lilac beret. Club 44 is a bizarre place. Rappers cum belly dancers cum locals cum model chicks cum drag queens and me. A melting pot melting together underground with Mike Jones on the mic. Walked back to a room called little Vegas to gamble for a new car. Like a winning dog with fantasy ambitions I sipped the venom of an origami viper. Played backgammon with the resident sheikh promising hope on the ticking quartz. Restless and peerless in my farewell posture I said amen to club 44.
Hopped into a limo only to find the prince of Borneo. Asked the driver to head to Umm al Quwain to a dirty club called XXX. Employed a play on words, sharp as a cutting tool. For a period of time talked like a flashing light with special delights that drove him wild. Was he a friend or foe. I’ll never know. Everyone bowed as we entered the club. Our table ready, Krystal on ice, that’s nice. Amplified night lamps, brilliantly colored. Fat girls on stage jiggled their body parts to Tchaikovsky’s ballet suite. The place was cramped with men in suits packing velvet revolvers endlessly vogue. Their instruments of communication.
Zero hour applauded the bell ringer. It was time to put on my archer attire with bows in my quiver. Unchained my excited animal, turbo in my engine, left the club. Ran into a blind mudslinger, in Braille he showed me a fast way home. With ping pong pulse I climbed the wall. Like a rodent on a Ferris wheel, my vision warped, I fell to the floor. Woke up majrooh in a marjooha, my fate I believe was a thief.
So, the moral of the story as once said by Timothy Leary is “turn on, tune in, dropout”.
And thanks to Bahraini for giving me the opportunity to have a little fun with myself and I on a Thursday night.
I let spontaneity be my guide and that’s the reason for my demise. I am under house arrest (a better word than grounded). The case: feeding my need for speed. Tonight bahraini guy’s invitation to appear as his guest is the only way to nourish my madness.
10 pm. kissed my mother good night and locked myself in my room, immersed in ablution contemplating every scheme in the book to break out of the house. Took a good look down from the balcony, testing the fall, threw down my brother’s stupid cat to see how she lands. Boredom postponed, no broken bones. Fought the faithful donkey in a hurry and bid him farewell. Tied everything together into a rope, climbed the Azalea bush and jumped over the wall into a furry red cab with Harshit the driver.
Monstrous black line around my eye, question mark drawn on a course cloth. Like wind to my endless story, we head to Al Ain, club 44. Looking out to black dunes, flimsy girls picking dates of nakhl trees looking for a magic gang bang, cowboy ghosts rise from the grave to play, feet tied, chain in hands. Between them and oasis full of love.
Arrived at the door, the kandoora asked me for the code. Grasped my ankles to worship an ironic Japanese number seven. He let me in and complemented me on my lilac beret. Club 44 is a bizarre place. Rappers cum belly dancers cum locals cum model chicks cum drag queens and me. A melting pot melting together underground with Mike Jones on the mic. Walked back to a room called little Vegas to gamble for a new car. Like a winning dog with fantasy ambitions I sipped the venom of an origami viper. Played backgammon with the resident sheikh promising hope on the ticking quartz. Restless and peerless in my farewell posture I said amen to club 44.
Hopped into a limo only to find the prince of Borneo. Asked the driver to head to Umm al Quwain to a dirty club called XXX. Employed a play on words, sharp as a cutting tool. For a period of time talked like a flashing light with special delights that drove him wild. Was he a friend or foe. I’ll never know. Everyone bowed as we entered the club. Our table ready, Krystal on ice, that’s nice. Amplified night lamps, brilliantly colored. Fat girls on stage jiggled their body parts to Tchaikovsky’s ballet suite. The place was cramped with men in suits packing velvet revolvers endlessly vogue. Their instruments of communication.
Zero hour applauded the bell ringer. It was time to put on my archer attire with bows in my quiver. Unchained my excited animal, turbo in my engine, left the club. Ran into a blind mudslinger, in Braille he showed me a fast way home. With ping pong pulse I climbed the wall. Like a rodent on a Ferris wheel, my vision warped, I fell to the floor. Woke up majrooh in a marjooha, my fate I believe was a thief.
So, the moral of the story as once said by Timothy Leary is “turn on, tune in, dropout”.
And thanks to Bahraini for giving me the opportunity to have a little fun with myself and I on a Thursday night.
Monday, November 21, 2005
A Tale Upon the Winds..
Prologue..
By the growth on my face, I know it has been almost 2 days since the battle at Jebel el Habash, and I had all but given up hope that anyone would come to my rescue. My captors continue to poke their sharpened spears into my cage, laughing as I dodge and delay my untimely demise for another few hours. Their language is foreign to my tongue and their actions barbaric. From what I have noticed, they are a well-assembled and disciplined group of marauders that have made it to our shores and have established the protected valleys of the green mountains as their own, looting all caravans and villages crossing their usurped lands. The Caliph from his throne in Damascus dispatched an army of a thousand strong men led by my father to suppress these savages. I have no recollection of the battle, and as far as I can see, I, Mukhtar ibn Saif ibn Waleed Al Fares, am the only living prisoner within their camp.
I have been stripped of all weapons and jewelry. All that remains is the ring bearing my family’s crest, hidden in my boot; a gift from a Christian goldsmith in Venice. Even if I could mastermind an escape from my prison, I will not go undetected for long. These savages appear to be expert trackers and quite familiar with this terrain. The cloak of night will be my only opportunity to escape.
They are a fierce warrior race, and by the looks of their stolen armor and organization, seem to have fought many adversaries: Christians, Muslims and their own. My memory of the battle does not exist, but it is impossible that they could have defeated our army; my count verifies that we outnumbered them tenfold. A master of the dark arts must be among them. My head still carries a pain as though Allah has sent a thunderstorm into it. I must rest.
My eyes have totally adjusted to the dark, a trick my uncle taught me while hunting the desert at night. The merciless heat of the sun forces all animals to take shelter underground, forcing a waiting game between the predator and its prey. Guards continue to patrol the campsite anxiously waiting for something or someone to attack, their weapons ready. These barbarians are anxious about something and I fear it’s not my Arab brethren.
A guard walks towards my cage with his weapon in hand ready to spear my soon to be dead carcass. Instead, he throws a piece of bread and a skin of water; I cannot remember the last time I nourished my body with food or drink. The savage mutters. I do not speak his language but the meanings of his words are clear. Soon enough, my short life will come to an end. As the guard pulls away, I pull my fingertips at the crust of this old bread, but my hunger has left my body weak.
“Be careful what you eat Arab, these savages poison everything. That is how they killed your army, they poisoned your water.” Turning back, I notice something in a neighboring cage move, there is another captor with me. “Who said that? Who are you?”
“I am a prisoner like yourself. These barbarians saw your armies advancing days ago and poisoned the wells on route. The poison left your troops in a trance, unable to defend themselves while these monsters slaughtered them all.”
“Who are you? And what are you doing here?”
“My name is Diego, I was a member of a Portuguese trading ship that captured these animals as slaves. Two days into our voyage back, members of the crew started dying from an unknown disease. Bruises and strange marks began to appear on the crew, and once you were infected, it would not take long before death came. The marks covered your body and then it attacked your spirit, killing off any human part of you. Some of the infected began killing each other like animals, while others threw themselves off board in fits of madness. I immediately went into hiding when the savages took control of the ship and they only discovered me when we crashed into the rocks off this coast. Be careful what you do stranger because these monsters eat the living, I have seen it with my own eyes, slicing off limbs like roasted meat – they are more demon than human.”
The guards reply to our conversation by jabbing their swords and spears into our cages. I begin my dance again to avoid the razor sharp blades, exhausted and clinging onto my last life. I cannot keep this up much longer, I must escape. They finally give up after a barked order from another savage. As they walk away from our prisons, towards the fire, a fragrant smell begins to find its way to my nostrils. It is soft and floral yet pungent, almost spiced. The scent is heavy, filling my head quickly, yet it is slowing down my movements, I cannot retain any proper thoughts. I turn to Diego, but he has already drifted into a deep satisfying slumber. My eyelids cannot hold their own weight as I drift off to my drug induced sleep.
************************************************************
“Kama” the fat one calls me. “Hurry with the drinks you ingrate! Your whore of a mother was quicker on her feet than you. Or would you like me to recreate the sounds of her passion as she engulfed my manhood like the whore that she was?” My mother will have her day of revenge, this I swear to you, you pot bellied bastard, you and every last one of you.
Kama served the drinks and took his place outside of the circle. He was a slave to them and was exempt from their rituals. Kama came from a farming land far away in the plains across the sea. His family had been enslaved by a warring tribe that was eventually captured and placed on a ship that crashed off this coast. His mind tried to erase the pains he had felt over the past three years, the scars and screams, the blood and tears. His spirit had been numbed to nothing but a lost feeling of freedom. He often kept himself busy with plans to escape, which were quickly followed by intense fear. He was no warrior, they would capture him and bring on another three years of torture and pain.
The tribunal gathered around the fire where the Shaman approached with his basket of flowers, plants and weeds ready for the intoxication ceremony. Mugo, the Shaman’s apprentice spent the entire day collecting petals growing on the side of a cliff – the shaman, insisted on having it, he claimed that the mana derived from the flowers would provide the warriors with true strength. As he crushed the ingredients together, making a paste, he added the drink to the mixture until it frothed. Taking the lead, the shaman took a sip from the bowl and handed it to the chief, who in turn followed and passed the bowl along.
Once the bowl made its way around the circle, Mugo approached the quiet fire in the middle with a basket of flowers and weeds. A group of slaves pulled a huge cloth over the heads of the circle and over Mugo as he began throwing the contents of his basket into the fire; smoke began to billow but was trapped under the cloth. The Circle members pulled themselves closer to the fire as they let the smoke fill their heads and enter their spirit. The drumming picked up and chanting could be heard from under the cloth. Kama hated the smoke, it burned his nostrils as he pulled the cloth tight over their heads.
On cue, the Shaman let out a piercing scream as the slaves pulled the cloth away, releasing the chamber of smoke into the camp. The tribunal lay there with their bodies convulsing following the shamans lips and providing the chorus to a rhythmic chanting. The smoke lingered throughout the camp as though weighed down by magic. Kama stepped back while he watched everyone run into the smoke to fill their souls with the Shaman’s magic. Bodies began to sway from side to side, eyes rolled to the back of their heads; hands shook as the drumming continued.
************************************************************
“Arab. Arab wakeup. If you want to escape, now is our chance. They have drugged themselves and are unable to fight.” I awake but cannot recollect my dreams. Diego, hunches in his cage with an arrow tip in his hand. The rhythmic drumming keeps my head from stringing any thoughts together – “Where am I? What has happened? Why do I feel like this?” Diego, not intent on pausing to explain the events to me, is busy jamming the arrow tip into his lock until it eventually gives in and opens up to him. “Never leave a sharp object within the reach of Manuel Diego Lopez, their error will set our fortune in motion”. He sneaks out of his cage with the ease of a seasoned thief and begins to pick at my prison cell.
As my lock clicks open, my exit is less nimble then my comrade, drawing the attention of a guard, who raises his weapon and charges. Grabbing hold of his sword hand as he lunges towards me, I spin myself into his body and feel a crack as my elbow meets his ribs. The sword falls to my hand and is quickly reunited with its previous owner, blade to chest. Blood sprays us both, and his screams alert the rest who awaken from their trance. Their mismatched collection of weaponry is an indicator of the armies they’ve fought, my sabre bears the resemblance of Spanish steel. Diego, brandishing two blades he found on the dead body, tumbles towards one guard slicing his chest open, while the other receives a stab straight to his neck. Able fighters we are, but vastly outnumbered and looking to die another day, we both break off into the darkness.
The drumming begins to follow us as we run. “Arab, they are not too far off, we must hasten our escape.” I could not agree more with my new friend, but the aftereffects of the drugging have left me unable to make out the brush in front of us. I lose my footing and crash to the ground, followed by another crash from Diego. As we pick ourselves up to start moving again, lit arrows glide over our heads as the screams and shouts become louder. “I cannot see where I’m going, I could be leading us off a cliff for all I know.”
“Anything is better than here Arab, anything. These people will kill us slowly, then marinate our flesh and feast on us. I would like to spend some time in the bosom of a woman before my time is up, what say you?”
“Very well, but stay close, the terrain is changing and I feel we’re going to be traveling downhill, so we must tread carefully.”
Three torches followed and picked up pace until we could hear their footsteps crunching on branches. I turn and swing the blade straight to the first torch I saw. Using the torch to block my attack, he pushes me away as he comes with his weapon. My opponent swings his sword, which I quickly parry and meet with a slice to his left arm. He screams as I dig my weapon into his torso. The blood feels warm as it trickles down my blade and onto my wrist. Drugged or not, these are warriors and I need to field my best tactics for engagement. A flash of silver flies by me and lodges itself in the head of the person carrying the second torch, his body drops to the ground. The third comes running, still chanting and swinging his sword in my direction. Our swords clangs as I block his attack, his strength is far beyond what I had expected from a drugged person. I strike my knee into his midsection; as he feels the strike and lowers his body, the hilt of my sword comes down on his head like a war hammer, knocking him to the ground.
Our little skirmish allows more savages to catch up with us, their screams frustrating me as I try to distance the fear from my heart. We switch our careful treading to frantic running through the darkness. Our breathing picks up weight: hunger, fear, and exhaustion are beginning to show; our impending doom can be felt in the darkness. Our doom comes in the form of an ambush with four savages and their chief. They must have followed a path we missed and caught up with us. Not willing to die at their hands, I ready my sword, while Diego says a prayer as he draws what he believes to be his last breath.
As the Chief approaches us with his sword, he breaks into a defiant speech. His words are foreign but his tone familiar, he is flaunting his capture to his troops, praising and laughing as he waves his blade past my face. Just then, his eyes freeze upon mine, his smile falls off his face replaced with a surprised painful look. A spearhead bursts out of his torso covered in blood. His innards, properly packed in his body just seconds ago are now spilling onto the floor in front of me. Behind him stands one of the other soldiers holding the spear, but this one is not dressed in armor like the others. The other savages stand there in shock as they watch their chief bleed to death at their feet. This is our chance; I swing my sword at one of the beasts while Diego lunges for the other. Their demise is quick and follows their leader on the floor. The final combatant drops his sword and flees in fear of being outnumbered. Once again we are safe, for the time being. Our savoir stands there smiling but convulsing at what he has just done, his actions have just bought him the same fate as us, if we were captured.
Without thinking I grab our new companion and run down the path. The drumming still follows us, and we can hear screams as the search party discovers our latest victory. “This is pointless!” Diego tells me. “They will catch us, we need a faster escape.” I am with him, but there is nothing we can do but continue to run in the darkness.
************************************************************
Kama, flushed with intense joy runs alongside his new companions. He is now a free man again, his family’s honor has been avenged and from the looks of the way those two have fought, he is safe. He understands their attitude in their speaking that an escape is needed. He checks his surroundings and amidst the darkness recognizes where they are. Days ago, he accompanied the Shaman and his apprentice when they sent their magic to poison the armies through the water supply. There is an underground river not far from here that leads water to the wells in this valley, if they could get to it, they might have a chance to escape. But they are traveling in the wrong direction; they need to cross back past the path of the oncoming army and drift into the darkness to the caves.
Kama tried to get the attention of his companions to stop, but they are not interested in slowing down. He shouts and they turn around to face him. The two try to communicate with him, but he cannot understand them. He beckons them to follow him, he tries to use his hands to signal a river under a mountain, he does everything he can, but they do not understand him. So he does what he can only do, he places his hands on their shoulders looks them straight in the eye, hoping to create a sense of trust, and begins running in the other direction. The two others look at each other, and begin following him; they are satisfied with having someone else lead them through this unfamiliar territory.
As they run, across the brush, the drumming continues to follow them and then moves away. The two foreigners breathe a sigh of relief to Kama as they make it to the caves. As he leads them into the caves, the sound of rushing water begins to bounce off the inside walls of this huge cavern. This underground network was the tribe’s definitive advantage in overcoming the Arab army, the water supply was poisoned and it traveled all the way down the valley to the beginning of the mountain range. The dark haired foreigner seems to understand what is happening and his face flushes with anger. The river appears to flow through a number of caverns into the rocks and out leading to a hole in the ground. Either way, the escape does not look too promising.
As Kama tries to explain what is to happen to them next, the Shaman and a troop of soldiers emerge from the entrance to the cave. A war cry drowns the rushing water as a barrage of arrows fill the air. Analyzing their options, the dark haired foreigner says a prayer, tucks in his arms and jumps into the flow of water, followed by the other one. Kama tucks his arms into his sides, blessed the four winds and believes he is one with the river as he jumps in.
By the growth on my face, I know it has been almost 2 days since the battle at Jebel el Habash, and I had all but given up hope that anyone would come to my rescue. My captors continue to poke their sharpened spears into my cage, laughing as I dodge and delay my untimely demise for another few hours. Their language is foreign to my tongue and their actions barbaric. From what I have noticed, they are a well-assembled and disciplined group of marauders that have made it to our shores and have established the protected valleys of the green mountains as their own, looting all caravans and villages crossing their usurped lands. The Caliph from his throne in Damascus dispatched an army of a thousand strong men led by my father to suppress these savages. I have no recollection of the battle, and as far as I can see, I, Mukhtar ibn Saif ibn Waleed Al Fares, am the only living prisoner within their camp.
I have been stripped of all weapons and jewelry. All that remains is the ring bearing my family’s crest, hidden in my boot; a gift from a Christian goldsmith in Venice. Even if I could mastermind an escape from my prison, I will not go undetected for long. These savages appear to be expert trackers and quite familiar with this terrain. The cloak of night will be my only opportunity to escape.
They are a fierce warrior race, and by the looks of their stolen armor and organization, seem to have fought many adversaries: Christians, Muslims and their own. My memory of the battle does not exist, but it is impossible that they could have defeated our army; my count verifies that we outnumbered them tenfold. A master of the dark arts must be among them. My head still carries a pain as though Allah has sent a thunderstorm into it. I must rest.
My eyes have totally adjusted to the dark, a trick my uncle taught me while hunting the desert at night. The merciless heat of the sun forces all animals to take shelter underground, forcing a waiting game between the predator and its prey. Guards continue to patrol the campsite anxiously waiting for something or someone to attack, their weapons ready. These barbarians are anxious about something and I fear it’s not my Arab brethren.
A guard walks towards my cage with his weapon in hand ready to spear my soon to be dead carcass. Instead, he throws a piece of bread and a skin of water; I cannot remember the last time I nourished my body with food or drink. The savage mutters. I do not speak his language but the meanings of his words are clear. Soon enough, my short life will come to an end. As the guard pulls away, I pull my fingertips at the crust of this old bread, but my hunger has left my body weak.
“Be careful what you eat Arab, these savages poison everything. That is how they killed your army, they poisoned your water.” Turning back, I notice something in a neighboring cage move, there is another captor with me. “Who said that? Who are you?”
“I am a prisoner like yourself. These barbarians saw your armies advancing days ago and poisoned the wells on route. The poison left your troops in a trance, unable to defend themselves while these monsters slaughtered them all.”
“Who are you? And what are you doing here?”
“My name is Diego, I was a member of a Portuguese trading ship that captured these animals as slaves. Two days into our voyage back, members of the crew started dying from an unknown disease. Bruises and strange marks began to appear on the crew, and once you were infected, it would not take long before death came. The marks covered your body and then it attacked your spirit, killing off any human part of you. Some of the infected began killing each other like animals, while others threw themselves off board in fits of madness. I immediately went into hiding when the savages took control of the ship and they only discovered me when we crashed into the rocks off this coast. Be careful what you do stranger because these monsters eat the living, I have seen it with my own eyes, slicing off limbs like roasted meat – they are more demon than human.”
The guards reply to our conversation by jabbing their swords and spears into our cages. I begin my dance again to avoid the razor sharp blades, exhausted and clinging onto my last life. I cannot keep this up much longer, I must escape. They finally give up after a barked order from another savage. As they walk away from our prisons, towards the fire, a fragrant smell begins to find its way to my nostrils. It is soft and floral yet pungent, almost spiced. The scent is heavy, filling my head quickly, yet it is slowing down my movements, I cannot retain any proper thoughts. I turn to Diego, but he has already drifted into a deep satisfying slumber. My eyelids cannot hold their own weight as I drift off to my drug induced sleep.
************************************************************
“Kama” the fat one calls me. “Hurry with the drinks you ingrate! Your whore of a mother was quicker on her feet than you. Or would you like me to recreate the sounds of her passion as she engulfed my manhood like the whore that she was?” My mother will have her day of revenge, this I swear to you, you pot bellied bastard, you and every last one of you.
Kama served the drinks and took his place outside of the circle. He was a slave to them and was exempt from their rituals. Kama came from a farming land far away in the plains across the sea. His family had been enslaved by a warring tribe that was eventually captured and placed on a ship that crashed off this coast. His mind tried to erase the pains he had felt over the past three years, the scars and screams, the blood and tears. His spirit had been numbed to nothing but a lost feeling of freedom. He often kept himself busy with plans to escape, which were quickly followed by intense fear. He was no warrior, they would capture him and bring on another three years of torture and pain.
The tribunal gathered around the fire where the Shaman approached with his basket of flowers, plants and weeds ready for the intoxication ceremony. Mugo, the Shaman’s apprentice spent the entire day collecting petals growing on the side of a cliff – the shaman, insisted on having it, he claimed that the mana derived from the flowers would provide the warriors with true strength. As he crushed the ingredients together, making a paste, he added the drink to the mixture until it frothed. Taking the lead, the shaman took a sip from the bowl and handed it to the chief, who in turn followed and passed the bowl along.
Once the bowl made its way around the circle, Mugo approached the quiet fire in the middle with a basket of flowers and weeds. A group of slaves pulled a huge cloth over the heads of the circle and over Mugo as he began throwing the contents of his basket into the fire; smoke began to billow but was trapped under the cloth. The Circle members pulled themselves closer to the fire as they let the smoke fill their heads and enter their spirit. The drumming picked up and chanting could be heard from under the cloth. Kama hated the smoke, it burned his nostrils as he pulled the cloth tight over their heads.
On cue, the Shaman let out a piercing scream as the slaves pulled the cloth away, releasing the chamber of smoke into the camp. The tribunal lay there with their bodies convulsing following the shamans lips and providing the chorus to a rhythmic chanting. The smoke lingered throughout the camp as though weighed down by magic. Kama stepped back while he watched everyone run into the smoke to fill their souls with the Shaman’s magic. Bodies began to sway from side to side, eyes rolled to the back of their heads; hands shook as the drumming continued.
************************************************************
“Arab. Arab wakeup. If you want to escape, now is our chance. They have drugged themselves and are unable to fight.” I awake but cannot recollect my dreams. Diego, hunches in his cage with an arrow tip in his hand. The rhythmic drumming keeps my head from stringing any thoughts together – “Where am I? What has happened? Why do I feel like this?” Diego, not intent on pausing to explain the events to me, is busy jamming the arrow tip into his lock until it eventually gives in and opens up to him. “Never leave a sharp object within the reach of Manuel Diego Lopez, their error will set our fortune in motion”. He sneaks out of his cage with the ease of a seasoned thief and begins to pick at my prison cell.
As my lock clicks open, my exit is less nimble then my comrade, drawing the attention of a guard, who raises his weapon and charges. Grabbing hold of his sword hand as he lunges towards me, I spin myself into his body and feel a crack as my elbow meets his ribs. The sword falls to my hand and is quickly reunited with its previous owner, blade to chest. Blood sprays us both, and his screams alert the rest who awaken from their trance. Their mismatched collection of weaponry is an indicator of the armies they’ve fought, my sabre bears the resemblance of Spanish steel. Diego, brandishing two blades he found on the dead body, tumbles towards one guard slicing his chest open, while the other receives a stab straight to his neck. Able fighters we are, but vastly outnumbered and looking to die another day, we both break off into the darkness.
The drumming begins to follow us as we run. “Arab, they are not too far off, we must hasten our escape.” I could not agree more with my new friend, but the aftereffects of the drugging have left me unable to make out the brush in front of us. I lose my footing and crash to the ground, followed by another crash from Diego. As we pick ourselves up to start moving again, lit arrows glide over our heads as the screams and shouts become louder. “I cannot see where I’m going, I could be leading us off a cliff for all I know.”
“Anything is better than here Arab, anything. These people will kill us slowly, then marinate our flesh and feast on us. I would like to spend some time in the bosom of a woman before my time is up, what say you?”
“Very well, but stay close, the terrain is changing and I feel we’re going to be traveling downhill, so we must tread carefully.”
Three torches followed and picked up pace until we could hear their footsteps crunching on branches. I turn and swing the blade straight to the first torch I saw. Using the torch to block my attack, he pushes me away as he comes with his weapon. My opponent swings his sword, which I quickly parry and meet with a slice to his left arm. He screams as I dig my weapon into his torso. The blood feels warm as it trickles down my blade and onto my wrist. Drugged or not, these are warriors and I need to field my best tactics for engagement. A flash of silver flies by me and lodges itself in the head of the person carrying the second torch, his body drops to the ground. The third comes running, still chanting and swinging his sword in my direction. Our swords clangs as I block his attack, his strength is far beyond what I had expected from a drugged person. I strike my knee into his midsection; as he feels the strike and lowers his body, the hilt of my sword comes down on his head like a war hammer, knocking him to the ground.
Our little skirmish allows more savages to catch up with us, their screams frustrating me as I try to distance the fear from my heart. We switch our careful treading to frantic running through the darkness. Our breathing picks up weight: hunger, fear, and exhaustion are beginning to show; our impending doom can be felt in the darkness. Our doom comes in the form of an ambush with four savages and their chief. They must have followed a path we missed and caught up with us. Not willing to die at their hands, I ready my sword, while Diego says a prayer as he draws what he believes to be his last breath.
As the Chief approaches us with his sword, he breaks into a defiant speech. His words are foreign but his tone familiar, he is flaunting his capture to his troops, praising and laughing as he waves his blade past my face. Just then, his eyes freeze upon mine, his smile falls off his face replaced with a surprised painful look. A spearhead bursts out of his torso covered in blood. His innards, properly packed in his body just seconds ago are now spilling onto the floor in front of me. Behind him stands one of the other soldiers holding the spear, but this one is not dressed in armor like the others. The other savages stand there in shock as they watch their chief bleed to death at their feet. This is our chance; I swing my sword at one of the beasts while Diego lunges for the other. Their demise is quick and follows their leader on the floor. The final combatant drops his sword and flees in fear of being outnumbered. Once again we are safe, for the time being. Our savoir stands there smiling but convulsing at what he has just done, his actions have just bought him the same fate as us, if we were captured.
Without thinking I grab our new companion and run down the path. The drumming still follows us, and we can hear screams as the search party discovers our latest victory. “This is pointless!” Diego tells me. “They will catch us, we need a faster escape.” I am with him, but there is nothing we can do but continue to run in the darkness.
************************************************************
Kama, flushed with intense joy runs alongside his new companions. He is now a free man again, his family’s honor has been avenged and from the looks of the way those two have fought, he is safe. He understands their attitude in their speaking that an escape is needed. He checks his surroundings and amidst the darkness recognizes where they are. Days ago, he accompanied the Shaman and his apprentice when they sent their magic to poison the armies through the water supply. There is an underground river not far from here that leads water to the wells in this valley, if they could get to it, they might have a chance to escape. But they are traveling in the wrong direction; they need to cross back past the path of the oncoming army and drift into the darkness to the caves.
Kama tried to get the attention of his companions to stop, but they are not interested in slowing down. He shouts and they turn around to face him. The two try to communicate with him, but he cannot understand them. He beckons them to follow him, he tries to use his hands to signal a river under a mountain, he does everything he can, but they do not understand him. So he does what he can only do, he places his hands on their shoulders looks them straight in the eye, hoping to create a sense of trust, and begins running in the other direction. The two others look at each other, and begin following him; they are satisfied with having someone else lead them through this unfamiliar territory.
As they run, across the brush, the drumming continues to follow them and then moves away. The two foreigners breathe a sigh of relief to Kama as they make it to the caves. As he leads them into the caves, the sound of rushing water begins to bounce off the inside walls of this huge cavern. This underground network was the tribe’s definitive advantage in overcoming the Arab army, the water supply was poisoned and it traveled all the way down the valley to the beginning of the mountain range. The dark haired foreigner seems to understand what is happening and his face flushes with anger. The river appears to flow through a number of caverns into the rocks and out leading to a hole in the ground. Either way, the escape does not look too promising.
As Kama tries to explain what is to happen to them next, the Shaman and a troop of soldiers emerge from the entrance to the cave. A war cry drowns the rushing water as a barrage of arrows fill the air. Analyzing their options, the dark haired foreigner says a prayer, tucks in his arms and jumps into the flow of water, followed by the other one. Kama tucks his arms into his sides, blessed the four winds and believes he is one with the river as he jumps in.
Monday, January 10, 2005
Fable... Intro
It has been 18 hours since the battle at Jebel el Habash and I had all but given up hope that my men would come to my rescue. My captors continue to poke their sharpened spears into my cage, laughing as I dodge and delay my untimely demise for another few hours… Their language is foreign to my tongue and their actions barbaric. From what I have noticed, they are a well-assembled and disciplined group of marauders that have made it to our shores and have established the range of green mountains as their own, looting all caravans and villages crossing their usurped lands. The Caliph from his throne in Damascus dispatched an army of a thousand strong men lead by my father to suppress these savages. I have no recollection of the battle; I do know that I Mukhtar ibn Saif ibn Waleed Al Fares am the only living prisoner within their camp.
I have been stripped of all weapons and jewelry. All that remains is the ring bearing my family’s crest; A gift from a Christian goldsmith in Venice… Even if I could mastermind an escape from my prison, I will not go undetected for long; these savages are expert trackers and will not take long to follow my trail… The cloak of night will be my only opportunity to escape…
They are a fierce warrior race, and by the looks of their stolen armor and organization seem to have fought many adversaries, Christians, Muslims and their own. My memory of the battle does not exist, but it is impossible that they could have defeated our army; my count verifies that we outnumbered them tenfold. A master of the dark arts must be among them… My head still carries a pain as though Allah has sent a thunderstorm into my head… I must rest…
My eyes have totally adjusted to the dark, a trick my uncle taught me while hunting the desert at night… The merciless heat of the sun forces all animals to take shelter underground, forcing a waiting game between the predator and its prey… Guards continue to patrol the campsite anxiously waiting for something or someone to attack, their weapons ready… These barbarians are anxious about something and I fear it’s not my Arab brethren…
A guard walks towards my cage with his weapon in hand ready to spear my soon to be dead carcass… Instead he throws a piece of bread; I cannot remember the last time I ate something… the savage mutters… I do not speak his language but the meanings of his words are clear… Soon enough, my short life will come to an end… As the guard pulls away, I pull my fingertips at the crust of this old bread, my hunger has left my body weak…
“Be careful what you eat Arab, these savages poison everything… that is how they killed your army, they poisoned your water…” Turning back I notice something in a neighboring cage move, there is another captor with me… “Who said that? Who are you?” “I am a prisoner like yourself, these barbarians saw your armies advancing days ago and poisoned the wells on route… The poison left your troops in a trance, unable to defend themselves while these monsters slaughtered them all.” “Who are you? And what are you doing here?” “ My name is Manuel Diego Lopez Ferriero, I was a member of a Portuguese trading ship that captured these animals as slaves, two days into our voyage back, members of the crew started dying from an unknown disease. Bruises and strange marks began to appear on the crew, and once you were infected it would not take long before death came. The marks covered your body and then it attacked your spirit, killing off any human part of you. Some of the infected began killing each other like animals, while others threw themselves off board in fits of madness. I immediately went into hiding when the savages took control of the ship and they only discovered me when we crashed into the rocks off this coast. Be careful what you do stranger because these monsters eat the living, I have seen it with my own eyes, slicing off limbs like roasted meat – they are more demon than human.”
The guards reply to our conversation by jabbing their swords and spears into our cages… I begin my dance again to avoid the razor sharp blades, exhausted and clinging onto my last life… I cannot keep this up much longer I must escape… They finally give up after a barked order from another savage. As they walk away from our prisons, towards the fire, a fragrant smell begins to find it’s way to my nostrils. it’s soft and floral yet pungent, almost spiced… The scent is heavy, filling my head quickly, yet it is slowing down my movements, I cannot retain any proper thoughts… I turn to Manuel, but he has already drifted into a deep slumber. My eye lids cannot hold their own weight as I drift off to my drug induced sleep…
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I have been stripped of all weapons and jewelry. All that remains is the ring bearing my family’s crest; A gift from a Christian goldsmith in Venice… Even if I could mastermind an escape from my prison, I will not go undetected for long; these savages are expert trackers and will not take long to follow my trail… The cloak of night will be my only opportunity to escape…
They are a fierce warrior race, and by the looks of their stolen armor and organization seem to have fought many adversaries, Christians, Muslims and their own. My memory of the battle does not exist, but it is impossible that they could have defeated our army; my count verifies that we outnumbered them tenfold. A master of the dark arts must be among them… My head still carries a pain as though Allah has sent a thunderstorm into my head… I must rest…
My eyes have totally adjusted to the dark, a trick my uncle taught me while hunting the desert at night… The merciless heat of the sun forces all animals to take shelter underground, forcing a waiting game between the predator and its prey… Guards continue to patrol the campsite anxiously waiting for something or someone to attack, their weapons ready… These barbarians are anxious about something and I fear it’s not my Arab brethren…
A guard walks towards my cage with his weapon in hand ready to spear my soon to be dead carcass… Instead he throws a piece of bread; I cannot remember the last time I ate something… the savage mutters… I do not speak his language but the meanings of his words are clear… Soon enough, my short life will come to an end… As the guard pulls away, I pull my fingertips at the crust of this old bread, my hunger has left my body weak…
“Be careful what you eat Arab, these savages poison everything… that is how they killed your army, they poisoned your water…” Turning back I notice something in a neighboring cage move, there is another captor with me… “Who said that? Who are you?” “I am a prisoner like yourself, these barbarians saw your armies advancing days ago and poisoned the wells on route… The poison left your troops in a trance, unable to defend themselves while these monsters slaughtered them all.” “Who are you? And what are you doing here?” “ My name is Manuel Diego Lopez Ferriero, I was a member of a Portuguese trading ship that captured these animals as slaves, two days into our voyage back, members of the crew started dying from an unknown disease. Bruises and strange marks began to appear on the crew, and once you were infected it would not take long before death came. The marks covered your body and then it attacked your spirit, killing off any human part of you. Some of the infected began killing each other like animals, while others threw themselves off board in fits of madness. I immediately went into hiding when the savages took control of the ship and they only discovered me when we crashed into the rocks off this coast. Be careful what you do stranger because these monsters eat the living, I have seen it with my own eyes, slicing off limbs like roasted meat – they are more demon than human.”
The guards reply to our conversation by jabbing their swords and spears into our cages… I begin my dance again to avoid the razor sharp blades, exhausted and clinging onto my last life… I cannot keep this up much longer I must escape… They finally give up after a barked order from another savage. As they walk away from our prisons, towards the fire, a fragrant smell begins to find it’s way to my nostrils. it’s soft and floral yet pungent, almost spiced… The scent is heavy, filling my head quickly, yet it is slowing down my movements, I cannot retain any proper thoughts… I turn to Manuel, but he has already drifted into a deep slumber. My eye lids cannot hold their own weight as I drift off to my drug induced sleep…
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