acknowledgement.
Santiago stood with them, puffing on a bezoar in the peace pipe he filched from Crazy Talk.
“How many sons do you have?” asked John into the bell of the ear trumpet.
“Three-hundred-and-one as of today. I lost five and twenty of them yesterday in an ambush outside of our village. Damn Po’kinhorns.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said John, not knowing what else to say.
“What?” asked Chelloveck, sticking the ear horn in John’s face.
“I’m sorry to hear about your loss.”
“It’s okay,” said Chelloveck in a tone that indicated that it really was all right. “I can always make more. And besides, we fought off the attackers and even took some prisoners. Tonight, we celebrate our victory.” And the little-big-man placed his mouth to the earpiece of the ear horn and blew a frantic hardcore-avant-jazz screech that slammed the crowd in the face with a dissonant musical fist and screeched at the men to sit down and shut up.
And the screech of Chelloveck’s ear horn reminded John of the blistering giggle-jazz that greeted him upon his entry into the new and strange world where he now found himself. John’s body tingled with some sort of emotion, though he found that he was quite inept at interpreting the new feelings starting to bubble up in him. Instead, the emotion manifested itself as a prickle on his skin, and as beads of sweat forming in his armpits and dripping down the sides of his ribcage. He felt tense, excited, angry, sad, confused, and the feelings grated at his raw emotional nerves. His mind reeled at the thought of having three-hundred-twenty-six sons. He wondered how Chelloveck could proliferate when there did not appear to be even one female in the village.
John said into the ear horn, “Please don’t think I’m rude for asking, but how can you have so many sons when there are no women to mother them?”
“What?” asked Chelloveck, holding the bell of his ear trumpet toward John.
“You have so many sons. Where are their mothers?”
“Blumpkins,” said Chelloveck. “That’s why we were ambushed. For our blumpkins.”
At the mention of blumpkins, Santiago snapped to attention. He craned his neck back, sniffed at the air, and began to scan the compound with a fierce curiosity. And before John had the opportunity to inquire further, Chelloveck once again blew a wet, warbling trumpet blast.
“Now it is time that we feast,” shouted Chelloveck, the force of his voice a surprising contrast to the faint murmur with which he originally addressed Crazy Talk. “Thatwise, Chellovecks, let’s enjoy yesterday’s bread, today’s meat, and last year’s cider.” A roar issued from the crowd in response. Chellovecks carted in roasted earth pig, baby scruff goat cooked in its mother’s milk, and other curious meats.
“Yesterday,” said Chelloveck to John, “we were overrun with strange new creatures and scruff goats and earth pigs. If you look toward the tops of our buses you will still see some of the creatures running about. And we have found that these strange creatures are most delectable, their meat being sweet and tender and salty. Thatwise, tonight we feast on the bounty of meats that blessed our camp.”
John scanned the tops of the surrounding buses and he did see strange creatures that looked most familiar to him. Some of the creatures had three legs and two heads. Some had the heads of a bird and the body of a cat. And others – unrecognizable amorphous blobs of fur and feathers – rolled about and chattered at one another. John recognized all of them as the myriad forms of his jizz-critters.
Chelloveck clapped his hands and several younger Chellovecks placed a table and chairs in the clearing at the edge of the pit. “Sit,” said Chelloveck, motioning to the chairs. “Sit and feast and enjoy the festivities with me.” He again clapped his hands and several more Chellovecks placed food and clay pitchers of hard cider before the three men at
Santiago stood with them, puffing on a bezoar in the peace pipe he filched from Crazy Talk.
“How many sons do you have?” asked John into the bell of the ear trumpet.
“Three-hundred-and-one as of today. I lost five and twenty of them yesterday in an ambush outside of our village. Damn Po’kinhorns.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said John, not knowing what else to say.
“What?” asked Chelloveck, sticking the ear horn in John’s face.
“I’m sorry to hear about your loss.”
“It’s okay,” said Chelloveck in a tone that indicated that it really was all right. “I can always make more. And besides, we fought off the attackers and even took some prisoners. Tonight, we celebrate our victory.” And the little-big-man placed his mouth to the earpiece of the ear horn and blew a frantic hardcore-avant-jazz screech that slammed the crowd in the face with a dissonant musical fist and screeched at the men to sit down and shut up.
And the screech of Chelloveck’s ear horn reminded John of the blistering giggle-jazz that greeted him upon his entry into the new and strange world where he now found himself. John’s body tingled with some sort of emotion, though he found that he was quite inept at interpreting the new feelings starting to bubble up in him. Instead, the emotion manifested itself as a prickle on his skin, and as beads of sweat forming in his armpits and dripping down the sides of his ribcage. He felt tense, excited, angry, sad, confused, and the feelings grated at his raw emotional nerves. His mind reeled at the thought of having three-hundred-twenty-six sons. He wondered how Chelloveck could proliferate when there did not appear to be even one female in the village.
John said into the ear horn, “Please don’t think I’m rude for asking, but how can you have so many sons when there are no women to mother them?”
“What?” asked Chelloveck, holding the bell of his ear trumpet toward John.
“You have so many sons. Where are their mothers?”
“Blumpkins,” said Chelloveck. “That’s why we were ambushed. For our blumpkins.”
At the mention of blumpkins, Santiago snapped to attention. He craned his neck back, sniffed at the air, and began to scan the compound with a fierce curiosity. And before John had the opportunity to inquire further, Chelloveck once again blew a wet, warbling trumpet blast.
“Now it is time that we feast,” shouted Chelloveck, the force of his voice a surprising contrast to the faint murmur with which he originally addressed Crazy Talk. “Thatwise, Chellovecks, let’s enjoy yesterday’s bread, today’s meat, and last year’s cider.” A roar issued from the crowd in response. Chellovecks carted in roasted earth pig, baby scruff goat cooked in its mother’s milk, and other curious meats.
“Yesterday,” said Chelloveck to John, “we were overrun with strange new creatures and scruff goats and earth pigs. If you look toward the tops of our buses you will still see some of the creatures running about. And we have found that these strange creatures are most delectable, their meat being sweet and tender and salty. Thatwise, tonight we feast on the bounty of meats that blessed our camp.”
John scanned the tops of the surrounding buses and he did see strange creatures that looked most familiar to him. Some of the creatures had three legs and two heads. Some had the heads of a bird and the body of a cat. And others – unrecognizable amorphous blobs of fur and feathers – rolled about and chattered at one another. John recognized all of them as the myriad forms of his jizz-critters.
Chelloveck clapped his hands and several younger Chellovecks placed a table and chairs in the clearing at the edge of the pit. “Sit,” said Chelloveck, motioning to the chairs. “Sit and feast and enjoy the festivities with me.” He again clapped his hands and several more Chellovecks placed food and clay pitchers of hard cider before the three men at