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"...It was in the second year after the untimely death of Vas Deferen the Great, during the 'Summer of Marsupials,' in the Third Age of Bronze Artifacts, that Howitzer Manifold's governorship over the city of Bartok reached its apex and was celebrated immensely with a festival known as 'Fashion Week.' He had received much praise and salutations for his new line of cucumber cummerbunds, which were a big hit at the 'Back-Biter's Luncheon' and led to Horace Valliance actually wearing one while conducting the weekly executions in Farmouth Square. They became such a hit that the well-known kleptomaniac named Friar Puck often sported the greenish waistband during his many infamous 'blood-letting free-for-alls.'
Governor Manifold was so excited by his successful excursion into the fashion trade that he invited many of his rabble-rousing co-conspirators to a local cake-decorating competition where the first prize was two tickets to Jake Fahrenheit's new restaurant named 'Katmanchew.' I have heard that the sweet-and-sour gopher stew is to die for!
Unfortunately, the governor and crew came in fourth place when their strawberry mousse and meringue layer-cake imploded and looked as if someone had been disemboweled on an ornate silver platter.
The governor took his loss in stride and soon after vowed to give up drinking milk, as his newly-discovered lactose intolerance was seen as a warning sign from the 'fashion gods' after last spring's unsuccessful launch of his Visigoth-inspired, ready-to-wear collection, which he had premiered at the 'Debutante's Ball and Fashion Gala.' The ensembles didn't go over very well and weren't suitable to be worn in mixed company -- especially when accompanied by a gold lamé belt and maroon pumps.
Nevertheless, the governor was there at the re-opening of the The Mausoleum of Slorsh -- impeccably dressed in an olive smoking jacket, black spandex pants and a glittering, purple halter top -- he absolutely stole the show! After he cut the ribbon with a saw-toothed lungfish, he spoke a few words before running into the kitchen and making us all flapjacks. We were all quite pleased at the whole extravaganza and promised amongst ourselves not to say a derogatory word about his brass-buckled hobnail boots which were absolutely ghastly and made his ankles look fat.
After a toast to Gerald Muckstaff for the successful removal of his goiter, we sat about and chatted. It was then that the Head Priester of the mausoleum -- Swami Luxabaum -- sat down in a plush chair next to me and complimented my flowery silk Barrini jacket-and-vest combo. However, he didn't say a word about my matching Somieri wading boots which distressed me much, even though I had propped them upon the arm of his chair for easy inspection. Such a cad!
I shrugged off his lack of fashion sense or obvious color-blindness and queried him on an incident that occurred upon my last visit to the mausoleum. Namely, what might have happened to one of the priests there that had come into contact with the Absurdum Stone. I had visited the mausoleum six months earlier to chronicle the premier of the clergy's new rhinestone frocks and matching headdresses, when I happened to notice that one of the priests was being wheeled out on a stretcher. He appeared to be in a state of absolute delirium and was wearing one of those hideous burlap gowns that the clergy had traditionally worn. 'Poor soul probably just saw himself in a mirror,' was my first thought upon seeing him, but upon further investigation, I came to discover that the ill-dressed pagan had collapsed near the stone and had been rendered incapable of recognizing the difference between an off-the-rack nylon pantsuit from a strapless Labrasi evening gown. Truly dreadful!
Much to my surprise, the Swami 's eyes immediately widened and he leaned forward and whispered, "He licked it."
"He licked it?" I queried.
"Yes." he replied. "More than once, too, it appears. He might have gotten off three or four good licks before he collapsed in a heap of gyrations and frothy exclamations about cures for rheumatism."
"Oh, my!" I exclaimed, "What happened to the poor devil?"
The Swami raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair. "Well, first of all, we don't tend to call fellow members of our clergy 'devils,' however, I will overlook your slight impudence simply because...you have the most exquisite cufflinks that I have ever spied!" He pointed at my wrist and asked, "Is that pearl or abalone inlay?"
I blushed. "Oh, it is pearl. Brought all the way from the coast of Spain. Smuggled inside a donkey's colon to get past the Roman tax inspectors and border agents."
We both laughed and clinked our cups together. The Swami took a large gulp of wine and then slapped himself in the jaw. He shook his head a bit, belched, and began to softly speak:
"As you may know, the Mausoleum of Slorsh was originally built by King Gregarious as his own monument for when he died. Unfortunately, after the Battle of Spleen Hills, the king went foraging for chestnuts in the Mountains of Tamboo and was never seen of again. Rumors abound of course...some say he fell off a cliff, or fell in love with a tree, or perhaps joined a travelling band of rickshaw merchants and somehow wound up in Liberia. Who can say for sure?"
The Swami took another sip and then slapped his knee several times before continuing. "So, when the Absurdum Stone, or 'vision stone' as it is sometimes called, or 'dung stone' as some have labelled it, was found, it was determined that the mausoleum would be a great place to store it and keep it safe from pesky insurance adjusters and other such riff-raff."
"I see," I replied and took a small sip from my cup. The wine was rather pleasant and exuded a particularly fruity bouquet with just a hint of baboon. It was mellow and aromatic, so I was quite surprised by Swami's reaction whenever he drank from his cup. I don't know what his drink was spiked with, but it was so harsh that after another sip, he quickly turned his head to the left and loudly yelped: "Yazoo Moley-A-Shuuu!"
After a few rapid shakes of his head , he continued: "Of course, you have never seen inside the great hall that holds the stone, few have, but it is simply amazing. We priests keep the place nicely decorated with plenty of pillows and assorted cheese trays. As is our charge. And we are proud to do so."
"Yes, I have heard," I said.
"There is always a group of priests that watch upon the stone in a sort of semi-circle configuration around it. Sometimes they get a bit frisky and try to form letters of the alphabet or human pyramids, but we tend to look down on such behaviors. Being so close to the stone and the strange power it exudes, it has had its effects on them, and they mainly just stare at it and tremble, and almost always have their tongues hanging out, and on some occasions, a testicle or two."
He took another sip of wine and stomped on the floor six times, "...however that might be due to their ill-fitting booty-shorts."
"They are...notorious...for their fashion statements." I replied.
"Yes, yes," the Swami whispered, "I really wish they would get over this whole rhinestone fetish thing..."
He leaned forward and stared at the floor. "...And then there was the silk chiffon loungewear craze they went through..." He said, looking over at me and shaking his head slowly. "Good Lord! Don't get me started on that whole debacle!"
I answered with a loud sigh followed by a low-toned hum. "But, what of the priest who licked the stone?" I then asked.
"Oh, right." He replied rather enthusiastically. He crossed his legs and I caught a glimpse of his Peruvian-beaded slippers peeking out from below his gown. They were intricately decorated with colorful beads and tiny, glass orbs accompanied by fine gold ribbons interweaved upon the top and heel. They were impeccable!
"He is doing rather well," he stated, "considering his brain was nearly melted from the whole ordeal." He took another drink and his left arm suddenly shot above his head and remained stationed there, quite straight and rigid, for nearly two minutes, while he continued as if nothing had happened, " He was fairly new to our Order and was presenting a nice gift basket of deli meats and melon balls as an offering to the stone. For some reason, he suddenly dropped the basket and ran straight to the stone and gave it a nice tongue bath, before collapsing."
"Oh, my..." I gasped.
"He is recuperating in a small cottage just outside of town. He spends most of his days telling stories and describes the many visions he sees, all quite detailed accounts, from what I'm told. He claims that some things take place in the future and some in the past, and some...well, he's not sure what they are or when they occurred or will occur... or...hmm..."
His voiced trailed off and he looked down upon his cup of wine and pondered if he should take another drink, but then thought better of it and continued, "That is why I was so glad to see you here, you see, you being a famous scribe and all, perhaps you might like to visit him and see if there is any value in his many ramblings? Perhaps record some his words for prosperity, hmmm?"
I lightly chuckled and gave the priest a pat on the shoulder, "Oh, I don't know if I'm the man for the job. Once maybe, but not anymore, I'm afraid. I'm just a humble scribe that discovered my niche, if you will, and now I spend most of my time and energies on keeping cloistered monks up-to-date on the newest fashion trends and celebrity gossip."
"Oh..." Swami whispered, still looking at his cup.
I leaned forward and waved my finger in the air. "Tell you what, though..." I said, attempting to lift his spirits, "I have a new apprentice...he's looking to get away from illuminating my words and to start writing his own. He's good with a quill and his gold-leaf work is excellent! He just finished copying an ancient tome of Hittite fashion accessories and assorted regalia for the Franciscan Order of Glamorratti. I think he would look forward to such a challenge."
The Swami slowly started to smile.
I raised my chin slightly and gave a nod in his direction, feeling enthused by the idea even more. "I'll send for him and have him visit your priest and see what he might record. "
The high priest then leaped to his feet and let out a hearty laugh. "Oh, that would be excellent!" He exclaimed. He then took a huge drink from his cup and quickly did three somersaults and a rather nice pirouette, before coming back to earth and offering me a handshake. "Thank you, great scribe, thank you! I don't know if anything will come of it, but I'm so excited at the prospects of it all!"
It is the least that I can do for all the cordiality you have shown me these many years." I smiled and said. "As well as the free mail-order jelly and jam assortments you send me every month!" We gave each other a big hug and afterwards he described how to get to the cottage where the priest was housed and how to arrange for the apprentice's meal and travel re-imbursements.
After he left, I sat back in the chair and sipped more wine and stared at the fire. "Vision Stone..." I whispered to the flames. "Probably just a bunch of gibberish..."
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--- excerpt from the book by Reginald Atherwauld:
"You Can Call Me 'Reggie' -- My Adventures in
Art and Fashion in the High Middle Ages."
247Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1Cgj5wGg8l
247Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡC3lsccUSmJ
