Sunday, January 3, 2016
Calimitatum
Calimitatum
Have you ever experienced personal
apocalypse? Has the sudden reality of your emotional existence reached up and
smacked you in the sternum like a racquetball that you did not anticipate? Snow is not what I expected. It had been a warm year; it had been the sort of hot year that causes
cactuses to wither up and accept the rapture of Mariah. It is nothing short of peculiar that this
October is bringing a northern icy breath south into Kansas. The first snowfall of the year came like a stalking panther last night; it pounced unexpectedly and suddenly. It amazes me to sit on a bench and observe
the reaction of others who did not anticipate this. I am slowly beginning to focus on a scene
about twenty feet away by a pocket of trees and an abstact outdoor sculpture.
She is bent over rolling a ball of snow
larger and larger. Dark hair peeks out
from underneath her distressed fur hat and she is wearing a deep red coat
embroidered with two geese and an array of Chrysanthemum Leucanthemum that
brings to mind slavic folk tales. Her
appearance to me is as if I were a perelesnyk[1]
dreaming. She is a forgotten memory of
an uncertain rustic Aneliya.[2] It is not the poetic act of her creation of a
snow-man that is so mesmerizing, it is the reality of her existence.
Prior to my notice of the situation I was
reading intermittently. I try to
intimate that I am still reading. Sic et Non was not the best choice to
read given the situation. I think of
that unfortunate scholar, Abelard married his student and got her pregnant; as
a belated wedding gift of sorts his in-laws kidnaped him and hacked his bollocks
off. The irony of this is quite
idiosyncratic. I fein to interact with a
book written by a man deprived of erotic
facilities while feeling guilt over my acceptance that my act of observation is
in a way voyeuristic at its roots.
I feel that it is pointless to undress
her in my mind. I cannot will myself to
even remove her coat. Still I imagine
what it would be like to walk over there and kiss her without even taking the
time to inquire her name. Why I imagine
this is not quite certain to me. I
understand this to be an assault on her person, yet I know that such an act is
nothing short of criminal.
I do consider what she smells like. An exotic mix of baking spices feels
likely. I bet she smells like nutmeg,
cloves, allspice, cinnamon, dark syrup, and lanolin. I am too busy reflecting on the certainty of
her coat smelling like fragrant woodsmoke and sheep oil, a snowball hitting me in the head was not on
my radar.
I look up and see Tony and Nick walking
away trying to look very innocent.
I place revenge on my agenda. I remember when they bricked up my door with
toilet paper rolls and duct-tape. Nick's gleaming Chrysler got syrup-ed and feathered by some
coincidence after that event.
She had placed the middle section and is
now rolling the ball for the head. I
feel compelled to get up and walk the 25 feet over to help her with the
snowman. My fear however, is restraining
my steps. I feel guilty for watching her
like a common creeper.
She has set the head in place without my
help. I feel self condemnation on
account of my restraint. She is setting the eyes and buttons, and the
bag she brought with her is revealing its treasures. A pink straw hat that was likely from last
summers music festival is placed on the head, a wide ribbon of cable from a
broken electronic device is made into a mouth, and she places the squared
almond mouthpiece of an old phone in place for a nose. She breaks some branches from the small
nearby trees to fashion “arms” from, and she polishes the “nose” with a
disinfecting wipe.
She turns to walk away and continue on to
her destination, but she turns back as if she has forgotten something. She reaches deep into the neck of her coat
and retrieves a blue scarf. She places
the scarf on the snowman and steps back as if to thoughtfully examine it. She steps forward, rearranges the scarf, and
kisses the snowman's “nose”. I assume
she is satisfied when she walks away with her bag.
Cautiously I rise and walk to the
snowman. I lean down to kiss the
snowman’s “nose”; I find it has a bitter lemon taste. I consider whether I really want to follow
through with what I want to do next. I
remove her scarf and replace it with my own brown scarf. I have had a long relationship with the brown
scarf; it came from a retired professor’s estate. My mother once cleaned house for the old man
while he tried to explain geology to me.
Now I was sacrificing memories for fantasy.
As I place her scarf around my neck I
feel the marks of age and repair on the well loved hand-knitted scarf. It is striped and has the name “Anna”
embroidered on one end. I walk away I
smelling the scarf; it smells of
lanolin, cloves, ginger, and patchouli.
I now have come to feel like I have known her for a while. Anna reminds me of the girl from my home town who went
to senior prom dressed as Gwynhwyfar. While other students teased her and said
she was retarded for attending the event in costume, I admired her
quirkiness. I was too awkward and afraid
to ask her to dance though.
In November I see Anna again walking on
campus. She is wearing a grey vest and despite the return to warmer weather she
is wearing my brown scarf as an ascot. I
walk up to her and compliment her on the scarf.
As she is on her way to lunch I inquire if I could join her in the
student union: by some coincidence the discussion turns to Abelard and Heloise.
A "Benevolent" Cause
A Benevolent Cause
Just
to make things abundantly clear she did just destroy a perfectly expensive
couch. She took a knife to the red
jacquard fabric with the gold acanthus
leaf embroidery. The only halfway decent
thing in the whole damn airship. To let
a woman like Juliet Idonia Keavney Payn on board a ship such as your own was a
sure way to bring ruin to even The Hellish Poisin of Atlantis. Would you have thought she would take so much
offense at being rescued from the clutches of Krioål? (Or rather some thugs who intended to introduce the two of them in a rather sanguine manner) You acknowledge her
nobility and let her have the run of command
quarters while you command your crew to make a clean getaway. Granted she never really got a chance to meet
big K and we only had to subdue a half dozen of his minions. She should have had a clue! They call him
Krioål the Render for a reason; you have good cause to be alarmed! Apparently he rends things and err... people! What he would have
planned for the noble child of the sleeping wolves could not be any thing but
dire.
After
two weeks aloft things have calmed down.
You have become more acquainted with your small crew and, she has
remained mostly invisible though Juliet has came out for the occasional meal
with the crew. They have taken to calling her “Lady Jules” despite her dislike
for such a Sobriquet. Usually your
cook Dillon brings a tray to her and
usually tries to take her requests in mind when preparing in
order to both lessen the work load and placate the VIP. Dillon came on board originally as a
mechanic. You might remember the first
time we had engine trouble after he came onboard. He claimed that the problem was that we were
suffering from a “puff-corned carburetor”. You gave him a puzzled look and
explained that because of the altitude a carburetor would be less than
effective which is why the airship's engines are not carbureted. Fortunately he was able to help out in the
galley and took over for Deidre when she was forced to leave the crew. You now have a top notch cook but are still
uncertain why he wanted to get a job as a mechanic when it seems Dillon is a
cook that any captain would fight for. You have quite the meal awaiting this evening
as Jules will join the crew it seems.
She
entered the room with much of the grace befitting her social rank. You
recognize the status exchange as usual but mention nothing. If she feels like treating you as an
underling and not an equal that is her business and none of yours. Juliet sits down and there is awkward silence
for a good ten minutes. The coffee and
slices of a rather decadent looking cake are served.
Juliet
finally speaks “What may I ask is this?”
“Blackout
Loaf” Dillon had to turn around in order to reply “I did try to dress it up a
little with swirls of caramel and shaved almonds!”
“This
dessert is brilliant!” Juliet rotates to face you “how did you manage to find
such a great cook?”
Surprised
by her sudden willingness to converse you reply in an uneasy tone “I assure you
ma'am it was completely by accident.” you observe that several members of the
crew including Rusty the new propulsionist nod in agreement.
“My stay on board has been.... unexpected.”
“How.”
you are curious of course as to the expectations of Juliet who has been acting
the part of a snotty noble.
“Well
your ship is called The Poison of Atlantis or something like that?”
“Actually
it's The Hellish Poisin of Atlantis.” (you make a dramatic pause) “You see Poisin has two ayes not two ohs.”
“What
difference does it make? Poison or Poisin, they are similar enough.”
“Deferring
to your nobility I will leave that be then.”
“Alright
If your ship is called The Hellish Poisin of Atlantis then you must be
pirates?”
“Some
might call us that.”
“Some
might call us a load of filthy flying bastards!” Jane Callan our navigator
shouted out.
You
turn to glare at Jane while she goes back to hiding behind a mug of coarse ale
that the crew brews onboard from whatever is convenient. “Some call us that as
well but I tend to prefer that we be called multidisciplinary entrepreneurial
merchants.”
Juliet
looks both concerned and confused “So... abuse of captives is not the standard
operating procedure for your crew?”
You
have a puzzled look on your face as well. “Ma'am I believe you have us confused
with the Royal Air Corps that seems to be how they operate.” (You laugh a little at your own joke.) “Anyway
where is the captive?”
“Am
I not your captive? You do intend to ransom me?”
“No
not exactly we were going to return you home; though, now that you mention
ransom it might be a good idea. How much do you think your family would give
for your safe release?”
“You
are joking?” She looked concerned again.
“Yes
we will be within the Divine Principality soon, in 14 days we will return you
to Casswater.” You did not think it fair
to offer that you had agreed to accept a bounty for her safe return. You mumble something about foiling Krioål
being reward enough. you feel that the conversation is becoming hollow and so you stop talking.
Juliet
returns to Command Quarters and locks the door.
In about 18 days you leave her at Casswater. You take the payment for her return which
prompts her to throw a fit. You return
to your ship and leave. Business is business.
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