Archive for the ‘Series’ Category
Parthenia Rook V: In Rio de Janeiro with a Gnome
Thursday, July 19th, 2007
The garden gnome had never envisioned himself parading in Rio de Janeiro dressed only in feathers, a pineapple hat and a thong, but when Parthenia Rook came to him and asked his help to defeat the Bonobo King… well, she was a superheroine in leather pants. Besides, at that stage, nobody had mentioned thongs.
Parthenia’s costume was rather more elaborate. Albert thought she must be carrying about a hundred pounds of fruit which, sadly, covered her from head to foot. Her plan was to infiltrate one of the blocos and parade through the city. Bonobo King would not be able to resist their fruity head-ornaments and when he approached them and tried to steal their irresistible mangoes and bananas, Parthenia would knock him out with her patented leather-boot triple kick. It seemed like a fool-proof plan at the time. Alas, as many other fool-proof plans in superhero history, it wasn’t.
When they saw the Bonobo King, Parthenia Rook pushed the gnome behind her and faced her archenemy. Albert thought it was very heroic of her and peered out from behind her fruity derriere.
“At last we meet, Bonobo King,” she said.
The Bonobo King’s eyes darted from bananas to oranges to melons. He seemed frozen with indecision. Finally he knuckled up to Parthenia and reached up for the cherry dangling from her ear. Parthenia jumped forward… and toppled over from the sheer weight of the fruit basket attached to her head.
Albert stared at the Bonobo King over the fallen heroine’s body.
“Er… at last we meet…” It didn’t sound as portentous as he’d hoped. “Fruit, anyone?”
The Bonobo King put the cherry in his mouth and stared at the garden gnome. His face twisted into a mask of pure evil. Then he started laughing. Albert thought he was never going to stop. He pointed at Albert and jumped up and down, eyes watering and belly rumbling. Mortified, the garden gnome wished Bonobo King would get on with business and kill him already, but then the ape went blue in the face, started coughing and toppled over.
Parthenia Rook emerged from the mountain of fruit. “Cherry pits plus laughter. Never fails,” she said, marching triumphantly over the Bonobo King’s body. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you, Albert.”
Albert trailed behind. “Aren’t you gonna, you know, check that he’s really dead?”
“No, superheroes never double-check stuff. There is such a thing as style.” Albert glanced back doubtfully: he was sure he’d seen that ape twitch.
Evening in the Chess-Cafe Star
Monday, July 16th, 2007
That Tuesday evening, like every Tuesday for the last couple of months, Maxim Abromovich Klebanov went to the chess café on Zaparin street. Javad Azaizeh waited at the usual table by the window. Like a third of the tables in the café, instead of chess pieces, the table was set with a shallow bowl of glass beads beside the board on each side. A new fad, the game with glass beads was as rigorous as chess but more abstract.
They made the usual small talk as they played — ostensibly, the older man was helping Max with his French, but they both enjoyed the challenges of the games, chess at first, this new game for the last few weeks. They placed the beads at the corners of squares or, when the rules allow, in the center. Javad jotted the score and corrected Max’s accent; Max was distracted —
3: Akbal: climbing the steps to the sky: even with the green of the trees beyond the city
Max’s peripheral mind read patterns in the bead arrangements as Mayan calendar glyphs and jaunted off on cross-reference tangents —
8: Lamat: topography in relief: overlays for infrastructure, political divisions, groundcover vs. cleared vs. paved : looped animations showing ebb and flow of cultivation over decades.
Max shook his head. His contract was very specific: the peri-brain implant was for work only. The company paid for the surgery and the monthly subscription. The connection should have ended when he left the building. He shook his head again. One idea opened into the next.
14: Ix: import export ratios for corn, beans, millet, rice: by district, by country, by continent: by month, by year, by rolling five-year interval: flurry of numbers: mob of colored charts
The clatter and conversation in the street, loud yet removed. Against the focused silence of chess club, the noise was like a pressure in the air.
Max had fallen silent, but Javad must have assumed his friend was concentrating on the game. The taste of dust from another continent, another century, was thick on Max’s tongue. Amidst the random firings of the peri-brain, he glimpsed a story, a life. He moved his lips, couldn’t find words.
20: Ahau: numbers flock and disperse: commodities markets, futures: a wind in the treetops: so many steps
The game was over. Javad stood, wrapped his scarf around his neck, said something. Reached out to shake Max’s hand.
Behind Max’s eyes, the cycle of days began again.
1: Imix: climbing still higher: above the trees now and nearer to the sun’s heat