Date: Tue, 26 Dec 2006 15:16:01 -0800
Reply-To: Tom Salicos <Tom@SALICOS.COM>
Sender: Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@gerry.vanagon.com>
From: Tom Salicos <Tom@SALICOS.COM>
Subject: Re: Writers aren't artists
In-Reply-To: <C1B412CC.2477%npoole@telus.net>
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Writing assignment:
>> Write a two page story that must contain a monkey, a hammer, a naked
>> fakir in a seedy Winnipeg hotel room, and a talking, philosophical
>> cat food can.
>>
Ravi had always prided himself on his personal cleanliness. But trying to
stand in the tiny improvised wash tub, he fell backwards onto the stained
and tattered mattress that had served as his bed since the day he exchanged
most of his remaining life savings for three months' rent in the tiny
apartment that was soon to become his final residence.
As he lay on his back he could hear the always too-loud radio station
playing in the next room. By those familiar old songs from nostalgia radio
station CHNR he could place himself in much better times. Up until Boxing
Day of 1982 he had held the position of faithful manservant to a succession
of foreign dignitaries. Always Johnny-on-the-Spot, always anticipating and
fulfilling needs and whims, he was most pleased when he could please.
But employing elderly help does not speak well of the powerful and Ravi was
dismissed with no more than a traditional gift box that fed and amused him
for a day or two. He chuckled to himself, "Well heck, I could have
stretched that treasure to last for two weeks in these times. You just
never can know."
After joining the ranks of the aging unwanted he had met up with some fellow
expatriates and started entertaining crowds at summer fairs and flea
markets. His name was Samuel, by the way. But to the locals, Ravi or
Vishnu or Gunga Din were much less challenging labels. For some reason Ravi
just stuck.
He turned his head to the picture on the night stand that so many of us
would have mistaken for a milk crate. He smiled at the creased and cracked
photo of Tippi, his long time companion and fellow entertainer. From the
other side of the thin wall Peter Paul and Mary speculated about what they
would do for the World, given the proper implement of change. Temporarily
abandoning his personal convictions Ravi contemplated what he would have
changed if he could turn back the clock. "Nothing. Alas, nothing. Not for
not knowing the wrong, but for not knowing the alternative".
Ravi's body began to fail rapidly. Breathing yielded precious little reward
despite his ever-increasing effort. The music from the next room began to
matter so much less as the articles in his own room were beginning to
pulsate in and out of focus. In semi-consciousness he witnessed Tuffy the
Tabby detach himself from the printed label of yesterday's supper and
approach - kindly, smiling, face-to-face to whisper, "Goodnight, Samuel".
Happy Boxing Day
Tom Salicos
