Internet

Doru Stoica • 17:04 - 05.12.2008 • 

It was November and the son of Bubba Winston was seen coming back home, on the old road coming from the City, stepping in the shadow of the red trees, chewed by the blood dripping jaws of autumn, he was just finished the college but he was still an idiot, as we were to realize very soon, his father thought, considering the huge bald head his son had, that that rotten pumpkin should contain something, especially he thought that the big hillocks which eructed from time to time in the middle of his son’s skull were the ideas, funny and full of substance, in fact we had no doubts that they were filled with substances, we even discussed with some interest on the possible result of a fast backyard biopsy on the hillocky, Basil was the name of the young man, he had three tuffs of red hair on the top of the skull, snub nose and flagging ears, he walked bandy-legged, making his father very proud, "if only you knew, you chimps, the donkey balls that my son has"
 said Bubba, we didn’t care, we knew very well from the village lunatic woman, (the one who deflowered all of us) how Basil’s libido was, same as the one of a retired accountant waiting each month’s interests from the bank, don’t mind that, what was important was that he worth nothing but he brought strange ideas from the city, if I remember well he was the first village boy who passed through the caudine forks of the State University, it wasn’t unusual for his father to be proud, two weeks after that he was the pubs attraction, he told beautiful stories about mid terms and "fixed" tests, about fraternity houses and drunk girls, it was just what we needed, as the village’s wedding funeral and bar singer was having his annual osteoporosis crisis, so we stood and listened the bald guy as he continuously rattled about seminars and labs and projects, about exams and tests, till one day when the devil put in his mouth the word internet and the glasses froze
 on the table, the brandy had no taste, the waitress stopped waving her hips, the cigarettes smoked by themselves, the flies layed in exthasy on the mouth of the bottles, the ally dogs blocked their tails on the left side, everything stoned as dead and we all listened the story of "the-letters – which- are- going – by- themselves- to – the- idiots", the story of "the – naked-girls- pictures- that- you- can- find- everywhere", the story of movies and gardening books, of country music and pork meat receipts, everything that you could find just by pressing a few buttons, "What do you know, we said, THAT would be good for us !" it really was a good ideea but you had more chances to find a fair sifilis in a convent (as somene said) than a computer in our village, so we thought at something else for about 2 weeks, I won’t deny that we were all bitten inside by temptations, well, each man has his little bird, but noone dared, from all the smart guys who were
 there, only Dumby the dumb tried to talk, as bad as he could, "what if we would make an internet of our own, here, in our village ?", said the dumb and I said nothing, neither was anyone, the guys planted the ideea under their wool hats, kept drinking brandy for another week and then they said "OK, that’s good, let’s do it", but who ? as everyone kept staring on the floor with bovine look, I stopped resisting my impulse and said: "OK, you stupid chipmunks, I’ll do it, me and Stron’drink, we’ll do that damn’ internet, I’ll be damn’ if we don’t do it!" and I swear we started, it was already December, the third snow was falling, the chimneys of the houses were slowly smoking as a giant would have slept inside each one with a pipe in the corner of the mouth, the street was filled with stupid kids lacking conservation instinct, in a swarming crying crowd, in a hodge-podge of rusty sledges and grazed ankles, me and Stron’drink were just started that year’s
 Christmas carols, in our own way, of course, early in the morning we started from the north side of the village and tasted everyone’s brandy, we walked on the left side of the road and went back on the right side, later the historians said this was the first data structure indexing, something like that, strange guys those historians, -.the matter is that the villagers started to get used to us, someone said for example "it is eleven, till twelve o’ clock you’ll be at Jimbo Slaught, you take this shovel too, he borrowed it to me in 97, he keeps asking me to send it back" we took the shovel and we gave it to the man, he lived three streets away, well maybe is not correct to say three streets, we followed the maze rule, the streets and numbers didn’t mattered, you had to put the left hand of the fence and walked dangling till you couldn’t see houses anymore or you reached a blind alley, then crossed the street put the same hand on the new fence and walked
 again, we used to got horny skin on the fingers and sometimes our phalanx got bitten by the dogs but art means suffering, you’ve nothing to do to escape this, people really got used to us, one day the shovel, another day the wicker bottle, one Sunday morning even the priest’s Psalter which he forgot at home and his wife as a responsible clergyman’s wife took care to send it urgently, to avoid the possibility of the holly man to come running after it and disturb her home-prayers and the pious weekly motet which she held on the holly music of the Chippendales, whose songs she had on a tape that she used to put inside the VCR only with closed curtains, it seems the Chippendales were very frequently attending women daily mots as we used to hear terrifying women yells from beyond the curtains, we tried to listen to the windows but we didn’t understood too much, maybe we were just stupid, but we didn’t care, it was just the way the big internet was working,
 one day we’ve met Basil, it just happened to catch us sober as we were just beginning our day and he told us "you idiots, don’t be so stupid, big bucks could come from this !" and we started to request money, for network connection, we said, the conversation was like this: "you want me to pass by every day ? OK you put near the brandy 2 nickels per hour, how much do you believe it takes to get to Frank? let’s say 2 hours if your dog is not awake… and 3 minutes if he is, so pour in the glass, pay and we’ll carry your barrel in Frank’s backyard"… sometimes it was really hard to explain everyone, so we asked Basil’s opinion and he said no problem and he painted with lime on our jackets "village wide web & email" and below "details at townhall", this one with the townhall was for intimidation, people were going there to ask the mayor but he was busy, he was redecorating in the middle of the winter so he shouted at them through the glass "get the hell
 out of here, don’t you see the townhall is under construction ?" and he pointed to the rusty plate showing the inauguration date, something with numbers, you could only read 404, maybe it was April 4, it doesn’t matter anymore, people were really getting used to us, we had some really strange requests, "Stron’drink, my son- said the old lady- please bring me some eggs, you search well, not to be expensive" and the poor Stron’drink, swimming through the brandy waves started to ask around, sometimes he forgot and we had to go back, "hey, listen old ma’, do you sell eggs ?" huh… some people even thought of reprobating stuff, like Stanley who took us beside one day, paid the network connection and gave us a 5 years old brandy, then he whispered sobbing a complicated story about his desire for a blonde chick, one without angry husband and without previous relationships with the men in the Other Village, we told him "Man, this is an advanced thing…" but
 we tried it and again we fought with the snow asking the women "are you a blonde, a chick ? are you sure you weren’t involved with a man from the Other Village ? but why your husband turned so red ? Are you nervous, old pal ?.. Ok we split it, bye…" we did all our best and gave the client a list, everyone was happy, money were money and the client satisfied, some other time even Basil asked us to find all the harlot’s in the village, well, we understood, he was young, but it was really hard.. how could we know this ?… so we went to the church, I pretended to confess, I told the priest " Oh father, I have sinned… " and he said with a spark in his eyes "With whom you’ve sinned, my son ?" and I was so shy and he was so gentle that he started to ask: "With Mary, with Hellen, with Constance ? with my daughter ? with whom, my son, with whom ?" and I was sobbing slowly whirling the peaked cap in my hands, shaking my head while Stron’drink took notes
 hidden under the bench, we were really afraid of God’s anger- after all we WERE practically fooling His serveant, disregarded His procedures and showed disdain in His house – you couldn;’t ask us to be sage, isn’t it ? but we survived, Basil was very happy about the results, we went on with our bussiness we delivered letters and words from one dwelling to another, we carried old ladies buckets from the fountains, we drove oxes to the slaughter house, we brought bicycle spares from the city, we unloaded the mais from the chariots, we searched women and threatened men, we amused the kids and favoured the relatives reconciliation, and so on, we were all over the head about the damn internet but we couldn’t quit, the others were starting to feel our importance, they’ve just got used being lazy, the idiots, they didn’t wanted to move their asses outside the houses, they sent for us, food and drink was ours to deliver, we took urine to analysis, we went
 wooing, we went to funerals, even the deads we have carried to the grave, when Frank’s wife died everyone laughed: not even her husbant was able to escort her on the last way, that day we were very surprised when in the morning we discovered that our fingers touched the black flag which leaned on the fence, we went in the house and Frank was waiting for us with the bottle in one hand and with the alvs basket in the other, he said "good, you’re here, well folks, my wife just died… you carry hear to the graveyard" we looked at each other, we said "OK the man is crazy from grieff" but not a chance, he ment it ! we lift our shoulders, put the alvs on the dead woman’s swollen belly, she was silently waiting for us in a sledge, I said, "OK Stron’drink, you carry the dead, I’ll lead the way with the black flag" we passed the gate and the widow-man yelled at us "just don’t forget to go to the priest first, he wrote the preach on a piece of paper for you", we
 didn’t look back, stopped at the first house and went on with the bussiness, we had to leave some blue pills to the neighbour, we left the dead woman in the street about half an hour, she didn’t care, seemed very happy to see us again when we came out, everyone was feeling sorry for the poor woman "yeah, she was very upset… I think he used to beat her… no wonder if he killed her"… we were impartial, we took the preach from the priest, went on, staggering, preaching and singing gospel music, sometimes we were laughing like idiots with absolutely no reason, distributing the alvs to everyone, drinking our brandy and stopping from time to time to urinate near the fences with more intimate appearence, it was then when we remembered our mission and we turned back sometimes discovering the dead woman missing, catching a glipse of her appearence far away in a ditch at the end of the street, fallen in the snow, we were laughing our asses off, "look
 Stron’drink", I said, "look what you’ve done, you’ve lost the attachement !" … "oh, fuck !" he said, "let’s grab it.."and we were going on; when we reached the graveyard we started mourning for her as the old ladie taught us, the tradition had to be kept, a lot of tears and yells, you coldn’t change that, we came back to officiate a marriage and to help a pregnant woman give birth, we became famous, especially when everyone discovered the chat rooms, they just couldn’t have enough, they kept sending disorderly words from one to another, like George who said "listen Stron’drink, say this to Julie…" and he grinned showing us his yellow crooked teeth; Stron’drink was knitting, tried really hard to memorize the facial expression, got to the addressee and reproduced the grin as well as he could, Julie was having obvious fun, she tittled and said "God, this George is really crazy, tell him I laughed a lot", we really couldn’t stand those two, after a few
 weeks George was saying "tell Julie: I would like to crumple your body in my sheets" "Ok" we said and ran to Julie who turned red laughing, "tell him I would love that too, yeah, you go now and tell him", slap slap in the snow, we were runing back to George who, filled with joy, said "wow, so good ! tell her to send me a picture.. naked !", slap ! back to the woman, "he wants naked pictures ? take that one", in the middle of the street covered with snow we were looking at the image: really ugly woman, Julie, but maybe she was the only one who could have such a picture, George was inspired, we left him pop-eyed in his kitched and crawled to the first fence, put the hands on it and went on, we did not knew where, sometime somewhere someone would need us, one day Stron’drink catched the flew and gave it to everyone, so we came back from the city carrying bags with aspirin, some people never called us after this but they kept staying in the houses, the
 evenings were the worst, the loneliness was devouring us, only our footsteps were in the snow on the streets, noone was leaving their shelters, we were swarming as ants among the houses covered with snow, they were smoking under the asses of murky clouds, the snowflakes were sheeding tears on our faces, walked in silence listening to the squek of the ankle boots, sometimes we found locked gates and noone around, noone payed us anymore although we fed all of them, we were walking by habit and not for benefit, we were walking amazed by the silence, the days passed by in the lowland village in which only the chimneys seemed to breath, someday we’ve met on the street some strangers, the came to see what’s hapening, we said that nothing was hapening anymore, they are all like dead, the next day they’ve cut the electricty, thy busses ceased to stop in the village and we even heared that they’ve erased us from the taxes book, we were officially extinct but we
 didn’t care, the time was broke in big worn out chunks which were flowing on the lard river of Universe’s life, only sometimes we saw shadows in the yards, even these dissapeared in a few months, we were walking around knocking at the gates, noone was opening them, noone was cursing us like they did in the good times, but we kept knocking until one day, it was almost spring then, when someone came out and asked us to bring him a book. And we did.

 
 

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2 Comentarii

  1. voicunike spune:

    Mister Doru we are born in some day ,19,but with a month diferent,january.
    Please wrote much more and try to publishing a book with your story,ist he best of everytime.

  2. aspoiu spune:

    Voicule, esti teribil ! 😀

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