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Miguel sat eating his chicken flavoured two minute noodles that he'd lovingly prepared. He sobbed into them as he ate, mournful over the loss of his easter bonnet somewhere between the North West Passage and the shores of the Bering Straits where he and Pedro had been preparing Pinto and Punto for their dash to freedom. He was now beginning to doubt if he'd ever get over the loss.
There was no going back now, no U-turns in life when you had those two women hot on your tails. Pedro's philandering had upset Sarah and Lady Gaga irretrievably, and now Palin had set a possé of wild Alaskan fur seal hunters on their tracks with orders to "Shoot first and ask questions later!""They'll never see their cabanossi again!" screamed Lady Gaga hysterically and both women chorlted in the chilling togetherness of revenge.
Pedro, as usual, was as calm as a summer day on the shores of a palm-lined beach in Siam. Jim had told him, that if Miguel and himself could make their way down to the boys' shack in the jungles of Siam, they'd be safe there from the wrath of these revengeful ageing dames. All they had to do was to get the cabanossi safely to them, and Jake and Tim would take care of the rest.
Pinto and Punto stood quietly tied to a tree next to the campfire that Miguel had carefully prepared. Miguel started bawling uncontrollably and the two ponies looked at each other, loosened themselves from the tree and wandered a safe distance away.
Right then, Pedro returned to find his friend sobbing uncontrollably with the last of his noodle soup dribbling down has chin shivering, as a noodle hung out over his lip and the three day growth that Miguel always managed to be adorned with.
"It's OK, Miguel, it's OK..." said Pedro kindly crouching beside his friend and putting his arm lovingly around his shoulder: "Where we're goin' easter bonnets are sixpence a dozen. Besides, the cabanosi that our loyal horses are carrying will be worth a fortune once the new budget measures are passed"
"Oh, Pedro..." Miguel managed in between a sob, "How can women be so cruel? My mother was never like that. So kind and gentle." And he was off again into his self-pitying vale of tears.
"Well, Miguel," said the kind friend, "your mother was the best woman ever, and these two, don't worry, they are behind us now. We will not be hearing from them again for quite some time. Their plan to tax us out of the cabanossi trade will only back fire on them. The boys in Siam are already working on the plan. At this rate, we'll arrive at their camp in another three weeks. We must keep strong."
"Awww, Pedro. Yes, you are right." said Miguel wiping the tears and the noodles away with his sleeve and sniifing back the mucus that had gathered in his nasal passage, "We must stay focussed on our journey. It is not the easter bonnet so much, as how mean those ladies were to you. They are evil!"
"Yes, Miguel. I fell for one of their dirty little girlie tricks hook, line and sinker."
The two friends sat together looking out across the balmy South China Sea. It was a clear night and the moon was rising above the horizon. In the peacefulness of the scene, Pinto and Punto had returned standing silently behind the two friends, and they all looked out at the rising moon together. Pinto brayed followed shortly after by Punto, and the two walked back to their tree and stood there ready to go to sleep.
Image via WikipediaTomorrow would be a long day. All of them would have to climb the rocky face of the mountain range behind them on their way to the forest shack and freedom in the peaceful kingdom of Siam. They had been edging closer each day. The ponies were carrying their load well, especially since Miguel had whispered to them over and over about the thoroughbred fillies that awaited them at Jim's place.
A gentle wisp of wind came off the sea as Pedro and Miguel sat beside the dying campfire alone, looking out at the ocean. The only sound now was the waves breaking gently on the shore. Tomorrow was another day. They were both sure of that. The cabanossi sat safely under the trees in the worn leather saddle bags that the two had been using on their journeys for so long now. Make of it what you will, but this was nothing new for these two old cowhands...
Mention Easter Bonnets and I think of Bing Crosby. Go Figure. Bewdiful, PDJ!
ReplyDeleteThe rising sun glinted upon 4 figures under a woven blanket. Twelve legs – 4 with feet and 8 with hooves – stretched out to welcome the warmth.
ReplyDeleteWith the dawning of the new day, Pedro felt a vitality beyond the baked bean nourishment of the previous evening. “It’s gonna be a bright, bright, sunshiney day, ” he sung as he deftly sliced away his 3 day growth, along with the cloud of gloom which had hung around their foreheads for as long as he could remember.
“Miguel, mi amigo,” he begun. Then, switching to English for the benefit of their followers, he continued, “the wind is at our back. The sun is shining on our faces. The world is before us. Let us cast off our shackles of grief and tormenting women, and embrace this voyage of life.”
Pedro whimpered. He was not yet ready to throw aside this grey poncho of despair which he had worn since the journey began.
“Drink some concrete, my friend, and harden up!” exclaimed Miguel, adopting a euphemism he’d heard during a stint as a brickies labourer on a Bondi construction site.
Pedro threw his sombrero up into the air. Far, far away it was carried on the morning breeze.
“You have a trusty companion, and your loyal steed. Sarah will always be a part of you, but now is the time to acknowledge that part and let it go,” persisted Miguel.
Pedro breathed in deeply. The clean, crisp air stung his clenched lungs. He looked to the horizon, watching the morning birds soar. He exhaled the bitterness which had pervaded his internal organs and cramped his guts.
When he finally spoke, it was with renewed vigour & optimism. “You are wise, my fellow traveller. The time is indeed ripe for the rebirth of my soul. Now cook up that batch of concrete you were speaking of, and let us ride on to our promising quest. ”
Now, listen here DAisy Chain, no femo-jungian-critiques of my characters, that may be a very bad place to go. It may only get worse before it gets better. 8-) Mind you, I found some of your dialogue entrancing, but neither Pedro nor Miguel would understand a word you were saying unless of course you were a potential conquest, and then Pedro would understand every word immediately. Miguel would remain in oblivion I'm afraid. Funny thing the human psyche, hey?
ReplyDeleteI am no conquest, nor conquistador. In fact, I am not even Spanish, just a flowering cactus in the desert, showing the way out of the trecherous ravine to the weary wanderers. The way they choose is up to them, I just hate to see their days consumed by girly blubbering.
ReplyDeleteAs for psycho-analysing the fellers, I don't know what you mean.
:p
Hey Daisy Chain, if you're proposing I accept. I actually liked your dialogue. Today I had an idea come to me with pedro and miguel. Never forget, that art may be mimicked but that doesn't mean that is a sensible thing to do. I certainly hope I'm nothing at all like Sarah Palin and she's as artful as they come. Pedro and Miguel are too real for the stuff she gets up to. Cactus would be nice, I admit, but I think the boys grew up in Johnston St, Fitzroy at the back of a spanish tapas bar.
ReplyDelete