The Mistral and the Old Man

18 Aug

“..and even though it cuts to the bone like a sharp, steel son of a bitch of a knife,” the old man said, “I shall look forward to its arrival.”
“You will?”
“But why? I have been through a hundred-and-eighty-kilometer wind and do not ever wish to have that experience,” I said.
“You have been through that?”
“In America. In Florida.”
“Ah. Of course. A hurricane?”
“Pfft, but at least it’s not cold wind.”
“It’s a small consolation. It blows away everything just the same. In any case…you are strange. You look forward with great excitement to the wrath of the land.”
“Of course. When you are old like me, that is all you have left to amuse you.”
“But why?”
“I shall stay home,” the old man said, “from all the pipes and the stopcocks. From all the frozen toilets and bidets.” (The old man was a plumber). “I shall stay home and play the clarinet.”
I said nothing.
“You must meet the Madame,” the old man said while petting the large rabbit he held in his lap. “She is from Visane. Good wine and good women come from Visane.”
“Of course. She is a Soprano.”
“That’s lovely,” I said. For an absurd moment I thought of Ionesco and his bald diva and his chairs, as well.
“Yes. Yes it is.”
And then he quickly twisted the animal’s neck, holding tightly at the long, flappy ears.
“Stay for supper. The Madame will cook him into a civet with red wine.”


3 Responses to “The Mistral and the Old Man”

  1. (S)wine 18/08/2008 at 1:35 PM #

    I am anxiously awaiting a smart-ass response from Brandon ( along the lines of: “Man, now THAT was a story with a twist.”

  2. Slyboots 18/08/2008 at 9:08 PM #

    I was thinking along the lines of fava beans and a nice chianti. Clarice.

  3. (S)wine 18/08/2008 at 11:30 PM #

    (slurping noises)

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