1002 Arabian Nights
Friday, August 25, 2006
Are you all tucked in? Good. Lay back my children and listen to my tale. It is but a simple tale, of discontentment, celebration and revelations. Place your head upon the pillow and close your eyes. The title of our story is Bed Fellows.
There once was a woman named Scarlett who decided that she needed to celebrate her twenty-sixth birthday twice. With a pause of 10 days between the two. She thought it would be best if one day a mass of her friends, knowing that five of them would not be there for the actual day of birth, got together, and then again, on the actual day she would assemble all the prior friends minus a few, adding a few more, and go out again. She thought this to be genius, allowing her to reap the benefits of alcohol consumption and frivolity to their most lethal levels.
She let everyone know that she wanted this and this is what would be. She bombarded all she knew with phone calls from her handy, text messages, emails and carrier pigeons. The proclamations read, “All esteemed comrades, as you know tonight is my birthday. And on your birthday you are implored to make with the merrymaking. Meet at the MarketPlatz at 2000hr and from there we shall begin. Wonderfully yours, Scarlett”
Her friends mumbled and wondered. “We just did this last week. Does she deserve another night dedicated to her? And where shall we all go? We are meeting at the Platz and that is where the WineFest still reigns on. And I truly do not want any more white wine. How we all long for a good red.”
Hemmed and hawed. Debated and discussed. In the end this ragged group of compatriots knew that they did not have much else to do, being that all of them were afraid to branch out further then their small circle of friends. All of them unwilling to learn the language of their stadt, all of them thinking they could get by on their handful of words and jester-like gesturing that when the city clock chimed 20hr they came. They came from the east, from the west, from the alleys, from the Straße, from the bars, and from the restaurants every member emerged.
Scarlett smiled and embraced them all welcoming them to her encore fete. Through a din of Riesling she informed them all that they would at the hour or 22 and thirty head over to a club that she fancied. A club fashioned in the style of a pasha’s palace. The entourage quivered with excitement. “There will be drinks, and belly dancers and Indian food and dancing.” Scarlett continued. Everyone cheered. “This is great,” they yelled, they thought, “this is wonderful. This will be fantastic. Can’t we go now?" “No decreed the birthday princess. I am a cute girl and I get what I want. And what I want right now is more Riesling.”
A sigh of discontentment arose from the mass. “Must we?” They pleaded. “Isn’t there anything else that we could do till the golden hour?” They beseeched. “Nein,” she cried. “I want wine.”
Minutes dragged on, hours passed; wine was drunk begrudgedly by some, abstained by others. Most in attendance watched their wrist, spoke to each other in a smattering of words in the attempt to kill time. The joy that was felt in the beginning evaporated and desperation and boredom loomed overhead. The hours of 22 and 30 came and went and the silent grumblings became more vocal. Threats of abandoning the night circulated through the group and finally at the hour of 23 and 15 they reached Scarlett. It was then stated that indeed the time had arisen and all should move along to the highlight of the evening.
They moved out in fours, they moved out in fives, they moved out to a place only a few knew the whereabouts of. When they were at the door they were informed that there would be a tax levied upon them to enter the Pasha’s Palace. “And want is this tax all inquired.” “A small tax. A slight tax to relish in the hedonistic ways of this palace.” “Tell us tell us,” all beckoned. “A tax of three for entry and then two for His kindness.” Within their pockets each found the necessary homage to the Pasha. With the levied tax in his hand the guard told all to wait, for a special spot would be opening up for them soon. “A special spot?” “But of course. You are many and you are all fabulous.” And so they waited with compliments ringing in their ears.
After a few beats of the heart and little fanfare Scarlett’s entourage entered en masse into the Pasha’s Palace. The lighting was soft, dim and red as smoke clung to the air as dancers clung to each other in the throws of the minor harmonic melodies of the Arabian coast. As they walked to their unknown spot all could be heard asking, “What is this? The ground it is soft and moving.” “Sand!” Broadcasted those who wore sandals. “The entire floor is sand.” “How delectable.” Smiles slowly began to be seen on the faces of the crowd again.
They reached their destination in the back of the bar. A large space emerged in front of them a bedded platform full of varying sized pillows of red and golden silk lay in wait for each and every person to lounge upon their fluffed comfort. The group pushed back the flimsy curtain that obscured the area from others in the palace and they began to pile in.
“Ein, zwei, drei, vierzehn! Fourteen! This can not be” yelped the bed. “I cannot hold that many. Some of you must use my friend the comfy chairs over there.” “No, no! We must have the pleasure of sitting up you. You see we have been waiting all night to be here and not one of us will give up the chance to laze about upon your velvet cushions.” “Very well,” said the bed. “But hear me here, when you lie down with too many upon one bed someone will be forgotten, someone will be crushed, someone will be unfulfilled and someone will be stuck with the consequences of such rashness.”
The group pawshawed the bed, but you should always listen to a bed. It knows what it speaks of for it has seen many things that most do not wish to relate to anyone else. And for sometime the group was uncomfortable, too many people crushed up each other, made it difficult to move, drink, talk, breathe. Some were not allowed to witness the awing show that was the dancer performing. Some never received their orders and thusly sat quiet in the corner waiting for the moment that they could leave.
So the lesson to this story is do not be afraid to try new things. But sometimes the new things you need to try are expending your circle of friends for they might look better upon your bed than those you currently revolve around.
I wanted to add an image to this section, but the damn thing wouldn't cooperate. Therefore go here and take a peek.
posted by Don Taylor @ 2:27 AM,
