Genevieve and the Two Scotties by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Chapter 7

He was in the lotus position in the middle of the leftward path. He appeared to be an aged, Indian man. His long, white hair was tied back in a pigtail, which protruded only slightly from the back of his plain Jamaican tam. His beard was also white and had been cut no time in recent history, thereby reaching his emaciated stomach. His bones were to a certain extent covered with a dirty blue outfit of matching pants and cummerbund, seemingly denim. He had bare feet and was looking down at a large open book on the floor in front of him. Perhaps most significantly, he didn’t look exactly like someone who was all that thrilled with the world or his place in it.

Holy man; property of the author.

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Genevieve and Pablo could have hopped the human roadblock if they wanted to. But, they had come here for information about the two black Scotties, and suspected that it was possible for him to have some.

Pablo nervously decided to venture a friendly opening and said; “Good book?”

The holy man impassively responded; “I’ve read better. The unknown author of this one seems to think that everything boils down to fate. He never uses the word, but there is a strong suggestion of predestination.”

Pablo said; “Beckett?”

The holy man said; “Maybe Pynchon. You can see that it’s a goddam big book despite someone having ripped off the cover and the first one hundred pages, and it still just goes on forever.

......... Christ, it’s worse than all the Vedas and Upanishads put together.”

Genevieve said; “You don’t believe in predestination, I take it.”

The holy man said; “I don’t believe and I don’t not believe. However, if predestination is the case, one doesn’t have to write a nine hundred page book about it, as it doesn’t matter.”

Genevieve said; “Why?”

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The holy man said; “If you have no effect on anything and no matter what you do, you get the same outcome; the logic suggests that you should do whatever you want all the time. What kind of nut wants to spend their time writing long stupid books?”

Almost quietly offended because of his love for books, Pablo said; “Right. I’d rather sit down here in the dark in my drawers. Who are you and what do you know?”

The holy man said; “My name is Sadhu Calabrese and I know all the stories of life on earth. You may have correctly guessed that my father was Italian.”

Pablo said; “Do you know mine?”

Sadhu said; “No, your father never got down here.”

Pablo said; “No, I men my life story.”

Sadhu said; “Up until now.”

Pablo said; “Then you knew I’d get here!”

Sadhu said; “Only when you did. You made a mistake, but it was relatively small and didn’t do any harm. I can give you all the knowledge of the world. Stay here.”

Pablo said; “What was my mistake?”

Sadhu said; “Monsters are figments of your imagination.

They only exist on the mental plane and therefore can only hurt you on the mental plane.”

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Genevieve said; “Well, if we might stay here a short time; we were looking for two black Scottish terriers who may go by the names of Billy and Jack. Where might they be?”

Sadhu seemed amused when he said; “Your specificity is indicative of a low rate of sensitivity. Sensitivity enables one to IDENTIFY the true positive rate of the beings and their placement while specificity is merely indicative of the true negative rate which is everywhere but the correct placement.

Tsk. Tsk. If you would merely reverse yourself you would know exactly where they are.”

Genevieve bristled; “Well, I never. The perception of one is only considered necessitating of a discredited zero-sum-game tradeoff against the other by those lacking in experience and with the most rudimentary of book ‘knowledge.’ I’ll have you know that I am not the least bit insensitive.”

Sadhu sighed and said; “I didn’t say you were. This sensitivity and specificity is math. Your personal sensitivity is another issue. ......... I think.”

Pablo said; “Umm, Genevieve; all the books aren’t quite that bad. Take my word on that one. Sadhu, how long were you out in the world?”

Sadhu said; “I was born in this room and I will die in it.”

Pablo said; “Have it your way. Have you seen any black Scottish terriers?”

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Sadhu said; “I’ll have to refer to my notes. ...... Where did I put my notes? ....... Have you seen them? ........ Have you taken them?”

It was Genevieve and Pablo’s turn to sigh; which they did in unison. Genevieve looked at Pablo and said; ”Ready to hop?”

Pablo said; “Yeah,” and together they cleared the road obstruction which called itself Sadhu.

As they made their way, they faintly heard Sadhu in the distance. He called out; “Can either of you direct me out of here? Maybe somewhere near a Burger King.” His sound increasingly faded with each step they took.

Genevieve said; “What’s a Burger King?”

Pablo said; “I really don’t know. Sounds like the deceptively tasty manifestation of a gastronomic assault wearing a crown.”

They again commenced their sliding mud play; oblivious to the blank darkness which seemed to be getting more extensive in scope.

They encountered a rabbit; a large rabbit who’s ears reached the ceiling. She wore a dress, a lavender blazer, and sported two big buck teeth which protruded from her mouth and finally came to a kindhearted end somewhere near her chin. She seemed to be smiling, but said; “You’ve reached the end of the line.”

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Last big bunny; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license.

Genevieve said; “There’s no Billy and Jack here?” quickly adding; “They’re two black Scottish terriers.”

The rabbit said; “No. You’re the only ones who have made it this far. ........ Well, besides me and Red; and he’s been long gone. ....... I’m Hawa, the last big bunny. ..... Some used to call me Mo.”

Genevieve and Pablo introduced themselves, and then drew a bit of a blank. Eventually, Pablo said; “So, there’s no way for us to get out ahead.”

Hawa said; “No. You’ll have to go back the way you came. If you’re tired you can rest here for a while.”

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Genevieve first checked with Pablo, and then said; “No thank you. We’ll leave.”

Hawa nodded and watched them walk away slowly.

In too short a time the couple re-engaged Sadhu, who was still sitting in the middle of the road, this time with his back to them. Pablo said; “You scoot right and I’ll scoot left.”

Genevieve said; “Fine.”

Sadhu wasn’t startled, as if it was expected. As they passed him, he said; “Boy, can she move.”

Pablo wasn’t sure if that was a question or not. He stopped and thought a bit, not wanting to appear ignorant and finally said; “You say you know all the stories. Why ask me?”

Genevieve said; “Would you please just keep moving. That guy can go on all day.”

Pablo said; “Okay, okay. It’s just that ...... “ and at that point decided it was best to just shut up and keep moving.

They came to the fork again. Genevieve said; “Do you want to take another look at the monsters?”

Pablo said; “No, not really. Do you?”

Genevieve said; “No. Just checking.”

They glided in tandem, much like ice skaters.

Old Mark was too busy cranking the wheels to take any notice of them.

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They found the hole in the roof and jumped out, the sun now directly on them.

Sunrise; the kind courtesy of Pexels.com under their CC0 license; modified.

The sun was directly in Genevieve’s face as she awoke in her wicker bed. Genevieve groaned a bit as she saw the light of the new day. Her Maltese’ furry, white snout released a low murmur, perhaps a combination of noncommittal happiness to see the new day, a sadness that her dream had ended, and an annoying, achy back paw, that didn’t want to be stretched just yet. But, the little aggravation was not yet allowed to make any big decisions.

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