Reaper Man

"Hallo, skelington."
He swivelled round.
The small child of the house was watching him with the most penetrating gaze he had ever seen.
"You are a skelington, aren't you," she said. "l can tell, because of the bones."
YOU ARE MISTAKEN, SMALL CHILD.
"You are. People turn into skelingtons when they're dead. They're not supposed to walk around afterwards."
HA. HA. HA. WILL YOU HARK AT THE CHILD.
"Why are you walking around, then?"
Bill Door looked at the old men. They appeared engrossed in the sport.
I'LL TELL YOU WHAT, he said desperately, IF YOU WILL GO AWAY, I WILL GIVE YOU A HALF-PENNY.
"I've got a skelington mask for when we go trickle-treating on Soul Cake Night," she said. "It's made of paper. You get given sweets."
Bill Door made the mistake millions of people had tried before with small children in slightly similar circumstances. He resorted to reason.
LOOK, he said, IF I WAS REALLY A SKELETON, LITTLE GIRL, I'M SURE THESE OLD GENTLEMEN HERE WOULD HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY ABOUT IT.
She regarded the old men at the other end of the bench.
"They're nearly skelingtons anyway," she said. "I shouldn't think they'd want to see another one."
He gave in.
I HAVE TO ADMIT THAT YOU ARE RIGHT ON THAT POINT.
"Why don't you fall to bits?"
I DON'T KNOW. I NEVER HAVE.
"I've seen skelingtons of birds and things and they all fall to bits."
PERHAPS IT IS BECAUSE THEY ARE WHAT SOMETHING WAS, WHEREAS THIS IS WHAT I AM.
"The apothecary who does medicine over in Chambly's got a skelington on a hook with all wire to hold the bones together," said the child, with the air of one imparting information gained after diligent research.
I DON'T HAVE WIRES.
"There's a difference between alive skelingtons and dead ones?"
YES.
"It's a dead skelington he's got then, is it?"
YES.
"What was inside someone?"
YES.
"Ur. Yuk."
The child stared distantly at the landscape for a while and then said, "I've got new socks."
YES?
"You can look, if you like."
A grubby foot was extended for inspection.
WELL, WELL. FANCY THAT. NEW SOCKS.
"My mum knitted them out of sheep."
MY WORD.
The horizon was given another inspection.
"D'you know," she said, "d'you know... it's Friday."
YES.
"I found a spoon."
Bill Door found he was waiting expectantly. He was not familiar with people who had an attention span of less than three seconds.


Excerpt from Terry Pratchett's Reaper Man

Because not all meals are happy :P

Raven Sable, slim and bearded and dressed all in black, sat in the back of his slimline black limousine, talking on his slimline black telephone to his West Coast base.

"How's it going?" he asked.

"Looking good, chief," said his marketing head. "I'm doing breakfast with the buyers from all the leading supermarket chains tomorrow. No problem. We'll have MEALS™ in all the stores this time next month."

"Good work, Nick."

"No problem. No problem. It's knowing you're behind us, Rave. You give great leadership, guy. Works for me every time."

Thank you," said Sable, and he broke the connection.

He was particularly proud of MEALS™.

The Newtrition corporation had started small, eleven years ago. a small team of food scientists, a huge team of marketing and public relations personnel, and a neat logo.

Two years of Newtrition investment and research had produced CHOW™. CHOW™ contained spun, plaited, and woven protein molecules, capped and coded, carefully designed to be ignored by even the most ravenous digestive tract enzymes; no-cal sweeteners; mineral oils replacing vegetable oils; fibrous materials, colorings, and flavorings. The end result was a foodstuff almost indistinguishable from any other except for two things. Firstly, the price, which was slightly higher, and secondly, the nutritional content, which was roughly equivalent to that of a Sony Walkman. It didn't matter how much you ate, you lost weight.*

Fat people had bought it. Thin people who didn't want to get fat had bought it. CHOW™ was the ultimate diet food - carefully spun, woven, textured, and pounded to imitate anything, from potatoes to venison, although the chicken sold best.

Sable sat back and watched the money roll in. He watched CHOW™ gradually fill the ecological niche that used to be filled by the old, untrademarked food.

He followed CHOW™ with SNACKS™ - junk food made from real junk.

MEALS™ was Sable's latest brainwave.

MEALS™ was CHOW™ with added sugar and fat. The theory was that if you ate enough MEALS™ you would a) get very fat, and b) die of malnutrition.

The paradox delighted Sable.


*And hair. And skin tone. And, if you ate enough of it long enough, vital signs.

From Good Omens by Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett (1990),
introducing the character Famine, one of the Four Riders of the Apocalypse,
the others being Death, War and Pollution (Pestilence quit after the discovery of penicillin :P)

...

Dr. Iannis giving advice to his daughter, Pelagia.

"Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion, it is not the desire to mate every second minute of the day, it is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every cranny of your body. No, don't blush, I am telling you some truths. That is just being 'in love', which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two. But sometimes the petals fall away and the roots have not entwined. Imagine giving up your home and your people, only to discover after six months, a year, three years, that the trees have had no roots and have fallen over. Imagine the desolation. Imagine the imprisonment."

From Captain Corelli's Mandolin by Louis de Berniére

Saba meenutuseks...

Pärast viimati loetud Jamesi teost, mis venis nädalate kaupa nagu kaamelitatt (5% dialoogi ja 95% lohisevaid kirjeldusi), oli meeldiv kohtuda taas Wolandiga, et veeta üks üürike nädalavahetus Moskvas.

Üks võluv stseen 28. peatükist.

"Muide," tahtis Peemot teada, pistes oma ümmarguse pea läbi malmvõre, "mida nad seal verandal teevad?"

"Söövad lõunat," seletas Korovjev, "ja ma pean ütlema, mu sõber, et siin on üpris hea ja odav restoran. Mina aga, nagu iga turist enne pikka teekonda, ihkan väga saada midagi hamba alla ja juua suure kannutäie jääkülma õlut."

"Ega minagi sellest ära ei ütleks," tähendas Peemot ja mõlemad lurjused seadsid oma sammud mööda asfalteeritud teed pärnade all veranda poole, kus asus vaene pahaaimamatu restoran.

Ühes nurgas, seal, kus väänkasvudes rohelises seinas oli sissepääs, istus viini toolil kahvatu ja igavlev naiskodanik. Jalas olid tal valged sokid ja peas valge barett, lõngatupsuke keset lagipead. Naiskodaniku ees harilikul söögilaual lebas paks kontoriraamat, kuhu ta kes teab misjaoks pani kirja restorani sisseastujaid. Just see naine pidaski Korovjevi ja Peemoti kinni.

"Teie liikmepiletid?" Naine vaatas imestunult Korovjevi näpitsprille ja Peemoti priimust ning katkist küünarnukki.

"Palun tuhat korda vabandust, missugused liikmepiletid?" küsis üllatunud Korovjev.

"Kas te olete kirjanikud?" päris naine omakorda.

"Aga muidugi," vastas Korovjev väärikalt.

"Teie liikmepiletid?" kordas naine oma küsimust.

"Armas neiu..." alustas Korovjev leebelt.

"Ma ei ole armas neiu," katkestas teda naine.

"Oh kui kahju," ütles Korovjev pettunult ja jätkas: "Noh, kui te ei soovi olla armas neiu, mis oleks olnud väga meeldiv, siis ärge olge. Niisiis, kas selleks, et veenduda, et Dostojevski on kirjanik, on tõesti vaja talt liikmepiletit küsida? Võtke mis tahes viis lehekülge tema romaanist, ja te veendute ühegi liikmepiletita, et teil on tegemist kirjanikuga. Ma arvan koguni, et tal polnudki mingisugust liikmepiletit! Mis sina arvad?" pöördus Korovjev Peemoti poole.

"Vean kihla, et ei olnud," vastas too, pani priimuse lauale raamatu kõrvale ja pühkis tahmaselt laubalt higi.

"Teie pole ju Dostojevski", ütles naine, keda Korovjevi jutt nõutuks tegi.

"Kes teab, kes teab," vastas too.

"Dostojevski on surnud," ütles naine, kuid mitte eriti kindlalt.

"Protesteerin!" hüüdis Peemot innukalt. "Dostojevski on surematu!"

Semestri alguse puhul

Doktor Kõuts vangutas pead.
"Kummitusi ei ole olemas."
"Minagi arvasin seda," noogutas Miikael. "Aga Gustav Kummitus on täiesti tegelikult olemas. Te võite teda käega katsuda."
"Mitte mingil tingimusel," vaidles doktor Kõuts vastu. "Küsimusele tuleb läheneda teaduslikult. Kõigepealt tuleks alustada ajalooliselt vaatekohalt. Kes esimesena kummitustest kirjutas? Kummituste välimus, mõõtmed, koostis. Kummituste alaliigid."
"Alaliigid?" ei saanud Miikael aru.
"Alati peate te mind katkestama," pahandas doktor Kõuts. "Ma ju väljendusin küllalt selgesti: a-la-lii-gid. Näiteks ühe jalaga kummitused, kahe jalaga kummitused, kolme jalaga kummitused ja nii edasi. Saba ja sarvedega kummitused. Valges voodilinas kummitused. Eriliik - kodukäijad. Eriliigi alajaotus: kolme jalaga voodilinas ühesarvilised kodukäijad. Nende esinemissagedus. Toitumine. Harjumused. Öised ja päevased kummitused. Tavalisemad kummitamisvõtted. Pealtnägijate seletused..."
"Aga te ise ütlesite, et neid ei ole olemas," protestis Miikael. "Ja nüüd puistate nagu käisest igasuguseid olematuit alaliike."
"See on teadus, mu kallis sõber," lausus doktor Kõuts pidulikult.

Katkend A. Reinla lasteraamatust "Miikael"

A Son Questioning His Father

"It's like we've been flung back in time," he said. "Here we are in the Stone Age, knowing all these great things after centuries of progress but what can we do to make life easier for the Stone Agers? Can we make a refrigerator? Can we even explain how it works? What is electricity? What is light? We experience these things every day of our lives but what good does it do if we find ourselves hurled back in time and we can't even tell people the basic principles much less actually make something that would improve conditions. Name one thing you could make. Could you make a simple wooden match that you could strike on a rock to make a flame? We think we're so great and modern. Moon landings, artificial hearts. But what if you were hurled into a time warp and came face to face with the ancient Greeks. The Greeks invented trigonometry. They did autopsies and dissections. What could you tell an ancient Greek that he couldn't say 'Big deal.' Could you tell him about the atom? Atom is a Greek word. The Greeks knew that the major events in the universe can't be seen by the eye of man. It's waves, it's rays, it's particles."

"We're doing all right."

"We're sitting in this huge moldy room. It's like we're flung back."

"We have heat, we have light."

"These are Stone Age things. They had heat and light. They had fire. They rubbed flints together and made sparks. Could you rub flints together? Would you know a flint if you saw one? If a Stoner Ager asked you what a nucleotide is, could you tell him? How do we make carbon paper? What is glass? If you came awake tomorrow in the Middle Ages and there was an epidemic raging, what could you do to stop it, knowing what you know about the progress of medicines and diseases? Here it is practically the twenty-first century and you've read hundreds of books and magazines and seen a hundred TV shows about science and medicine. Could you tell those people one little crucial thing that might save a million and a half lives?"

"'Boil your water,' I'd tell them."

"Sure. What about 'Wash behind your ears.' That's about as good."

"I still think we're doing fairly well. There was no warning. We have food, we have radios."

"What is a radio? What is the principle of a radio? Go ahead, explain. You're sitting in the middle of this circle of people. They use pebble tools. They eat grubs. Explain a radio."

"There's no mystery. Powerful transmitters send signals. They travel through the air, to be picked up by receivers."

"They travel through the air. What, like birds? Why not tell them magic? They travel through the air in magic waves. What is a nucleotide? You don't know, do you? Yet these are the building blocks of life. What good is knowledge if it just floats in the air? It goes from computer to computer. It changes and grows every second of every day. But nobody actually knows anything."

Don DeLillo, White Noise, 1984

Donald Barthelme: The Glass Mountain

1. I was trying to climb the glass mountain.

2. The glass mountain stands at the corner of Thirteenth Street and Eighth Avenue.

3. I had attained the lower slope.

4. People were looking up at me.

5. I was new in the neighborhood.

6. Nevertheless I had acquaintances.

7. I had strapped climbing irons to my feet and each hand grasped sturdy plumber's friend.

8. I was 200 feet up.

9. The wind was bitter.

10. My acquaintances had gathered at the bottom of the mountain to offer encouragement.

11. "Shithead."

12. "Asshole."

13. Everyone in the city knows about the glass mountain.

14. People who live here tell stories about it.

15. It is pointed out to visitors.

16. Touching the side of the mountain, one feels coolness.

17. Peering into the mountain, one sees sparkling blue-white depths.

18. The mountain towers over that part of Eighth Avenue like some splendid, immense office building.

19. The top of the mountain vanishes into the clouds, or on cloudless days, into the sun.

20. I unstuck the righthand plumber's friend leaving the lefthand one in place.

21. Then I stretched out and reattached the righthand one a little higher up, after which I inched my legs into new positions.

22. The gain was minimal, not an arm's length.

23. My acquaintances continued to comment.

24. "Dumb motherfucker."

25. I was new in the neighborhood.

26. In the streets were many people with disturbed eyes.

27. Look for yourself.

28. In the streets were hundreds of young people shooting up in doorways, behind parked cars.

29. Older people walked dogs.

30. The sidewalks were full of dogshit in brilliant colors: ocher, umber, Mars yellow, sienna, viridian, ivory black, rose madder.

31. And someone had been apprehended cutting down trees, a row of elms broken-backed among the VWs and Valiants.

32. Done with a power saw, beyond a doubt.

33. I was new in the neighborhood yet I had accumulated acquaintances.

34. My acquaintances passed a brown bottle from hand to hand.

35. "Better than a kick in the crotch."

36. "Better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick."

37. "Better than a slap in the belly with a wet fish."

38. "Better than a thump on the back with a stone."

39. "Won't he make a splash when he falls, now?"

40. "I hope to be here to see it. Dip my handkerchief in the blood."

41. "Fart-faced fool."

42. I unstuck the lefthand plumber's friend leaving the righthand one in place.

43. And reached out.

44. To climb the glass mountain, one first requires a good reason.

45. No one has ever climbed the mountain on behalf of science, or in search of celebrity, or because the mountain was a challenge.

46. Those are not good reasons.

47. But good reasons exist.

48. At the top of the mountain there is a castle of pure gold, and in a room in the castle tower sits...

49. My acquaintances were shouting at me.

50. "Ten bucks you bust your ass in the next four minutes!"

51. ...a beautiful enchanted symbol.

52. I unstuck the righthand plumber's friend leaving the lefthand one in place.

53. And reached out.

54. It was cold there at 206 feet and when I looked down I was not encouraged.

55. A heap of corpses both of horses and riders ringed the bottom of the mountain, many dying men groaning there.

56. "A weakening of the libidinous interest in reality has recently come to a close." (Anton Ehrenzweig)

57. A few questions thronged into my mind.

58. Does one climb a glass mountain, at considerable personal discomfort, simply to disenchant a symbol?

59. Do today's stronger egos still need symbols?

60. I decided that the answer to these questions was "yes."

61. Otherwise what was I doing there, 206 feet above the power-sawed elms, whose white meat I could see from my height?

62. The best way to fail to climb the mountain is to be a knight in full armor--one whose horse's hoofs strike fiery sparks from the sides of the mountain.

63. The following-named knights had failed to climb the mountain and were groaning in the heap: Sir Giles Guilford, Sir Henry Lovell, Sir Albert Denny, Sir Nicholas Vaux, Sir Patrick Grifford, Sir Gisbourne Gower, Sir Thomas Grey, Sir Peter Coleville, Sir John Blunt, Sir Richard Vernon, Sir Walter Willoughby, Sir Stephen Spear, Sir Roger Faulconbridge, Sir Clarence Vaughan, Sir Hubert Ratcliffe, Sir james Tyrrel, Sir Walter Herbert, Sir Robert Brakenbury, Sir Lionel Beaufort, and many others.

64. My acquaintances moved among the fallen knights.

65. My acquaintances moved among the fallen knights, collecting rings, wallets, pocket watches, ladies' favors.

66. "Calm reigns in the country, thanks to the confident wisdom of everyone." (M. Pompidou)

67. The golden castle is guarded by a lean-headed eagle with blazing rubies for eyes.

68. I unstuck the lefthand plumber's friend, wondering if--

69. My acquaintances were prising out the gold teeth of not-yet dead knights.

70. In the streets were people concealing their calm behind a façade of vague dread.

71. "The conventional symbol (such as the nightingale, often associated with melancholy), even though it is recognized only through agreement, is not a sign (like the traffic light) because, again, it presumably arouses deep feelings and is regarded as possessing properties beyond what the eye alone sees." (A Dictionary of Literary Terms)

72. A number of nightingales with traffic lights tied to their legs flew past me.

73. A knight in pale pink armor appeared above me.

74. He sank, his armor making tiny shrieking sounds against the glass.

75. He gave me a sideways glance as he passed me.

76. He uttered the word "Muerte" as he passed me.

77. I unstuck the righthand plumber's friend.

78. My acquaintances were debating the question, which of them would get my apartment?

79. I reviewed the conventional means of attaining the castle.

80. The conventional means of attaining the castle are as follows: "The eagle dug its sharp claws into the tender flesh of the youth, but he bore the pain without a sound, and seized the bird's two feet with his hands. The creature in terror lifted him high up into the air and began to circle the castle. The youth held on bravely. He saw the glittering palace, which by the pale rays of the moon looked like a dim lamp; and he saw the windows and balconies of the castle tower. Drawing a small knife from his belt, he cut off both the eagle's feet. The bird rose up in the air with a yelp, and the youth dropped lightly onto a broad balcony. At the same moment a door opened, and he saw a courtyard filled with flowers and trees, and there, the beautiful enchanted princess." (The Yellow Fairy Book)

81. I was afraid.

82. I had forgotten the Bandaids.

83. When the eagle dug its sharp claws into my tender flesh--

84. Should I go back for the Bandaids?

85. But if I went back for the Bandaids I would have to endure the contempt of my acquaintances.

86. I resolved to proceed without the Bandaids.

87. "In some centuries, his [man'sl imagination has made life an intense practice of all the lovelier energies." (John Masefield)

88. The eagle dug its sharp claws into my tender flesh.

89. But I bore the pain without a sound, and seized the bird's two feet with my hands.

90. The plumber's friends remained in place, standing at right angles to the side of the mountain.

91. The creature in terror lifted me high in the air and began to circle the castle.

92. I held on bravely.

93. I saw the glittering palace, which by the pale rays of the moon looked like a dim lamp; and I saw the windows and balconies of the castle tower.

94. Drawing a small knife from my belt, I cut off both the eagle's feet.

95. The bird rose up in the air with a yelp, and I dropped lightly onto a broad balcony.

96. At the same moment a door opened, and I saw a courtyard filled with flowers and trees, and there, the beautiful enchanted symbol.

97. I approached the symbol, with its layers of meaning, but when I touched it, it changed into only a beautiful princess.

98. I threw the beautiful princess headfirst down the mountain to my acquaintances.

99. Who could be relied upon to deal with her.

100. Nor are eagles plausible, not at all, not for a moment.

"Die Gedanken sind frei
Wer kann sie erraten
Sie fliehen vorbei
Wie nächtliche Schatten
Kein Mensch kann sie wissen
Kein Jäger erschiessen
Es bleibet dabei
Die Gedanken sind frei."

I wish for...

Any resemblance to real or fictional characters, places or events is in some cases coincidental and at other times a result of poor imagination by the author.

***

Once upon a time there was a princess who woke up one morning with an unusually gloomy disposition. Perhaps it was because she was simply tired of smiling, or perhaps it had been too long since someone special had made her smile and really mean it. The entire court was upset - how could it not be, if one of the symbols of an entire country wasn't cheery anymore!? As is usually the case, by the next evening, the court was flooded with people from far and wide who thought they knew the remedy for the princess's strange condition. For instance, there was a little boy who could eat raw onions as if they were apples, which brought everyone to tears of laughter (or at least of onions), but the princess only lifted an eyebrow. There was a perfectly ordinary woman in every other respect except that she could predict thunderstorms with unheard-of accuracy, which made her the object of offers of marriage to five farmers and a royal gardener. Among all the people gathered to the court there was also an old man whose gall stones were, in fact, philosophers' stones, but he didn't really find out about that until many years after the end of this story. Anyway, the princess was not amused.

(And the royal chronicle-writer who was recording all this was even less amused because everyone knows how fairy-tales should go and a proper fairy-tale should have ended with the third example, mind you, because three happens to be an important number in fairy-tales, at least it used to be, before all these young people started thinking they could just come and do as they please and moreover... )

Suddenly, a man stepped forward, closer to the princess's throne. No-one could really tell what he looked like because he was wearing a black robe with the hood over his eyes, but because this is a fairy-tale, we can safely assume he was tall, dark and handsome. He spoke silently so that only the princess could hear him. What he said was this, 'I can make you the happiest woman in the world, if you'll be mine, because I can make your every wish come true.' The princess was intrigued, not only because she had secretly been wishing for some things, but because what the man said seemed to be simply preposterous! How could he possibly make that happen? She decided to test him, just in cases.

'Alright', she said, 'I'm thinking of an ocean with such a powerful roar it can be heard miles away, and that would rock me to sleep every night.' The man simply smiled and said, 'Done, milady.' And surely enough, she could then hear the waves of an ocean not far from the castle.

'Very well. I'd like to be able to walk to that ocean, on footpaths that are lined with orchids and all sorts of other wild flowers fit for a queen', she continued. 'Your wish is my command', the man answered, and almost instantaneously, the castle was filled with a floral scent so strong and beautiful it made the royal perfume-makers hide their eyes in shame and hand in their letters of resignation the day after.

'Good. I'm tired of the way the sky here looks at night - I can't really see the stars properly. I've always dreamed of a night sky that looks like a thousand diamonds scattered over dark velvet, could you do that for me, please?', she asked. 'Of course, as you wish', he replied, and added to himself, 'Although not even that could be an adequate comparison to the sanctuary of your eyes, my princess.' She went to a window and saw exactly what she had asked for. She turned around, smiled to him, and shyly said, 'You've already made me the happiest woman in the world, how could I not want to be yours?'.

The man smiled, although his eyes did not, and answered, 'Ah yes, but there is a price...'