One eye Angus and the widow
Old man Angus was walking slowly up the treacherous hill, his joints cracking painfully with each step. He was old now, which is why the youngsters called him Old-man Angus, and he was missing an eye as well, the unfortunate result of a skirmish with the English. So now the townsfolk called him one-eye Angus. Sometimes they called him Old-man one-eye and offered him a free drink at the pub, which suited him just fine.
He would usually hide his injury with a piece of old cloth wrapped around his head, but today, considering the occasion, he carefully placed a glass eye in his right eye socket, an expensive item he received as compensation for his service in the army. He had a lot of cause to look good today as he was slowly making his way to the house of Widow Elaine, the most sought after young woman in the county. Not only was she the widow of the recently departed Alistair McNichol, the lord’s aid, but she was also rumored to be of fair skin and generous bosom.
Even though she moved in the same village bout a year ago, Angus never set eyes on the recent widow. He was always in the process of recuperating from the effects of alcohol to attend Sunday church and she was the sort of woman that could not be found in the pubs he was so religiously frequenting. That didn't mean, however, she wasn't a constant presence in the talks of church going men, enjoying a late drink. Talks which would have never met the approval of Father Brock’s teachings or any of the village’s wives for that matter.
Angus’ knocks on the widow’s door soon proved the rumors to be right, as a vision of beauty the likes he has never seen before, answered him. Fiery red hair as if the old gods decided suddenly to braid fire on a mortal’s head, a pair of deep green eyes to lose yourself willingly into, and white skin harboring the color of the purest snow. It took all of Angus’ willpower to stop gawking at the woman before him and answer her greeting without stuttering and shaming himself forever.
“Good day to you, Master Angus.” She said in a crystalline voice that could rival any musical instrument. “I hope you be enjoying your day.”
I would be enjoying you in my bed for sure lass! He thought mischievously to himself, giving her a winning smile.
“That I am, Mistress McNichol,” he replied in his deep, gravelly voice, trying to decide if he should bow in a reverence like the nobles in the stories or just greet her with a nod of the head. Seeing as he didn't know the customs of his betters he decided just to bow his head respectfully, his eye gazing furtively down her neck and stopping at the generous swell of bosom blessedly bestowed to her. The divine image surely a gift of the ancient gods of Scotland, even though he could not recollect any deed worthy of the prize.
Mistress Elaine, as she requested to be called, invited the old man to come inside the house and he shed his muddy boots in a rush to please her. She invited him to sit down; pointing her delicate finger towards a bench as she also pulled up a nearby chair and sat in front of him. The closeness was enticing, the widow looking even better up close, her simple wool dress snuggling mischievously tight around her voluptuous body and Angus fought hard not to forget he was wearing a kilt today.
“Where are my manners,” she said as she suddenly got up from the chair, her fiery braid jumping from her shoulder, “would you like some homemade biscuits?”
“I would love some!” he replied wholeheartedly even though his mind was nowhere near the thought of food, but somehow it just felt wrong to say No to such a fine woman. She smiled hearing his passionate answer, her delicious plump lips which seemed to have been engineered for kissing, parted, revealing a string of white teeth. Elaine turned to go towards the kitchen and Angus shamelessly ogled her heart shaped bottom, his gaze rising fast to meet her eyes as she turned unexpectedly, almost catching him in the act.
“Oh my, what a fool you must think I am,” she said quickly and his heart stopped in terror as he thought her witness to his shameful behavior. “You must be parched from walking up that big hill. Would you like something to drink as well?”
He just nodded in flustered agreement thankful she was a fool, and didn't catch him.
“Would you be interested in a cup of cool ale or some of my late husband’s apple cider? Or maybe you would prefer a cup of tea, perhaps?” Angus was sure she left the tea at the end, expecting him to pick the fermented beverages instead; she probably mentioned the drink only out of politeness as not to show that she thought him a drunk, an opinion she probably shared with the whole village.
“A cup of tea sounds delightful.” He said, his tongue twisting in disgust just thinking of the foul drink, but soon his lips turned into a toothless smile as her eyes grew bigger in surprise. “No man should start drinking before the sun sets or until the work is done.” He carried on, the lie coming as easy to him as snow in December.
“Of course…,” she said, embarrassed, “even though, Master Angus, I must admit you are not what I expected.”
Of course you didn't, little dove. He thought mischievously to himself. I didn't come by this gray hair without learning a few tricks.
“I do not think I understand what you mean, Mistress Elaine.” He said, feigning outrage and making the young woman blush as she came hastily by his side to make amends.
“Please, Master Angus, don’t get me wrong,” she said, her cheeks going even redder to the delight of the old man, “it’s just that the word around the village did not do you justice.”
“OH, it’s that all,” he replied with a knowing smile, his anger miraculously subdued, “a fine young woman such as yourself should not lend ear to the ramblings of commoners.” He made it sound as he was not part of such lowly company and the woman in her embarrassment let it go unchallenged. “If you go by what some of the rabble say then pigs fly and there is no man true to his wife on this side of the border.” He concluded wisely as the young widow nodded in agreement as she laid her delicate hand on his arm.
“Of course you are right, Mister Angus and I apologize wholeheartedly for my assumptions. I see now you are nothing but an honorable man.” She said, rewarding him with a perfect smile as her green eyes looked deeply into his, causing him to ungraciously gulp. “But now, please, allow me to be the good host you must surely not believe I am, and bring you some biscuits and tea.”
“I would not bare such ill thought too one such as delightful as you, my dear.” He replied flirtatiously as his rough hand lay on top of hers, trapping the young woman for a moment more and making her fluster. She liberated herself quickly, but the feeling of her soft hand remained with the old man until she came back from the kitchen.
The biscuits were hard as rock and the old man found himself facing a difficult decision: either risk the few good teeth he had left munching on the baked stone or insult his beautiful host by refusing them. However, the old man knew before the thought even bare roots in his mind that a man could not refuse such a tender woman. So Angus wisely concluded that even though she might not have been the best of cooks, with that kind of bosom she needn't be, and he would gladly suffer her cooking everyday for the rest of his life if they could share the bed as well. Despite his strong resolve, he was still grateful when she returned with his tea as he deftly slipped the biscuits inside his cup softening them. Softening was also the sense of loss he felt for not sampling the defunct husband’s fine beverages.
“These are absolutely delicious Mistress McNichol! And so are you.” He said rowdily as he stuffed another biscuit in his mouth and Mistress Elaine rewarded him with one of her delightful smiles.
“You are too kind Master Angus,” she said, “you are just thinking of a poor widow feelings, and by all means Elaine will suffice.”
“Nonsense,” he replied passionately, “I could munch on these all day.” She blushed at the compliment and he thought he could munch on her all day as well.
“But, enough with the pleasantries, Elaine. May I inquire about the reason of your summoning me, alone, to your beautiful abode?” He asked flirtatiously and she blushed even more as she tried to hide her embarrassment with a smile. Her delicate hand resting on his thick arm again, making his heart beat faster.
“Master Angus!” she said, feigning indignation, “Such words will only give justice to the rumors I heard about you, especially since you know very well the nature of the need that beckoned me to call you to my house this evening.”
Indeed, he knew, and he was proud of it, for even though there were younger men out there that practiced his craft, none could boost the size of his instrument or the mastery with which he used it. A woman’s body, a musical instrument or piece of clay, no matter the craft, they all required patience and experience. Young men knew only eagerness and their own selfish desires, not willing to understand that greatness came with sacrifice.
“Aye, lass, I knew it the very moment I heard your summons,” he replied softly, starring deeply into her eyes, “but can you blame an old man for wanting to hear he is needed in such a delightful voice as you proudly own.”
“Master Angus!” she cried all flustered, “I thought you said no more pleasantries.”
“No more pleasantries to be wasted on such a worthless old man like myself, Elaine. But in your case, there is never such thing as enough.” He said delighting in her smile. Besides, its with such honeyed words that old wolves like myself trap young girls like you. He thought proudly as he surveyed her beautiful face for the consequences of his words. She was radiating happiness just like Angus expected and he was very pleased with himself.
Just as Angus was about to pay her another compliment and seal the deal, a flea bit greedily on his inner thigh and his hand went on its own to scratch the irritated spot. Elaine’s eyes widened in shock as the movement of his hand drew her attention to the indecent spot and he realized the treacherous waters he just dove in, eyes closed. He tried to save face by pretending to be just straightening his kilt, but from the looks of things she wasn't buying it.
Angus was furious with himself, he could plainly see the disappointment painted on her beautiful face as clear as daylight. All the small victories he gained, gone with the wind, all the compliments, forgotten, all because of a damn flea.
Just as she was about to utter the words, that she will need more time to consider the matter, he acted. He knew the time for soft words whispered in her delightful ear was long past. He had to show her just what kind of man he was. So he got up and grabbed her hand as she squealed in surprise.
“I will show you!” he said rowdily, towering above the delicate frame of Elaine and her eyes widened in surprise. “We will do it outside! The air here is stifling.”
“Outside?!” she cried incredulously as she tried in vain to escape his grip, “what about the neighbors?”
“You will just have to give them a free preview.” He said as he pulled her towards the door. She tried to fight it for a second more, but then she gave up lowering her head as she followed the vigorous old man outside.
Damn woman and her cursed good looks, he thought sourly to himself. I might be old and without an eye, but I am still a man. He gave her a vicious look and she shivered as he bent over to grab something from the ground, the kilt revealing two hairy legs, which, despite their age were still firm just like the roots of an old oak. Angus rested his new acquired burden on his belly as she watched him fascinated. He proceeded by filling his lungs with air and then blowing with all his might into one of the pipes. The bag, made from the skin of an unfortunate cow, got swollen to the point of bursting as he started working the notes that signaled the start of the song Rowan Tree. She clasped happily as more and more villagers were gathering expectantly to hear old one eye Angus perform sober on his pipes. Due to his amazing performance he did got hired by the beautiful widow to play his pipes at the defunct McNichol one year commemoration service. Even though a few coins weren't the only thing Angus got from the affair as the town's folk soon called him iron crotch Angus as they offered him a free drink at the pub, which suited him just fine.
The End
La magazinul "Mobila cu stil"
Domnul: Dragă! Azi doar ne vom uita la preţuri, nu cumpărăm nimic ci doar ne interesăm. După ce vizităm toate magazinele şi ne formăm o părere doar atunci ne decidem ce să luăm.
După ce Doamna se închină solemn în faţa logici fără de cusur a Domnului, cuplul intră în magazin. Nici nu trec bine pragul că vânzătorul, un indian dolofan fără podoaba capilară îi întâmpină cu zâmbetul pe buze şi un ton mieros.
Vânzătorul: Bine aţi venit! Cu ce vă putem ajuta?
Domnul auzind zvonuri că vânzători în Canada se ţin ca râia de client, activitate ce l-ar incomoda teribil în cercetările sale pentru cea mai bună ofertă, încearcă să scape de vânzător.
Domnul: Cu nimic! Doar ne uităm!
Domnul o prinde pe Doamnă de braţ şi se avântă în magazin ca să scape de vânzător. Vânzătorul îi urmăreşte grăbit.
Vânzătorul: Vă uitaţi după ceva anume?
Domnul: Nu! Doar ne uităm la preţuri.
Vânzătorul: Dar dragă domnule, noi, avem cele mai bune preţuri! Uitaţi-vă la această mobilă de dormitor! Uitaţi-vă la acest pat! E un "Ashley"!
Domnul ca să nu pară ignorant că nu ştie ce e un Ashley se opreşte un pic să admire patul. Vânzătorul încearcă imediat să capitalizeze mica victorie.
Vânzătorul: Vă rog aşezaţi-vă în el! Este o saltea minunată cu gel ce memorează poziţia corpului. O să vă simţiţi de parcă plutiţi pe un nor.
Domnul simţind capcana se uită la Doamnă care pare şi ea îngrijorată de tonul mieros al vânzătorului. Domnul o ia din nou de braţ pe Doamnă şi grăbit încearcă să piardă vânzătorul. Din păcate Doamna nu poate mări pasul suficient încât să scape de urmăritorul insistent.
Vânzătorul: Numai uitaţi-vă dragi clienţi la această masă de sticlă. Imaginaţi-vă ce bine o să staţi în aceste scaune! E o canapea din piele de Ashley şi la un preţ atât de mic. Chilipir Domnule şi nimic altceva!
Domnul şi Doamna exasperaţi fug de vânzător când tragedie Doamna vede o canapea ce îi place. Canapea ce coincidenţă, este o Ashley. Doamna se opreşte să studieze fascinată obiectul, Domnul cu nările fremătând miroase primejdia, vânzătorul cu un zâmbet şi mai mare se pregăteşte de atac.
Doamna emoţionată: Îmi place canapeaua asta.
Domnul îngrijorat: Nu ştiu ce să zic dragă, eu vreau alt model.
Vânzătorul fericit: Această canapea e o minune! Vă rog aşezaţi-vă o să vă îndrăgostiţi de ea.
Doamna fascinată se aşează. Domnul îşi încrucişează braţele şi rămâne în picioare. Vânzătorul îşi freacă mâinile.
Doamna uimită: E chiar foarte confortabilă şi pur şi simplu ador materialul.
Vânzătorul şi mai mieros: Fin ca mătasea nu-i aşa? E o canapea Ashley desigur şi unul din cele mai vândute modele ale noastre.
Doamna dă afirmativ din cap la spusele vânzătorului. Domnul şade încăpăţânat în picioare aruncând priviri răutăcioase Doamnei. Vânzătorul îşi întoarce atenţia spre Domn.
Vânzătorul: Dar vă rog faceţi-vă comod. Simţiţi textura acestui material formidabil.
Doamna visătoare: Şezi dragă! E atât de moale...
Domnul întinde curios o mână să simtă materialul în timp ce Doamna şi Vânzătorul îi aruncă priviri fericite. Domnul resemnat se uită de preţ, poate vreo sumă exorbitantă o să o aducă din nou pe Doamnă în tabără să. Canapeaua nu are nici un preţ afişat.
Domnul ironic: Şi cât e această minunăţie?
Vânzătorul mieros: Se pare că cineva a uitat să pună un preţ. Poate aveţi noroc şi e la reducere.
Domnul şi Doamna se uită suspicios la vânzător. Vânzătorul adoptă o atitudine serviabilă.
Vânzătorul conspirativ: Numai o clipă să-l întreb pe patron. E în toane bune!
Patronul, un indian uscăţiv, cu o barbă atent îngrijită şi un mers apăsat îşi face apariţia. Vânzătorul umil îl întreabă de preţ.
Patronul: Pentru ei, căci par un cuplu simpatic, doar o mie!
Vânzătorul şocat: Doar o mie?
Patronul se îndepărtează grăbit spre alţi clienţi. Vânzătorul încă vizibil şocat îşi îndreaptă atenţia către Domn şi Doamnă ce par înmărmuriţi de întreaga situaţie.
Vânzătorul şocat: Incredibil! Acest model e de obicei 3 mii. Nu-mi vine să cred ce reducere a putut să facă.
Doamna convinsă: Dragă eu zic să o luăm.
Domnul încă suspicios: Nu ştiu ce să zic dragă...
Vânzătorul indignat: O asemenea ofertă nu vine în fiecare zi Domnule!
Doamna: Ar trebui să-o luăm!
Domnul încercând să caute o ieşire onorabilă se îndreaptă spre alt model de canapea şi încearcă să îndrepte atenţia Doamnei şi Vânzătorului departe de canapeaua Ashley.
Domnul optimist: Şi cam cât costă acest model? Ăsta e modelul care îmi place cel mai mult.
Vânzătorul amuzat: 2 mii 500 Domnule.
Domnul bâiguie ceva şi se întoarce la Doamna care îl priveşte insistent. Vânzătorul se uită şi el la Domn, o tăcere de mormânt aşternându-se între ei. Între timp vine şi patronul care aruncă şi el priviri încărcate Domnului.
Domnul înfrânt: Ce zici dragă? Să o luăm?
Doamna fericită: Da dragă! O să arate minunat în noua noastră sufragerie.
Vânzătorul mulţumit: Aţi făcut o alegere minunată!
Patronul arogant: O să mă ţineţi minte toată viaţa pentru această achiziţie!
După încă o oră petrecută în magazin în compania vânzătorului. Cuplul nostru de tineri a mai achiziţionat o masă de cafea, o masă de sticlă şi 4 scaune. Realizare reuşită datorită vânzătorului care, foarte îndatoritor, a demonstrat eroilor noştri nevoia unei mese de cafea mai lungă ce să servească canapeaua Ashley. Şi cum desigur la o asemenea canapea nu poţi să te arăţi cu orice masă învechită din lemn, vânzătorul arată clienţilor mai multe mese moderne. Şi cum o Ashley trage la o Ashley, 200 de dolari în plus pentru o masă modernă din sticlă e o nimica toată după cum se demonstrează.
Vânzătorul îndatoritor: Ce înseamnă 200 de dolari pe lângă armonia pe care această minunăţie o să o aducă în sufrageria dumneavoastră?
Domnul vândut: Eu zic să o luăm dragă, o să arate fain în sufrageria noastră.
Doamna semi vândută: Doar dacă vine în sticlă transparentă că sticla asta neagră nu-mi place!
Vânzătorul încântat: Desigur Doamnă!
După măsuţa de cafea, setul de luat masa s-a vândut un pic mai greu. Deşi masa de sticlă Ashley, cu un look modern şi cele patru scaune ce o deservesc era o alegere logică pentru un cuplu de tineri ce îşi mobilează noua casa, după cum le explica şi vânzătorul.
Vânzătorul îndatoritor: Un cuplu frumos ca dumneavoastră cu o viaţă socială activă o să aibă mulţi invitaţi. Această masă, Ashley, nu numai că o să ofere tot confortul dar o să atragă şi invidia tuturor!
Domnul vândut: Ce zici dragă, să-o luăm?
Doamna semi vândută: Nu îmi plac deloc scaunele! Îmi plăceau mai mult scaunele de la celalt set.
Vânzătorul încurcat: Doamnă acestea sunt nişte scaune foarte confortabile! Vă rog luaţi loc, simţiţi plăcerea nemaipomenită pe care aceste scaune o oferă.
Doamna încăpăţânată: Chiar nu îmi plac deloc scaunele. Pur şi simplu nu se leagă!
Domnul încrezător în gusturile Doamnei: Atunci ne mai uităm dragă, doar are balta peşte.
Vânzătorul panicat: Dar vă rog stimaţi clienţi aşezaţi-vă!
Domnul ofensat: Îndeajuns domnule! Nu ai auzit? Nu se leagă!
Patronul salvator: Dragilor! Doar pentru voi, o să vă dau masa asta frumoasă şi scaunele de la setul celălalt
Vânzătorul şocat: Câtă mărinimie!
Domnul îngrijorat către Doamnă: Nu ştiu ce să zic dragă. Sunt mulţi bani...
Doamna îngrijorată dă afirmativ din cap.
Domnul şmecher către patron: Dragă Domnule, noi vrem mobilă pentru toată casa, deja am cumpărat mult de la dumneavoastră şi dacă ne dai un preţ bun luăm şi masa asta împreună cu scaunele menţionate.
Doamna fericită dă afirmativ din cap.
Patronul conspirativ către Domn: Scaunele celelalte sunt mult mai scumpe dar pentru că eşti un client bun ţi le dau la preţul ăstora. Masa cu tot cu scaune 500 de dolari!
Domnul încântat de ofertă: Batem palma!
Doamna încântată de scaune: O să arate minunat!
Vânzătorul încântat de patron: Câtă generozitate!
După ce actele au fost făcute şi bani livraţi, după ce Domnul şi Doamna au devenit mai săraci şi Patronul mai bogat. Acesta din urmă cu un zâmbet arogant pe buze ţipă în gura mare ca să audă tot magazinul.
Patronul: Asta îmi place să văd! Clienţi fericiţi la mine în magazin. Şi nu uitaţi dragilor doar EU am cele mai bune preţuri în oraş.
Patronul încrezător către Domn şi Doamnă: Acum să nu mă înşelaţi dragilor şi să cumpăraţi mobilă din alt magazin. Nimeni nu o să vă dea preţurile astea!
Domnul şi Doamna în cor: Desigur!
După ce ies din magazinul cu mobilă încă sub influenţa euforică a vânzătorului şi a patronului, tineri noştri se îndreaptă către o cafenea unde să discute pe larg achiziţiile făcute.
Doamna încântată: Dragă nu-mi vine să cred că tocmai am făcut asta! Nici nu am intrat bine în primul magazin şi ne-am luat deja toată mobila.
Domnul încântat: Exact ca un comando din filme! Scurt şi la obiect.
După câteva momente peste cuplul nostru se aşează o linişte de mormânt, fiecare pierdut în gândurile sale. Într-un final Doamna rupe tăcerea.
Doamna îngrijorată: Dragule nu creezi că poate ne-am grăbit niţel?
Domnul plin de bravadă falsă: Normal că nu! Doar ai văzut cât de bine am negociat. Şi acum că am cumpărat tot ce ne trebuie, în afară de pat, putem să ne axăm pe alte probleme.
În drum spre cafenea Domnul şi Doamna trec pe lângă un alt magazin cu mobilă. În vitrina magazinului un pat imens marca Ashley.
Doamna întrebătoare: Vrei să ne uităm puţin şi în magazinul ăsta?
Domnul înfricoşat: Doar dacă nu cumpărăm nimic! Atâţia bani zburând din portofel îmi face rău la inimă.
Doamna compătimitoare: Doar ne uităm desigur!
Cu picioarele tremurând Domnul o urmează pe Doamna spre următorul magazin cunoscut sub titulatura “Magazinul lui Midha”. Doamna îl apucă ferm de braţ îl priveşte adânc în ochii şi îşi reafirmă decizia de a nu cumpăra nimic astfel stabilizând picioarele Domnului şi readucând pe buzele sale zâmbetul pierdut. La intrarea în magazin un vânzător ce seamănă leit în înfăţişare şi comportament cu vânzătorul de la “Mobila cu stil” se apropie de eroii noştri cu un mers de prădător.
Vânzătorul euforic: Bine aţi venit dragilor! Cum vă putem îmbunătăţi ziua?
Domnul precaut: Doar ne uităm!
Vânzătorul persistent: Vă uitaţi după ceva anume?
Domnul încrezător în promisiunile Doamnei şi vrând să acumuleze mai multe informaţi îi răspunde vânzătorului că se uită de o saltea. Vânzătorul serviabil îi duce pe cei doi tineri în secţiunea rezervată dormitoarelor unde le arată încrezător marfa.
Vânzătorul: Această saltea cu gel este concepută special să ţină minte poziţia corpului dumneavoastră şi să ofere un somn confortabil. Dar vă rog aşezaţi-vă, simţiţi textura acestei saltele. Imaginaţi-vă nopţile petrecute pe această magnifică saltea, visele plăcute pe care numai confortul acestei saltele le va aduce!
Domnul ironic: Şi cât costă această “minunăţie”?
Vânzătorul conspirativ: Azi e la reducere cu 50%, un chilipir şi nu altceva.
Vânzătorul scoate un calculator din buzunar şi reduce 50% din preţul saltelei.
Vânzătorul uimit: Doar 850 CAD!
Domnul o apucă ferm de braţ pe Doamnă şi se îndreaptă către ieşire învrednicind vânzătorul doar cu un răspuns pe fugă.
Domnul grăbit: Poate altă dată!
Exact când să iasă pe uşă, Domnul observă cu coada ochiului un set de luat masa “Ashley” identic cu cel proaspăt achiziţionat de la “Mobilă cu stil”. Cum curiozitatea pune stăpânire pe Domn, acesta o opreşte pe Doamnă din marşul grăbit către ieşire şi întreabă cel mai apropiat vânzător de preţ, vânzător care întâmplător e chiar patronul magazinului.
Domnul curios: Scuzaţi deranjul Domnule! Cât costă acest set?
Patronul euforic: Acest minunat set “Ashley” e un chilipir la doar 500 CAD.
Domnul fericit că preţul era identic cu setul proaspăt achiziţionat de la "Mobilă cu stil" deci nu s-a păcălit cumpărând mai scump, dă să plece.
Domnul: Mulţumesc frumos!
Patronul conspirativ: Dragă Domnule dacă vă mai interesează să cumpăraţi şi altceva din magazin vă dau un discount la acest set.
Domnul se uită indecis la Doamnă. Doamna dă negativ din cap amintindu-i Domnului de aranjamentul iniţial. Domnul înţelege şi dă să plece din nou, între timp vânzătorul îi ajunge din urmă.
Vânzătorul serviabil: Domniile lor se uitau şi de o saltea cu gel de memorie.
Patronul conspirativ: Dragilor! Cumpăraţi salteaua şi vă fac reducere 100 de dolari la setul de masă.
Doamna se uită indecis la Domn, Domnul se uită tulburat la Doamnă, lăcomia îşi face culcuş în mintea lor. Doar precauţia şi gaura mare din buget făcută la “Mobilă cu stil” îi determină să-şi întoarcă, pe jumătate convinşi, spatele la patron şi vânzător şi să se îndrepte din nou către ieşire. Numai că patronul avea alte planuri după cum se observă.
Patronul cu autoritate: Haideţi să ne uităm la saltea!
Domnul încercând să scape: Nu-i nevoie, poate altă dată.
Patronul cu autoritate: Nu domnule hai acum, că altă dată nu o să am timp.
Patronul se îndreaptă cu paşi mari către raionul cu saltele gesticulând cu autoritate să fie urmat. Domnul se uită tulburat la Doamnă, Doamna îi întoarce privirea speriată. Vânzătorul îl urmează pe patron din instinct iar Domnul şi Doamnă sunt lăsaţi cu următoarea dilema. Ori să plece şi astfel să fie nepoliticoşi ori să urmeze patronul şi să-l refuze categoric că să scape. În final eroii noştri se îndreaptă spăşiţi spre raion. După ce vânzătorul indică salteaua cu pricina, patronul îşi întreabă indignat clienţi ce îi opreşte în a achiziţiona magnifica saltea.
Domnul uitându-se conspirativ la Doamnă pentru sprijin: Preţul e prea mare!
Doamna înţelegând mesajul: Pe internet la un magazin din Missisauga o saltea de mărimea asta era doar 700.
Patronul compătimitor: Dragilor nu fiţi naivi, ei vă dau o saltea cu 700, eu vă dau o saltea cu gel de memorie de cea mai bună calitate la 900. Ei o să vă ia taxă 13% şi ajung la 800 pe când eu v-o dau doar la 900 fără taxe başca 100 dolari mai puţin la masa de sticlă şi scaune. Şi de la mine ştiţi că plecaţi cu calitate nu cu orice saltea de mâna a doua. Şi eu vă pot vinde o saltea mizeră la 700, dă aia nu e o saltea pentru domniile voastre, voi trebuie să aveţi cei mai bun.
Domnul şi Doamna încăpăţânaţi în a respecta promisiunea făcută afară, bîaguiesc scuze inteligibile, patronul oftează din toţi rărunchi şi începe a le explica clienţilor îndărătnici avantajele saltelei cu gel de memorie.
Patronul pe un ton explicativ: După cum observaţi pe această mostră, salteaua dumneavoastră este formată din celule individuale ce se comportă diferit, astfel chiar dacă un corp se aşează pe o parte a saltelei doar celule sub presiune se vor contracta...
După 20 de minute...
Patronul continuând pe un ton explicativ: Astfel un partener nu o să sufere din cauza greutăţi celuilalt partener, puteţi testa acest fapt dacă vă aşezaţi pe margine, comparând cu salteaua noastră o saltea obişnuită va avea tendinţa să se...
După încă 10 minute...
Patronul ameninţând să continue pe acelaşi ton explicativ: Aşezaţi-vă pe saltea! Vedeţi! E cum v-am spus, ăsta e efectul gelului de memorie...
Domnul şi Doamna înfrânţi de încăpăţânarea patronului profită de o scurtă pauză în discurs că să oprească calvarul.
Domnul şi Doamna în cor: O luăm!
După ce au semnat actele şi s-au ales cu o nouă saltea şi un nou set de luat masa, Domnul şi Doamna se aflau acum într-o altă dilemă morală. Ce să facă cu două seturi identice de luat masa.
Doamna şoptind speriată: Dragă, va trebui să anulăm comanda de la celalt magazin.
Domnul resemnat: Să mergem!
Doamna alintându-se: Iubire chiar trebuie să vin şi eu? Nu vreau să vorbesc cu ei!
Domnul şi mai resemnat: Aşteaptă-mă aici.
În magazinul "Mobila cu Stil" Domnul se îndreaptă ruşinat către patron. Timp de 10 minute Domnul explică ruşinat motive financiare născocite care spre marele lui regret îl împiedică să meargă până la capăt cu achiziţia setului de masă. Patronul hotărât că Domnul şi Doamna au nevoie de acest set încearcă să ridice un pic din povară financiară a Domnului după cum se observă.
Patronul conspirativ: Ce zici dacă renunţ la TVA? Îţi vând masa la 500 fix?
Auzind oferta Domnul se supără pe el însuşi că nu a negociat mai bine de la început şi pe patron că nu a pus pe masă cea mai bună ofertă, mai ales când Domnul a făcut atâtea achiziţii.
Domnul tăios: Nu mulţumesc!
Patronul mieros: Eşti sigur? De ce nu discuţi şi cu Doamna până să te hotărăşti?
Domnul şi mai furios: Am zis NU!
Patronul perspicace: Desigur, desigur! Haideţi să anulăm comanda!
The war game
The young general eyed the field with a
worried look. His immaculate white helmet with a cross on its top singled him out
as the commanding chief of the white army. Yet that soon could be of no
consequence as the situation on the battle field looked grim. On his right wing a fast moving group of light
cavalry was almost on his flanks endangering his entire center. From his vantage
point he could see the riders in black coats pushing their horses hard in order
to outmaneuver the units of spears he sent to pin them down. A line deepened on
his forehead as the reserves he had sent with a frustrated wave of his hand
were of no major effect. Out of his two light cavalry units, one was in a ditch
filled with black arrows, the horses and riders now forever silent, the other about
to meet the same fate as enemy pike units marched tightly together to form a
wall of sharp steel tips pushing his riders in the range of ready archers. “Look closely!” his old instructor would have
said in a grim voice touching the wide scar on his face. “Look at the blood staining
their white helmets! At the arrows sticking out of their eyes and then you will
know the horrors of war!” He always tried to do just that, to imagine the unsightly
death of his soldiers. Their armors dented and cracked, eyes lacking life,
staring at him with an accusatory gaze. “It’s to make you strong, boy. So you know
the price of failure when you have a real command.” He knew all too well about the
butcher’s price, the burden of any general in command. Win or lose there was always
a price to be paid in good men. But he would become the best general out there.
Despite his mistakes on this battlefield he would make it so.
Since the veteran enemy general had deployed his army on the
field he made almost no move, and yet his troops were always there to meet the
young general’s offensive attempts. His black infantry was there to stop the
white cavalry, his black archers poised to rain death on their unsuspecting white
victims. And even though the black heavy cavalry, the most important weapon of
any army, remained unemployed, they still threatened the entire field with a
charge. “You are impatient, boy! You get frustrated too easily and you make
mistakes. Don’t push too hard when you don’t have overwhelming odds and even
then ponder on it. Might be that you’re lured into making a fatal mistake!” his
old teacher would say. Oh he was full of wise sayings like that, most of them
probably taken from an old, weathered book just like him. But even he should know
that a battle couldn't be won without taking some chances. That’s how the times
were, even when you laid to bed at night you took the risk of getting a knife
through your heart. “Know yourself and the enemy lad! And you will win every
time.” The old scruffy enemy general did know him all too well. He may have
been his instructor once upon a time but not today. Today the student faced the
teacher trying to outplay and outmaneuver the man that taught him the game of
war. He might as well have been wishing for pigs to fly since the enemy general
sat comfortably under the shadow of a looming fortress with a score of ready pike
men in his front ready at all times to be sacrificed for their leaders’ safety.
He sighed with a heavy heart. The black army showed no weakness
to act upon. His remaining troops, who were now drowned by a sea of black, were
trying their best not to cede too much of the field in their steady retreat.
The day was surely lost. He signaled back some of this troops in a defensive
stance. He knew the position he was in, but he wouldn't make himself easy
pickings for the enemy general, he had too much pride for that. A good guess
would be that the enemy general would slowly bring his troops into striking
position using his numbers to overwhelm the white’s defenses. Even in his
vulnerable state he would make that enemy’s butcher bill fat, the last of his
remaining troops able enough to cause heavy casualties among the enemy ranks. As he was pondering how to make his defenses
even tighter, out of the corner of his eye he noticed what could well be his teacher’s
first mistake. Probably an error of overconfidence from his army’s successes,
the enemy general left his heavy cavalry open to a charge from their white
counterparts. It could be a game changer. Without the armored riders threat to support
so many of the enemy troops, he could use the remaining of his forces to even
the scale. It might not win the battle just yet, but it could give him the
chance he needed. If he could act on it quickly enough then the heavy loss
would break the enemy’s general rhythm, allowing for more mistakes he could
exploit. With eagerness now at home in his eyes he signaled the charge of his
white cavalry. He could just see the white armored horses and riders gaining in
speed as they rushed towards their target. Lances tilted towards the enemy showed
sharp steel tips that would pierce armor and flesh like a hot knife through
butter. The white charge defeated the
black heavy cavalry and now a big smile was shown on his face. The damage was
done, the game was back on. He started giving his old instructor a satisfied
look only to stop in wonderment. The grizzled old man was wearing a smile of
his own. There was no shock or surprise at the major loss, only a hint of
sadness in that knowing smile. The sadness of a teacher witnessing his student’s
failure as he realized just as soon as he noticed the light cavalry that outmaneuvered
his lines awhile back now taking advantage of his missing heavy cavalry to take
over his undefended white fortress. With all his troops pinned in engagements,
with his heavy cavalry already committed he realized that there was no mistake.
The enemy general willingly sacrificing his most valuable unit just to draw the
key of the white’s defenses away from their role leaving him undefended to fall
prey to the blacks units rushing towards him.
“You disappoint me boy!” He said in a hard voice as he moved
the black wooden pieces back to their starting positions. “I had no opening the
entire game and yet you never questioned the fact that I would give you my
queen just like that?” The wooden queen has always held the importance of a
heavy cavalry on the field. “You have much to learn, lad, before you can start leading
real men on the field. Because if you don’t…” the voice changed from stern to grim.
“There will a fat butcher’s fee!” His head fell on his chin as the disappointment
at his own mistakes took hold of him. His instructor just gave a loud sigh as
his hand ruffled his hair. “You’re an impetuous boy but you’re learning fast!
Might make a good general out of you yet, lad!” he said with a bit of warmth
thawing out the coldness in his voice. “There is still some time before your mother
will send you to bed, so let’s play another.” Light shone on the youth’s noble face
as he started rearranging the white pieces in their place, eager once again to
assume the role of the white general. This time he would make sure work of the
enemy ranks.
Antharas
The young knight felt unsteady as the cavern seemed
to tremble. His hand instinctively gripped the hilt of his sword as the smell
of burnt meat entered his nostrils, shaking him even further. The feel of cold
metal in his hand steadied him as the fateful moment approached. His companions
seemed tense as well readying their weapons or hiding behind their shields as
the air of impending doom filled the atmosphere. And then they saw it, a
monstrous head appearing from the darkness of the cave. With green scales as
hard as steel plates, yellow eyes that burned with hate taking them all in its
gaze, and huge teeth as sharp as the finest Aden sword giving a hint on the dreadful
fate of those unfortunate enough to land between its jaws.
The dragon took another step into the light, making
the earth quake again under its weight, drawing gasps of terror from some of
the party members possessing fainter hearts. It looked like it was studying
them, those burning eyes resting on them, assessing their strength, their
conviction, a cold blooded killer planning his next murder. The young knight
felt those yellow eyes were drawing all the fears he hid inside his soul. He
was afraid but he could not back down. Not from this fight not when the stakes
were so high. “I will come back with its head!” he said, looking in the girl’s
big brown eyes while offering her his heart. “I will return to your arms!” he
said with a confident smile. How could he face her beautiful eyes if he ran out
on his quest now? So he steeled his heart and raised his arm signaling the
archers to align arrows in their long bows and draw.
The dragon answered the threat by opening and closing
its jaws with a dreadful snap, a last warning to the pesky humans gathered
around. And then the arm fell and arrows started bouncing off the huge beast’s
scales. There was no blood drawn just yet only an angry monster spreading its
large wings and covering its eyes from the flurry of arrows aimed at its head.
And then those wings started beating furiously, raising clouds of dust that
hindered everyone’s sight. The barrage of arrows being shot were descending
fast as the archers target was now hiding in the dust cloud. The knight drew
his sword and started charging ahead, not even noticing the men starting to
follow in behind. A cry of rage escaped his mouth as the dragon’s foot stomped
on a few of the men who were too slow to run. He saw a giant mouth racing to
catch him off guard and crush him in its strong jaws. But he was young and fast
so he jumped to the side swinging his sword towards the dragon’s face only to
bounce back hitting armor-like scales. The huge head drew back from the blade
only to hide itself again, waiting for another chance to trap the knight
between its jaws.
“Keep firing!” he raged, his head turning towards
the archers frozen in place “Don’t mind us, just fire towards the cloud!” A few
arrows started to pierce the dust obeying his shout, stirring the creature
inside. The screams of the disemboweled dyeing men could now be heard
everywhere as the dragon launched itself with claws and tail, sending body parts
flying when they connected with their victims. Sword drawn, the young knight
rushed towards the dragon, watching jaws clenched as the dragon was eyeing his
next victim; a priest committed himself in stopping the blood gushing out from
a soldiers insides. He charged yelling furiously at the beast trying to get its
attention. The priest’s look of surprise lasted only a second as the jaws of
the dragon closed around him.
“Curse you fiend!” the knight screamed as his sword
found an opening through the dragon’s scales, drawing blood. The beast’s roar
filled the cavern, its eyes now patches of molten fire looking for the
aggressor. Jaws opened as it launched itself with all its might towards the
knight. He saw death coming towards him. He raised his shield hitting the
dragon’s head with all his strength. Deflecting the impending hit, he looked
death it in the eye as he thrust his sword towards the beast’s thick neck. A
second more and it would all be over. Death or victory was the only choice. A
second more…
“Billy! Get down here, now! You will be late for
school.” A frustrated voice echoed in his mind. And then he was awake, sword
and shield now gone. The cave disappeared as well as his eyes opened giving him
instead a misty view of his messy room.
“I’m coming ma!” he yelled back as a yawn cracked
his jaw. And then he jumped out of the bed eyeing the dragon on his Linieage II
poster. “Tonight Antharas! I will get you for sure tonight!”
The office
The office chair gave a squeak as the man in it shifted towards the wall. The plain round clock kept the man’s interest just for one second, enough to confirm his fears. Only 5 minutes had passed since he last checked it. A yawn threatened to crack his jaw as his eyes looked for something to do, something to cut the boredom just for a few minutes.
The computer screen showed nothing of interest. The
blue bar held no red so his eyes dismissed it, turning them from the screen to the
desk, resting on the half empty coffee cup. A sip would eat 5 seconds from his
time but the after taste changed his mind. His tongue was already covered by
the bitter taste of the two coffees he had already consumed. He tried to force
his mind on productive thoughts, what to do when he got home. What he should
prioritize from the list of chores he had but his mind was in a lazy state,
focus slipping easily away.
He stretched his back while half looking at his co-worker,
envious that her fingers were busy touching the keyboard in what seemed to be
writing an email. He wanted to be busy too. Another yawn filled his lungs with
air while drawing tears from his eyes. There had to be something to do or sleep
would take him on its wings.
Grabbing the black mouse firmly in his hand he
navigated the internet, checking to see if Facebook’s blue bar now held any
red. Unfortunately it did not but he had to find something to occupy his time.
He checked the same articles he already saw this morning looking for some
hidden gem he might not have read. The political articles held no interest. His
lazy mind found it difficult to think of anything complex at present. It was
the trivial he was hunting for, something funny like a panda playing with a
ball or a celebrity leaving some club in a drunken haze. Yet even that seemed
too much trouble for his languid mind.
His eyes shifted towards the clock on the wall
again. Its needle only shifted an inch away from the previous time. His eyes
started to slowly close while following the slim needle move in jolts across
the clock’s surface. The world grew dark and silent as his head rested more on
his hand. And then he was asleep inside his own mind. The expedition
The young man shivered just at the thought of going outside. The raging dance of snowflakes in the air did no favors to his morale either, yet his dwindling supplies made a compelling argument as well. He needed food and supplies and he would not get them by sitting in the warmth and comfort of his shelter. He had to venture out into the cold and face the powerful winds that swept the area around this time of year.
The path towards the market should have been covered in
deep snow by now. His carts wheels would get stuck in it and he would have to
push and pull again. He looked at his huge muscular legs that seemed even
bigger after marching through the thick milky snow all winter long. They had a
long way to walk today as well and he could already feel them aching from the
effort of crossing through the snow pulling on a cart full of supplies. But it
had to be done.
A frown appeared on his face as the decision to
venture out was finally made. He wouldn't have the heart to throw a rat in that cold and yet he
would have to face it. He exhaled loudly, the frown disappearing only to be
replaced by sheer determination. This would be hard but he was ready to do it.
That’s what he told himself as he was fitting the warm gloves on his hands and
wrapping the heavy scarf around his face and neck.
The laces on his boots were fastened tightly so not
even the smallest snow flake could manage to crawl in. It would be a supremely annoying to have your feet wet in this cold. It would be a annoying just to have them
cold but that unfortunately could not be avoided.
As he mumbled something that resembled an
encouragement to himself he took off. After only a few feet out of his shelter
he could already feel the cold creeping in through the thick layers of clothing
wrapped tightly around him. And as the wind was slashing at his body like a
sword of ice he let something else besides the warm mist escape his mouth. “Tu
ti pisici mati de vant!” An old saying in an old tongue that could have been a
chant to gather the strength needed to cross the distance separating him and
the market place.
A step followed another and the distance was growing
shorter. His feet were getting warmer too, a result of the extended effort, however
it didn't improve his mood much. The icy wind slapping his face made sure of
that. And yet he carried on, dragging the cart behind him, wondering how in the
hell the wind always blew from the front no matter what direction he
took. He was breathing heavily, the effort making his lungs hungry for air,
while the cold was hurting them, making him gasp with every breath.
Finally he had reached his destination. A warm place
filled with food and supplies. He took off his gloves and scarf and took a deep
breath of relief only to realize he had to make the laborious journey back with
a full cart. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind though and focused
on getting the food he needed. No point in fretting over what you couldn't change. You deal with it as it is and you keep moving, he told himself. And that is what he did.
He moved around the market place with intent. Choosing some products to go in
the cart while saying no to others, stopping from time to time to take a
better look at the wares on display. He used all his senses in choosing the
right goods. A more powerful smell could mean so much and the lack of color in
a fruit would convince him not to buy it. He wanted the best for his money so he didn't mind browsing for hours or asking questions. Not when the right
questions could teach you something valuable.
After awhile his cart grew heavy under the burden of
his newly acquired goods. Moving in the market place was getting tiresome and
he had a long way to go in order to reach his home. Not to mention that he had
to plough his way through a mountain of unforgiving snow while being burdened
like a mule.
He sighed as he moved towards some delicious smelling bacon, the last purchase of the day. Not because he enjoyed the
shopping too much but mainly because he hated making the trip back. He wished he
could carry all the wares in the market place in one trip so he wouldn't have
to face winter’s wrath again. But it had to be done.
The wind seemed to have picked up. Still blowing in
his face as to spite him even though he changed directions again. His muscles
were working endlessly to get him out of the knee deep snow. The sweat forming
on his forehead turned into ice as he moved slowly but steadily towards home,
the place where he would find warmth, where he could rest and catch his breath.
He had to get home! So he pushed! His muscles were now hard rocks, fighting
against the snow. Just a little more to go. A little more until he would arrive
home. Just a tiny bit more until he could put that bacon in a frying pan. Til
the smell of it would fill his nostrils. Til he could hear it sizzling away.
Just a bit more… 
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