The day ended with a feast as the villagers got together to socialize, eat, and drink. It was a lively celebration, and everyone had their opinion about who the next king should be. The villagers repeatedly told the story of the race, with the details changing somewhat as the day went on. Although Orgizo was still in the competition, he was angry that he had not taken first place in the chariot race. He pouted and stomped up onto the wooden stage.
“The race was rigged,” he announced. “Mikro and Noimon could not possibly have won the race. Look at me. I am strong. I am the greatest and the smartest. Mikro is a weak woman with no stamina, and Noimon is an old hunchback with wild hair. There is no way they could have beaten me. I am going to make Achoo great again.”
“Achoo, Achoo, Achoo,” the villagers chanted. The bigger and louder the crowd, the higher Orgizo felt. He needed the crowd’s praise. He felt alive only when people were admiring him.
“I have beaten crazy hat Dynami and crooked Kynigos. I have beaten spider Lincoln and black monkey Polemistis. Next, I will beat old hunchback Noimon and weak Mikro. Believe me—she can never beat me, because she has no stamina.” The crowd of his supporters cheered Orgizo and booed the other contestants.
However, many of the villagers were upset and angry at Orgizo’s bragging and inciting anger among the village. “We will never accept such a prejudiced, hateful person as our king,” one man called out.
“He will make Achoo great again,” others yelled. Then Orgizo’s supporters began their mindless chanting, “Achoo, Achoo, Achoo” and “spider, spider, birth certificate.”
The night ended not in the celebration that the villagers had expected but in a fistfight between two groups. On one side were the Orgizo supporters, many of whom were disenchanted with their lives. They dreamed that Orgizo could bestow secret knowledge upon them because they credited him for his riches, not realizing that he had inherited his wealth from his many times great-grandfather Jeremiah Abadon.
On the other side were the people who could see through his promises. They realized that Orgizo was nothing but a confidence man—or con man—just like his many times great-grandfather Jeremiah Abadon. Many dark-skinned villagers, along with the more intelligent villagers of all races, saw through the con job and formed their own group. Orgizo had offended the dark-skinned ancestors of the African slaves by calling Polemistis an “oily black monkey.”
The fight began with yelling and name-calling with words that shouldn’t be repeated. That led to hand gestures, such as the universally understood middle-finger salute. Did Despotis take the first punch, or Marcos, or Theo? No one really knows, but soon both sides were punching and slamming each other. No one knew who was on whose side anymore. They were all just angry, and they took it out on each other in violence.
Dr. Grigoros had a busy night patching up people by applying healing plants to their cuts and bruises. He was getting up in years—or, as he liked to say, “I’m no spring chicken.” He had hoped to retire soon, but first he needed a protégé to whom he could pass down his knowledge. After the fight, Dr. Grigoros was busy late into the night, seeing one injured person after another until he was exhausted.
“This is no good,” said his wife, Syzygos. “The way Orgizo spreads hatred, he is dangerous. He would be a disastrous king. Anyone else running would be better than Orgizo.”
Dr. Grigoros agreed. “He doesn’t even live in the village. He is separate from us and has no understanding of how hard we work to survive, while he lives in a mansion and sits on golden chairs. He makes big promises, but he is all about himself. He seems like a lonely, insecure person to me.”
“Yes,” Syzygos agreed. “He does seem lonely and distant from others. Even his wives and children seem to keep their emotional distance from him. He bribes them with gifts, like he does the villagers.”
Conversations like this were going on all over the village. Many people were worried about the race hatred and violence that Orgizo was encouraging, whereas others were impressed with his promises for a better life. The biggest problems occurred in families where one partner supported Orgizo and the other supported another person. Axio, the counselor, was being called on daily to help couples with disputes over who should be the next king. He couldn’t remember having ever been so busy.
Feelings in the village were explosive. There was gossip among the villagers about fights, and anger was high. Nomikos, the village lawyer, who made his living helping villagers resolve problems with neighbors or partners, was also busy managing divorces for couples who were suddenly incompatible.
People began moving from their homes because they were afraid to live next to neighbors they had known for years. Dark-skinned people feared their lighter neighbors, and light-skinned people began seeing their darker neighbors as dishonest and dangerous. After all, Orgizo said it so often that it must be true. Most people still lived near each other, but Orgizo’s supporters, the Truppers, moved away to live among themselves.
CHAPTER 4
Orgizo went back to his gold-covered mansion in the mountains. He was excited about running for king—and even more excited about the chaos he was causing in the village.
Orgizo could remember being a child and feeling abandoned by his parents even before his sister was born. His mother recalled that he had been a fussy baby who took no comfort in being held or rocked but instead preferred to be left alone. He grew into a child with behavior problems, who used bad behavior to gain his parents’ attention. According to his mother, Orgizo wet his bed until almost adolescence, something he vehemently denied. As soon as his sister started walking, five-year-old Orgizo would glory in pushing her down and making her cry. He never did well in his studies, and he was bored with lessons in reading and writing.
More than once, Orgizo left school to take a family dog for a walk—and several dogs disappeared forever. When his mother and father asked Orgizo what had happened to the dogs, he just shrugged and said it was not his fault that they had run away. His father found one dog dead at the bottom of a cliff, but Orgizo denied any knowledge of how the dog could have fallen.
Later, as a teenager, he made a molotov cocktail from a glass Coke bottle that his many times great-grandfather Jeremiah Abadon had brought with him when he traveled to Achoo. He filled the bottle with gasoline and placed a kerosene-soaked cloth into its neck. Both the gasoline and kerosene were derived from oily sneeze tree sap. Although he was rarely patient, Orgizo waited until a flock of birds flew overhead. Then he lit the cloth and threw the homemade bomb into the sky. Several birds fell, either injured or dead. Orgizo thought that was the greatest day of his life, and he would have done it again if he could have found another Coke bottle. Fortunately for the birds, the only Coke bottle was shattered into a thousand shining slivers.
All through his childhood, Orgizo made friends easily, but he could never keep them long. Friends seemed to drop off quickly, although they seemed fearful to say why. Orgizo loved thinking about his older teen years, when he would go down to the village and secretly watch girls undressing through their bedroom windows. Once he tried grabbing a girl’s pussy, but she screamed and ran away. He threatened to “make her sorry” if she told anyone, so she kept quiet.
Young Orgizo experimented with drugs made from poppy flowers, and he craved the powerful feeling they gave him. He tried wine once, but it made him vomit. Afterward, his head throbbed so badly that he thought he would die, so he never drank again. But he took up chewing mushrooms as a daily habit, and he loved the colorful visions they gave him—along with the feeling of power.
Soon after that, he learned about sex. Then Orgizo began using his inherited status to seduce many of the teenage girls in the village. Sex replaced mushrooms as his new drug of choice. He thrived on the power he felt when his body was on top of a girl, pounding his manhood into the opening between her legs. Orgizo sometimes chose to be with boys too, but he threatened them that they m
ust never tell. He was afraid that if word got out, people would think that he was queer. Orgizo hated queers. When I become king, he thought, I will ban them all from the valley.
Several weeks went by while the villagers prepared for the final contest, a cooking competition. There were four competitors left—Orgizo, Despotis, Mikro, and Noimon—so the competition would take place over four nights. Each night, one of the competitors would cook a full dinner consisting of an appetizer or salad, main dish, and dessert. There needed to be enough food for all the villagers to enjoy the feasts. This competition was important because often the king had to help a family cook, such as when a new mother was recovering from childbirth or when someone in the family was ill or had died. Kings in Achoo needed to be good cooks as well as compassionate friends.
The competitors needed time to plan and prepare their meals. Mikro chose to go first. In preparation for her dinner, she went to the hills with Kynigos. Mikro was a strong advocate for teamwork, so they hunted together. She saw the herd of mountain sheep first, and together they got close enough for Kynigos to shoot a young sheep with his bow and arrows.
“You are an excellent shot, Kynigos,” Mikro said. “The animal died before it knew anything had happened, and it didn’t suffer at all. Together we can carry the lamb back to the village. There will be enough to feed everyone.”
That evening, Mikro dug a pit and lined it with mint and basil leaves. She placed the lamb in the hole and covered it with more leaves. Then she built a fire on top of the lamb’s pit. The meat would roast slowly for most of the day, and the slow fire wouldn’t cause the village to become smoky, which was important to Mikro. While the lamb was roasting, Mikro picked jalapeno peppers from her garden, cut them open, and removed the seeds. Then she filled them with horse-milk cheese and breaded them. The roast is almost done, she thought. It’s time to heat the hot peppers over the fire to serve as appetizers. Afterward, I’m sure everyone will love my homemade wine ice cream for dessert.
Many people in the community praised Mikro’s food, and the evening went well. However, some people were suspicious of the stuffed jalapeno peppers. They felt that they were too spicy and possibly poisonous. They also suspected the mint and basil leaves that added flavor to the meat.
“These peppers might be poisonous. Killer!” Despotis said. Orgizo agreed, and soon many of their supporters joined them. Someone shouted out, “Mikro, Mi’kill.” Orgizo led his supporters in a chant, “Mi’kill, Mi’kill, Mi’kill.”
Orgizo knew he could not win on his culinary skills, but he was an expert at destroying his competition. This is just the beginning, he thought. “Having a woman as king would be a disaster. There has never been a female king. She would be a disaster. Horrible!” he shouted.
I’ve got a lot more tricks waiting to be used, Orgizo contemplated. With my many times great-grandfather Jeremiah Abadon’s Trupperware collection, I have plenty of plastic to buy off people. I don’t need to be real when I can give them plastic.
The village people went home full from the hot peppers, lamb stew, and wine ice cream. Many were comfortably full, but others, who had eaten too much of the rich, spicy food, blamed Mikro for their stomachaches. Some believed Orgizo’s accusation that Mikro had tried to poison them.
Despotis, who had drunk too much vodka, was the loudest voice, blaming Mikro for his vomiting and headache. He climbed onto the stage and yelled, at nobody in particular, “Look how sick I am. Mi’kill tried to poison me. She is evil and a killer.” He staggered across the stage.
“Shut up,” Noimon yelled back. But no one could hear him over the growing crowd chanting, “Mi’kill, Mi’kill, Mi’kill.”
Finally, Dr. Grigoros pushed his way through the crowd, helped Despotis down, and guided the staggering drunk to his vacation home in the valley. Orgizo watched it all … and smiled.
Noimon would cook the second dinner. He loved pork chops, so he had a whole pig prepared to cook. He knew the pig had to cook slowly, so he put just a few logs on the fire to keep it from getting too hot. While the hog was roasting, Noimon prepared the rest of the dinner. Mikro shared with him a variety of vegetables and potatoes from her garden. Noimon had made a special dessert of mint ice cream with a thin chocolate disk over the top.
“Why did you make the ice cream like that?” Mikro asked.
“The chocolate on top represents the one percent—people like Orgizo and his family, who have everything and never have to work. The mint ice cream represents the rest of us. The idea is to break up the chocolate and mix it with the ice cream. If I become king, that is what I’m going to do.”
Many people in the village liked Noimon. He was not only intelligent but also warm and loving. Many thought he would be the best choice for king, although others thought that he was too old. He was actually younger than Orgizo, but his wild hair and bent posture made him look older. There was no doubt, though, that Noimon definitely had his fan club.
Gynaika, who was thought to be a descendant of the Indian princess from long ago, was very outspoken in her support of Noimon. Most people in the village liked her and took her advice. As she spoke, she had the habit of placing her hand upon her breast to show that her words came from her heart. Some wondered why she had not run for king and hoped that she would have the opportunity someday. Gynaika and Orgizo had what some might call a love affair—they loved to hate each other.
“Orgizo is crooked and a liar,” Gynaika observed. “Noimon is honest and kind. He would make a great king for Achoo.”
“Hiawatha doesn’t know what she is talking about,” Orgizo retorted, referring to Gynaika. Inventing childish names for his competitors made him feel intelligent. His followers loved it, especially those who had never emotionally matured.
The various confrontations among the villagers delayed dinner. They were normally peaceful and loving, but things were changing in the community because of Orgizo’s influence.
“Who is hungry?” Noimon called out. “Let’s leave the bickering for another day. I’m sure the one thing we can agree on is that we are all hungry. Dinner is ready.”
When Noimon went to serve the pork, he was horrified to discover that someone had added the whole woodpile to the fire. The scorching blaze had engulfed the pig and potatoes, leaving nothing but charred bacon and potato skins. All the villagers had left to eat were potato skins with bacon, mixed garden vegetables, and mint ice cream with 1 percent chocolate on top for dessert.
Orgizo climbed onto the stage and whistled to get everyone’s attention. “This meal is a disaster. Burned!” he bawled.
After dinner, everyone but Despotis was still hungry and went home to cook. Despotis loved bacon and did not care that it was burned. He often lived in an alternative world. For him, bacon was bacon. He thought it was delicious, even if it was extra crispy.
Noimon supporters realized that someone had cheated. They knew that Noimon was a good cook and would never have served such a skimpy, burned meal. There were many questions about who had rigged the dinner. Some thought it was Mikro, and others thought it was Mikro’s followers. Some suspected that Orgizo was responsible.
“This is just like going to a Chinese restaurant,” Dr. Grigoros said to Syzygos. “People will be hungry an hour after eating. I expect I will be busy tonight, treating hungry villagers with stomachaches.”
Soon after Noimon’s disastrous dinner, it was Orgizo’s turn to cook for the village. His wives, sons, and daughter gave him several suggestions, including caviar, lobster thermidor, and filet mignon.
“Dear wives, sons, and darling, luscious daughter, the villagers are simple people. We live in the mountains, and they are below us in the valley. I will serve peanuts as an appetizer, followed with wild stuffed mushrooms, and meat loaf. You know how fond I am of meat loaf.”
“What about dessert?” the women inquired. “Surely you want something decadent.”
“
I don’t know if the villagers deserve that. Give them last year’s Christmas fruitcake. You, my lovely pussies, can have strawberry meringue cheesecake garnished with edible gold leaf.”
Orgizo ordered his daughter to cook the meat loaf, but he insisted on making the stuffed mushrooms himself. He did not plan to use the mushrooms that the villagers grew in their gardens.
“Despotis, I need you to join me,” he said.
“Where are we going?” Despotis asked. He always enjoyed going off alone with Orgizo.
“To the forest where the magic mushrooms grow. I need your help finding them and carrying them back to the village. I need fresh mushrooms for dinner tomorrow night.”
Despotis nodded in agreement. “I know where the mushrooms grow. The trees shade the area, and it is dark and damp all year. I will guide you.”
When they arrived at the mushroom patch, they found the small, musky-smelling, brown-and-white mushrooms with their A-frame-shaped heads. “This is what we are looking for,” they exclaimed together, and laughed. They quickly plucked the biggest fungi, filling their silk pouches and Trupperware containers.
After several minutes, Orgizo sat down. “Let’s rest a bit. Tired!” he said. “You must be hungry. Chew on this.” He handed Despotis a mushroom and chose one for himself. The two men sat under the trees, watching the sun go down and chewing magic mushrooms. At first Orgizo felt dizzy and nauseated, but that soon abated. He stared at the rainbow halo surrounding the full moon as it rose above the horizon. The trees began swaying and waving to him, and Orgizo sank into his own world of unity and sacredness.
When Orgizo looked at Despotis, he felt a throbbing and hardening in his crotch. He reached out to Despotis, pulling him closer. The two men stared intensely into each other’s eyes for a few moments. Suddenly they leaned into each other, and lips met lips. They kissed hard, with passion and strength. They pulled their clothes off and carelessly threw them onto the muddy ground. Two naked bodies. Hands reaching for each other, while their tongues reached inside each other’s mouths, feeling and exploring, sucking gently and then harder with passion. The two men’s hips began a gentle rising and lowering in unison. Their rocking became faster and harder, until finally Orgizo could stand it no longer. He released Despotis and climbed onto his back, pressing into Despotis. Not all men would have fit Despotis’s tight behind. Even for Orgizo, the feeling was snug. Orgizo pressed harder, rocking and pounding, in and out. There was nothing gentle about it—he was at war with Despotis’s butt. “Ahhhh, ahhh … Oh, my God. Oh, sweet Jesus!” Orgizo yelled as he climaxed, seeing a vision of rainbows racing across the sky and a moon on fire. Then the two men cuddled up together and slept naked on the cold, damp ground, keeping each other warm.
The Accidental King of Achoo Page 5
