by Zac Funstein
Break a holographic image into tiny pieces- you do not get some of the image on each shard, you get a smaller version of the whole-was his usual counsel.
The recently divorced Latourelle having found the marriage had become ‘insupportable’ due to ‘conflict of personalities’ was seeking new company.
Lacking Byron’s intensity of passion plus his admirable faculty for seizing the moment Morgana Latourelle degenerated into lifeless insipidities which everyone was fain to pardon. Importing building material, such as the zinc sheets for roofing, which was becoming increasingly important in the countryside seemed to have made Byron wealthy. Germany dominated the trade in zinc concentrates extracted from the great Broken Hill mines in New South Wales- which Latourelle was a shareholder in so success was guaranteed. Some zinc producers did not have other assets that could help make up for zinc prices fluctuating but Latourelle was not amongst their rank.
Byron’s sport preference was anything with a racket. Even when playing badly, which was rarely, this jack-of-all-trades could still do things with his racket nobody else could do. A great volley, a great serve, great everything!
The student who was flicking through ‘The Storm's Nobody or Abyss of Healer’ Pascal Bler’s masterwork who hadn’t really heard anything that hadn’t been before wondered if Latourelle was going to be that person.
“The trouble is Glad if you’ll pardon us for so saying-if you don’t take offence at using your first name?”
“That’s fine-I get called a lot of things. Take your pick.”
“Well-when I found out you were on a voyage of self-discovery I said to myself I know exactly where you’d go wrong like everyone else who makes the same decision- neglecting the seeming inconsequential like the wiper blades might seem of no consequence now, but can lead to greater trouble. It takes only a short while but can save misery later on.”
“It’s like a space-shuttle when a tiny wire goes awry.”
There had been much on this recently how an entire mission could be ruined by a seeming unimportant connector.
“That’s it. Permit us if you would!”
From a duffel-bag the would-be aider pulls matches, Swiss army all-purpose tool, plus a non descript ointment in a tin which seemed to resemble the grease that Harris had been so proud of earlier.
“Did you make the contents of this tin yourself will it make gears run smoother?”
“What?
“My friend Wayne had intentions on similar lines to yours gave us some all-purpose grease. I have it here somewhere.”
The tin which has a heraldic design depicting medieval warfare/ tournaments is found then then the contents revealed.
“Axel-grease!”
“Not just any old grease-but a unique design guaranteed to make any engine run without complaint.”
“This isn’t for a mechanism unless you count us a mechanism-you rub it on in extremes of temperature. It was used by climbers who tackled Everest who were threatened by hyperthermia. These might seem almost worthless but I can assure you they might come in very helpful in moments of extreme cold. These are what you wish you’d brought but left out as inconsequential. Here take them they’re yours!”
The contents of the duffel-bag were looked in upon.
“They seem too expensive somehow Byron.”
Since they were on familiar terms it seemed sensible to slip this in.
“Take them-you’ll thank us when you’re somewhere either cold or inhospitable.”
Byron had been into rallying once-before each big tournament the zinc-man would enter a bubble of concentration that muffled the crowd's applause. Pleasing the masses for him was childsplay.
“Where abouts do you intend to end up anyway young miss?”
The destination was mumbled so barely audible.
“I know someone who lives there. The city may approach the British Columbia Municipal Board to expropriate the land from him. A favour is owed-they could put you up-it would be safer.”
“That won’t be necessary-I’m going to take a tent with us. I want this to put my powers of survival to the test-not a cosy excursion.”
“Then you will need these small gifts even more so. For be assured that is what they are- that which will make your stay much easier.”
“What is this peculiar metallic device you have just given us?”
Byron knew the company owner that made the all-purpose corkscrew. More systematic than previous repressive regimes of the same family, they did much to ensure that revolts amongst the workforce did not recur, even during the infinitely harsher/ more extortionate end of the reign just before they went into receivership. The company were in the midst of a significant expansion that involves the opening of several new distribution facilities, which it called ‘fulfillment centers’. When this fulfilment is attained, what will emerge, according to Courtland Lang the chief designer, is the ‘most perfect of steel artworks ever created’.
Despite their very mundane purpose they were called art-works.
“Usually when we are left alone much of what we have accumulated seems useless but rather than indicators of alienation, they become the method by which the individual achieves his-or in your case her- potential. Picture if there had been a holocaust no gas or electricity-one of these would be priceless.”
Byron walked out of the house with a deep sense of fulfilment. Rediscovering, too, the dimension of which, in recent relationships, Latourelle had begun to despair. Like in the aftermath of a favourable tennis score, a peculiar mix of steely intent mingled with an understandable sense of fulfilment grew.
The self-seeker in turn had this sensation of being one of those who are in a waiting-room who are going to be there for some while. The desire to take off immediately was strong, but it was wisely believed that waiting until everything was properly decided must be adhered to.
The daughter was not in a good mood-having had a ‘forcible coercion’ from Douglas. What would come next was obvious- hints, disappointed glances, pretending to be sensitive caring- whilst telling her it is the correct thing to do, making it clear that her peer-group would not lose interest in her for having a child, or pretending they would love her less with a child, etc. To the familiar accompaniment of the screech of tyres G had taken the sensible option removed herself from the source of the trouble-her father-in the family saloon. How could Ellen who was a lively public speaker, a governor of several schools, plus a member of Heribald Hayward Minster parochial church council allow her husband to behave so unkindly to his children. Grandfather Bellino would have been down on them like a ton of bricks, with Grandmother Schreiber in hot pursuit. In the town centre where the departee had gone to ‘get some time to herself’ finding conversely peace amongst the noise the traveller en potentiae examined the inscription on the large concrete structure. The coating made with soot from a deoxygenated welding torch gave it a peculiarly ancient appearance but closer examination revealed it as newer than anticipated. The chunky, rock-solid figures made her hark to an earlier stone-etching on an adjoining building, a seemingly modest effort that takes on new significance in relation to the hardened forms/incipient geometry of the hefty figures above; made as an homage to Gauguin the robust standing nude not only echoes that artist's monumental Tahitian vahines, but seemed (at least to G) to prefigure Picasso's massive women.
Though they call intemperance the being governed by pleasures, it happens to some that, by being mastered by some pleasures, they master others, that is in a certain manner they become temperate through intemperance. Thus it was though the makers of these great structures were crippled by their personal routines in their chosen craft they excelled.
The recognition that memorials, like other buildings, may be planned for obsolescence which breaks radically from traditions, however quixotic, of permanence was profoundly depressing. This was not assisted by the terrible weather either. A windmeter spun merrily on the top of the great structure-oblivious to whoever was watching it. The
re had been complaints that the readings were too high now fairly certain that these high values were erroneous, due, not to the wind, but to faulty design of the anemometer-as a result a new discrete version had been put in position by a helicopter. The term derived from the Greek word anemos, meaning wind G liked because it sounded like Hebrew prophet Amos from the bible who wrote at a time of relative peace/prosperity plus neglect of religion against an increased disparity between the very wealthy/ the very poor.
“You seem a little on the low-side,” said the old man that had been watching her-seemingly handsome, sophisticated in a light-weight suit.“What's often missing in these tedious sermons in stone is the fun of the ads, the ridiculous enthusiasm plus vivacity that is used to make something educational interesting.”
“The hard sell doesn’t bother us-what does is that with something as esoteric/ serendipitous as this a good chunk of its compelling oddness arises from the juxtaposition of parochially futuristic design which, even now, seems both apposite as well as radical.”
They admired the monument again as if seeing with a new vigour plus enthusiasm. Yes there had been adverts on TV for the memorial, but they had given a cartoon representation not this dull real one. Nobody had complained of being disappointed but it seemed removed from the reality. It was read.
‘The smoke of their torment ascendeth up for ever/ ever- they have no rest those who admire Victor Desnoyers , and whosoever receiveth the mark of his calling.’
It wasn’t made clear who Victor Desnoyers was whether the structures creator or purely the writer of the inscription-whichever no doubt could be shown as to the reverence in which Victor was held.
“Pardon my interruption but I could not help but notice your curiosity Miss….”
“Schreiber.”
“This unpretentious poetess does not go about lecturing or delivering sermons in high regions eh?”
“I don’t quite understand………..”
“You wish to be alone like Greta Garbo.”
It dawned that who Greta Garbo was might be known or her famous catch-phrase, but the sentiment seemed to get across. The old-mans strength lay in absorbing pressure/ criticism- in doing this well proved himself courageous, gutsy even tough. Her gutsiness, her set of principles –the daughter learned all of that from Ellen. A strong character, put upon by events way outside her influence, but always fighting like her daughter against whatever happened to beset.
“Perhaps if I could introduce myself-my name is Crispus Grignon.I often come here-I have seen that disappointment before that this is not an animation but something boringly solid.”
In the past, great love affairs often began with the judicious dropping of a glove followed by its recovery by a charming gallant almost something of this tinge seemed apparent now.
“My generation are brought up on too many toys Mr. Grignon-it is good we are brought down to earth once in a while-even by public monuments such as this.”
They stared up at the cloud-piercing apogee again.
“I saw you admiring the characters carved at the very pinnacle-permanently enacting their scene like the frieze on Keat’s Grecian Urn. Above all, they are gestures by which we through a sequence of allusive suggestions plus corresponding recognitions, infuse the written text on the brass plaque underneath with living-breath.”
Not wanting to appear unknowledgeable or sure if breath was meant or breadth as in width it was exclaimed:
“It is a misfortune that the paragraphs of Gorbaduc Labingi, which introduces this inscription, is so defective, that only allusive references survive.”
“Miranda Smallburrow says it's a strange thing with the fulfilment of prophecies, they often confirm themselves rather than literally-perhaps that is what is implied, but yes it is true-incorrect, difficult or erroneous readings must have been created over time by scribal error. The patina created by pollution does not help-some of it is almost illegible. I’m sure Gorbaduc would rotate in his grave if this was known.”
Gorbaduc-a heavy smoker-had recently died of smoking related diseases.
“Whilst Guzmán Sandoval Zamudio’s dramatically cantilevered early sculptures such as our monument here, his recent pieces activate space allusively emotionally. We are perhaps confusing the former with the latter.”
Crispus wanted to say how immediately they might be swept away into the most sprawling, confusing, monstrous meandering tale ever written in sandstone, that the links between the art-work/ biblical themes it sought to explore, illustrate, interpret were brilliant-even that the later structures were better- as per getting on her good side but something made him stop in his tracks. The young didn’t like anyone trying to get on their good-side much less an older-person.
“Is there a reason you are going over our towering friend here with such a peculiar intensity?”
“Our class did a tour of the disused hermitage where this was made- including the thrilling rags-to-riches story of the brave frontiersman, chivalrous romantic, political reformer that Guzmán Sandoval Zamudio was-but more than this I am going on a physical journey-that is a real one soon-to Prince Rupert so I am assured that this will not be seen for some while.”
“You are saying goodbye in effect?”
“I suppose at least temporarily.”
“What the guided tours often failed to mention was how Zamudio fashioned a vitriolic denouncement of his countrymen, people whom he saw as being more capable of lying or hiding than fighting. That Guzmán had a mixed education, starting at a monastery school in Vallombrosa-where Galileo had gone-entering the order as a novice, against the wishes of his father is missed out too. ”
“I didn’t know that-probably now I never will get the full significance,” said the peruser pulling a flyer away from the stony-surface which read ‘Rental gear — boards, skis, suits, helmets, life jackets —are available, lessons can be arranged for novices/children’.
It was scrunched up almost thrown to the wind but then stuffed into her bag as a memento.
The word novice, which among the Romans meant a newly acquired slave, now corrupted to denote an inexperienced person, always made the one leaving picture old school pal Amaury Édouard who had decided to become a nun. To see Amaury before this conversion then now shorn devoid of makeup was shocking to say the least.
“What do we know about the objects creator?”
There was a hesitation-talking about anything phallic was never a good move.
“A strong will enabled him to overcome the passionate temper which marked his youth, and later in his career a habit of intemperance formed I believe.”
“Guzmán was a liberal protector of art/ literature, the kindliness of his disposition provided a marked contrast to the cruelty of his father; but he was given to intemperance as you so succinctly observe, the cause of his demise was dropsy brought on by heroin/crack addiction I believe. Any reason why you have chosen such a remote province as British Columbia or did you just hit the map with a pin; there’s been a lot of trouble there?”
“I know about the disappearances-but it seems to attract as if I have a destiny with fate there.”
“Well please be careful Ms.Schreiber, Pandora Sandheaver must surely leap into your frame of reference.”
“The Estonian comedienne has gone missing! Her polished delivery, lightness of touch made her one of a new generation of female comediennes, one to watch-now deceased.”
Pandoras performance has been the prototype followed, more or less, by those who have succeeded her who, in the main, have been comediennes rather than straight actresses.
“Not any more-if it is the road I’m coming up with.” A map was being skimmed through on his smartphone. “Sandheaver was found missing with no traces-unless you count her parked SUV.”
“Sandheaver-dead I hadn’t heard that-that’s terrible. On this same freeway too.”
When the youngster got home the teenager began packing the car next even though the actual leaving had not been finalized; s
omeone must have repeatedly said make sure everything is well-prepared days before you go! Try to disseminate the load evenly when packing the car avoid leaving any items loose - someone could get hit if you brake sharply. A neighbour came up the drive to speak- Mr. Largo Galbassi who was an inbound call handler, customer service or assistant customer services advisor-(something like that). One of those with a database with some clients, plus IE who were told to get on with it! Largo had his own company drove a Chevrolet Express was once a teletype operator but believed himself constrained. Mrs. Galbassi ran the local amateur dramatic troupe-whilst there was little evidence of original research, had commendably pulled off the tricky task of bringing to life a cast of vivid/disparate personalities- setting them firmly in their respective roles whatever it happened to be. Their recent version of Beckett’s ’Waiting for Godot’ was well received with Galbassi putting in a passable Estragon.
“I understand completely where you are coming from - I would like you to understand that completely, emotionally, you are a political detainee- a political prisoner that is of that institution-the family.”
Here a weakness was uncovered at once; it was a small one; indeed, as weaknesses go in the great world, it might almost have been called a commendable trait that of opening up to DOM.
“I have nothing to be ashamed of in this situation but I find that getting away from it all suits my purpose. Do not listen to my father many of his views/ statements are misleading as to my intentions,”
The ambience/ atmosphere was scoring top marks so far - but getting down to the nitty-gritty seemed to be necessary.
“You are paranoid I have not spoken to Douglas for a while certainly about yourself. You can speak to us in total confidence.”
Worries about whom to trust tainted relations/ snuffed out the legendary goodwill of the city a lot recently. There was no uncertainty, no wavering, no hesitation, but conversely nor was there any mirth, any pleasure, any satisfaction.
