Negotiations With God

by R W Sowrider

  Rowen thought hard on Francesco’s argument before breaking into a giant, sheepish grin. “I suppose so.”

  “Good lord!” Francesco cried at the sight of Rowen’s uber-gummy smile. “How many times do I have to tell you to keep those lips zipped when you smile?! How many children must be frightened? How many babies must cry?! When will this end, my good friend?!!!”

  “Sorry,” Rowen replied, buttoning his lips.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer called, once again gaining everyone’s attention. “From the House of Flavius, I give you Suzub! He’s not particularly foul-tempered or the like, but he does have a terribly unsightly mole on his back.”

  “Booooooo!!!!!!!” the crowd jeered as a slender man with a very confused look on his face was pushed through a gate onto the field.

  “Suzub,” the announcer called. “Since unsightly things are your bag of tea, how about this black mamba!”

  As the announcer finished his line, a black mamba was launched through a gate a quarter of the way onto the field.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer continued. “All the way from Africa, I give you the deadliest snake in the world! Say hello to Smooches! Give him a kiss will you, Suzub?!”

  The crowd erupted in applause.

  Wide-eyed, Suzub sprinted back to the wall next to the gate he had just come out of, pinned his back up against it, and stared at the snake in fear.

  The black mamba slithered toward the middle of the field, coiled itself up into a defensive position, and waited.

  Suzub, unable to move, also waited.

  After what seemed like an eternity but was probably more like five seconds, a spectator in the first row looming over Suzub dumped his wine all over the slave’s head.

  The crowd erupted in cheers and a few others followed suit, prompting Suzub to find a spot toward the center of the field that was out of striking distance of both the black mamba and the ornery spectators.

  After what seemed like an eternity but was probably more like ten seconds, the announcer intervened, desperate to get the action going.

  “Suzub,” he called. “Quit being a coward and approach that snake!”

  Suzub’s eyes almost popped out of his head. He couldn’t help but shake his head in disbelief .

  “Gentlemen,” the announcer called. “We have a live one. Please take your positions.”

  At the announcer’s instruction, impossibly muscular guards in steel helmets with gladius swords hanging from their hips emerged from each gate and closed in on Suzub.

  “Suzub,” the announcer called. “Quit being a coward and approach that snake or these gentlemen will cut you into a thousand pieces one stroke at a time.”

  Suzub gulped nervously. Having no other choice, he slowly walked toward the snake.

  The black mamba’s jet black eyes, pulsating scales, and flickering tongue glistened in the sun. It made for a petrifying sight, but for the moment Smooches remained calm.

  Suzub came within a few footsteps of the snake and tread carefully in a circle around it while it eyed him suspiciously.

  “Suzub!” the announcer roared. “You quit being a coward and give that snake a kick in the face!”

  Suzub’s eyes once again almost popped out of his head as he flashed a this-is-God-damn-ridiculous look.

  A metallic sound cascaded through the Colosseum as the guards unsheathed their swords in unison and began marching toward Suzub.

  “Okay, okay,” Suzub muttered. He bit his lip in determination, planted his left foot halfway toward the black mamba, and punted it with all his might.

  Smooches hissed violently as he flew through the air and the crowd fell silent as its venomous fangs sunk deep into the thigh of one of the guards.

  “Suzub, you coward!” the announcer called. “You weren’t supposed to use the snake as a weapon!”

  As Smooches dangled by its fangs from the guard’s leg, the adjacent guard fearlessly sliced him in half.

  “Guards!” the announced roared. “Finish the job!”

  The crowd went berserk .

  “Take that, you snake charmer!” Rowen screamed as the legion of guards slowly cut Suzub to pieces.

  ***

  “Ready to head to the Classy Cat?” Francesco asked Rowen as the last of Suzub’s remains were carried off the field.

  “But it’s time for the gladiators,” Rowen whined.

  “Come now, you know I can’t stand the gladiator bit. It makes me uncomfortable.”

  “But it’s even more popular than the wild beast feedings. The people love it. Some of these guys are real heroes. Men of great virility.”

  “Exactly,” Francesco said, shaking his head in frustration. “You know that the word ‘gladiator’ is based on the word ‘sword,’ right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which you know also means ‘penis,’ right? I can’t just sit here and watch these virile penises cross swords, it’s extremely distressing.”

  “Well, I find it inspiring!” Rowen said, defiantly.

  “Are you coming with me to the Classy or not?” Francesco finished, heading toward the exit before even hearing Rowen’s reply.

  Defeated, Rowen gathered his belongings and scrambled after his good friend.

  ***

  Before ducking through the entrance curtain of Pompeii’s most notorious entertainment establishment, Francesco and Rowen took a moment to admire the emblem stitched into it.

  A busty, scantily clad personified cat in the middle of a seductive belly dance was beckoning passersby with a come-hither wink.

  “You can’t help but dive right in,” Francesco said, pushing through the curtain and into the reception area where they were greeted by a charismatic woman with graying hair.

  “Welcome, gentlemen!” she said with a smile. “How are you doing this fine day?”

  “Very good,” Rowen replied, feeling a little anxious as usual.

  “Fantastic!” Francesco chimed in. “But not as fantastic as one lucky lady will be doing in a few minutes. Just look at the specimen I’ve brought with me today.”

  Francesco was of course alluding to Rowen as if he were male beauty incarnate. He rarely missed an opportunity to give his good friend a good ribbing.

  “Just look at that nose,” Francesco continued. “It makes Vesuvius look like an anthill.”

  Rowen blushed.

  “Well, I like it,” the hostess said. “I think it makes you look dignified.”

  “And how about that unibrow?” Francesco said. “Clip that thing and we could make you a sweater.”

  “Well, I like his eyebrows, too,” the hostess replied, gracefully. “It makes you look distinguished.”

  Rowen’s eyes lit up and he couldn’t help but smile.

  “And there’s our winning smile,” Francesco said.

  The hostess made a face as if she had been jabbed in the gut. “Yeah, you probably shouldn’t smile.”

  “At any rate,” Francesco said, rubbing his hands together, eager to get down to business. “What’s the vacancy situation looking like?”

  “It’s wide open. You guys have beaten the postgames rush and are the first ones here. You have your pick of the litter.”

  “Fantastic,” Francesco replied, rubbing his palms together. “I don’t suppose that a certain ‘Wolf Girl’ of shall we say ‘high standing’ is on duty today, is she?”

  Francesco and Rowen had long heard rumors that Empress Valeria, wife of Emperor Claudius, would often sneak off to the Classy Cat to indulge her insatiable sexual appetite. She reportedly performed under the alias, Wolf Girl.

  “Ah,” the hostess replied, leaning in close and speaking in a hushed tone. “You mean Lyciska. Unfortunately, she is not here at the moment.”

  “Do you have any idea what kind of hours she keeps?”

  “I’m afraid I do not. She comes and goes when the mood strikes. She is like a fiery comet shooting through the night sky; passionate, and impossible to predict.”
>
  Francesco nodded. “I see.”

  “But since you are the first here, please feel free to have a look at the murals above the doorways and select whichever kitty cat strikes your fancy.”

  “Thank you,” Francesco replied respectfully before heading down the candle-lit hallway.

  “Thank you,” Rowen echoed, giving the hostess a tight-lipped smile.

  As they wandered down the hallway, stopping to inspect each woman’s specialty, they were often able to peer into the room and catch glimpses of the ladies lounging seductively on beds covered in fine blankets and furs.

  “This one looks quite enjoyable,” Francesco said, pausing in front of a painting of a woman lying over the armrest of a sofa chair with a male taking her from behind.

  Rowen blushed and kept moving.

  “How about this one?” Francesco asked, pointing to a mural of a woman lying down on her shoulders with her arms flat on the ground and her buttocks raised high in the air. Her legs were folded back over her such that her knees were on the ground next to her head and her shins on the ground above her. Kneeling directly over her head was the male with his pelvis pressed into hers .

  “I don’t even understand what’s going on,” Rowen mumbled.

  “Well, I’m sold,” Francesco said, as Rowen scurried down the hallway to the next one.

  After inspecting a few more specialty positions that he deemed too dangerous, too complicated, or too ambitious, Rowen finally found the perfect one. A woman lying on her back with the man lying on top of her.

  ***

  “To the good life!” Francesco said, raising his mug of wine.

  “To the good life!” Rowen repeated, clinking jugs but saying a silent prayer of thanks to Ganesha, his favorite six-armed God, before drinking.

  The two were seated at the bar of their usual drinking establishment, the Lotus Pad, a damp hole in the wall with a musky smell.

  “Is there anything better than that first sip of wine after some profoundly satisfying exercise?!” Francesco said, basking in the afterglow of another gratifying trip to the Classy Cat.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Rowen replied, having another gulp while surveying the clientele. “Don’t look now,” he said in a hushed voice, “but I think that guy from our morning BM is here.”

  Francesco immediately turned to find the emaciated young man from the public latrine glaring at him over his drink.

  “What is that rabble-rouser doing here?!” Francesco said to Rowen in obvious irritation.

  “It’s nothing,” Rowen replied, soothingly. “He’s just having a drink like you and I.”

  “Well, he’s ruining mine.”

  “Don’t give it any thought. ”

  “I don’t want to, but now that I think about it … I bet … I bet …” Francesco stood up abruptly and marched over to the young man. “It was you, wasn’t it?!”

  The young man flinched. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve got it in for me, don’t you, you miscreant?!”

  “Leave me alone.”

  “You’re the one dragging my good name through the muck.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You graffitied that wall with that outrageous, that slanderous, that injurious phrase, ‘Francesco is mediocre.’ How dare you?!”

  “I’ve got nothing to do with it.”

  Francesco turned to Rowen who had run up to his side, hoping to keep things calm. “Do you believe this, Rowen? First, he tries to destroy my reputation, and now, he lies about it. To my face!”

  “It might not have been him,” Rowen replied.

  “Oh, it was him, alright!” Francesco slammed his hands on the table and leaned over it staring daggers at the young man. “And I’m not gonna stand for it like some garbage plebeian! No, I’ve got a mind to … I’ve got a mind to … I’ve got a mind to call Gilgamesh in here and have him smash this scoundrel upside the head with my jug of wine.”

  “Francesco, no!” Rowen cried, desperately. “Let’s not resort to violence. We can settle this like gentlemen.”

  As Francesco turned his head toward Rowen, the young man took the opportunity to plunge a knife into the top of Francesco’s hand and flee as Francesco screamed in pain.

  “Ahhhhhhhhh!!!” Francesco shrieked. “He stabbed me! The delinquent stabbed me! Pull it out! Pull it out!!!”

  In a panic, Rowen braced Francesco’s arm with one hand and pulled the knife out with the other. Blood oozed from the wound.

  “It hurts! It huuurrrrrrts!!!” Francesco screamed in agony. “That bastard! He’s crippled me! I’m done for! My hand is crippled!”

  The owner came around the bar and gave Francesco a cloth to wrap the wound in.

  “This is all your fault!” Francesco yelled at Rowen. “If you hadn’t distracted me, I would’ve had Gilgamesh in here to glass that son of a bitch and it would be his blood all over the table and not mine. You’re gonna pay for this, Rowen!”

  “I’m very sorry,” Rowen pleaded. “Let’s get you home to recover. Hopefully, your hand will heal.”

  ***

  “I may never be able to use my hand again,” Francesco said to Rowen the next day as he lay in bed recuperating. “I demand satisfaction!”

  “I’m very sorry, my good friend,” Rowen replied. “If there’s anything I can do, please just say the word and I shall do it.”

  “While I’m still extremely angry at you, I like your attitude. Clearly, we can agree that since you distracted me and allowed that bastard to mutilate me, you bear responsibility and must therefore provide compensation.”

  “I didn’t intend to distract you, and I’m absolutely sick about it, but do you really think it’s my fault?”

  “Yes. How could it not be? If you hadn’t distracted me, that fatherless hemorrhoid wouldn’t have stabbed me. Therefore, it’s 100% your fault.”

  “But what about him? He’s the one who stabbed you.”

  “It’s 100% his fault as well. And I fully intend to have him fed to a wild beast at the Colosseum, but right now we’re talking about you. I demand compensation!”

  “Well, what would you like me to do? I’d be more than happy to help you to recover. Perhaps I can buy some salve or ointment from town and apply it to the wound each day? ”

  Francesco burst out laughing. “The punishment must fit the crime, you dolt, and that doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface. No, the penalty must be much much stiffer.” He lowered his eyelids and stroked his chin for a moment in thought. When the solution came, his eyes popped open. “You will be my slave.”

  “What?”

  “As compensation, I demand that you become my slave for the remainder of your days.”

  “You want me to be your slave because I tried to prevent you from getting in a fight?”

  “No. Not because of what you tried to do, but because of what you did. It was because of you that I was assaulted. What you did was tantamount to aiding and abetting a violent criminal. I will have my satisfaction.”

  “But surely, that is too far. I’d be happy to provide compensation in a reasonable fashion, but that would not be fair. Not at all. I cannot agree to this.”

  “No? Then we are at an impasse. How would you suggest we resolve this?”

  “Well, we could ask Pliny the Elder. He is renowned for his wisdom and surely he could provide us with a just resolution.”

  “Pliny the Elder?! That senile old windbag?! I wouldn’t trust him to judge a game of rock, paper, scissors. No, there must be a better way. We need a determination from a much higher source, one with actual knowledge and authority.”

  “Well, we could go to the Oracle at Delphi. There’s no higher source than an actual God.”

  “The Oracle at Delphi? In Greece? But we’re Roman.” Francesco pondered this for a beat. “Ah, I guess when you think about it, we’re pretty much the same. I’m in. Let’s do it.”

  ** *

  The journey to
Delphi was a long and arduous one, but along the way Rowen and Francesco were able to discuss a number of topics that they hoped the Oracle would give them answers to on behalf of Apollo—God of Light, Prophecy, and Skinny Punks. Ideas such as whether slavery was immoral, whether everyone should have the right to vote, and whether females shouldn’t be raped all the time.

  “I probably should have asked this before we set out on this long and arduous journey,” Rowen said as Delphi was finally in their sight, “but what do you think of the Gods in general?”

  “What do you mean, my good friend?”

  “Well, some philosophers have raised questions about their behavior. With all their vengeance, violence, and backstabbing, perhaps they don’t make the best of role models for those of us striving to live a just life.”

  “I don’t think it’s for us mere mortals to question Gods.”

  “But take Zeus, for example, and his habit of coming down to Earth and sexually assaulting our women.”

  “Yeah, that Zeus is quite a character.”

  “Don’t you think it’s super weird and super creepy how he always inhabits an animal when doing so?”

  “Yeah, that’s pretty odd. But I think he caught on to the fact that you can just take on the appearance of the target’s boyfriend or husband.”

  “Well, that’s good news, I guess. It removes the bestiality aspect anyway.”

  “Perhaps a better question is whether the Gods even exist in the first place.”

  Rowen flashed Francesco a what-you-talkin’-bout-Willis?! look. The notion that the Gods might not exist had never even occurred to him.

  As the idea washed over his brain, Ganesha struck, and Rowen’s left eye and cheek muscles spasmed uncontrollably .

  Francesco flinched. “Leave it to the guy whose face has an epileptic seizure whenever he has a rational thought to call Zeus weird.”

  “The Gods have to exist,” Rowen declared. “How else can you explain water pouring out of the sky, molten lava spraying out of a mountain, and the entire world shaking suddenly?”

  Francesco nodded. “This is true.”

  ***

  After a good night’s sleep at the edge of Delphi, Rowen and Francesco awoke at dawn and headed to the Oracle.