The One Armed, Three Legged Chair

by Joseph Vincent

his chair he saw. He felt a comfort knowing that it was his reality that had just entered his dream.

  The Omach stood up and slipped on his pants, tied his belt loosely and looked around the room. "The first thing I need to do,” he said aloud, “is go into the garden and pick some flowers. This place is looking a bit dreary." The Omach stroked his long sandy colored beard. "That is a fine idea; a gathering of fresh flowers would surely brighten up the place."

  The Omach kept his water jug on a small shelf directly under the window where the coolness from the outside kept it refreshed. He always rinsed his mouth first thing in the morning. He said it rinsed away the ‘idleness of sleep’... and it tasted good too!

  After taking a long drink, the Omach wiped his lips and was pleased. He bent down, picked up his shoes and turned back towards the rickety old chair. He felt that certain feeling that he always got in this stomach when something was about to happen or there was something he needed to do.

  “There I go again,” the Omach mumbled to himself, “making a whole lot out of nothing… it was just a crazy dream. Means nothing… nothing,”

  The Omach shrugged his shoulders and turned towards his sleeping area. "I wonder if the chair will hold me after all these omzs. After all, I have put on a few pounds." The Omach scratched his slightly protruding belly, walked to the bed and sat down.

  "There, how about you have the morning off?” he directed to the chair, ”I mean it only seems right, that if I think about your welfare, you will think of mine and be there when I really need you." He slipped on his right shoe and slapped his knee laughing. "You must think I am a silly old man, I mean my talking to a chair."

  The Omach looked at the chair, pinched his eyebrows and stroked his long beard. He lifted his left foot and set it on his right knee. As he started to slip his foot in the shoe he noticed something… something odd. There were strange marks on the heel of the shoe that he had never noticed before. He set the shoe on the bed and lifted his right foot so he could see the back of the other shoe. I had the same marks.

  “That is quite interesting,” he said putting his foot back on the floor. “They are the same marks as these…” The Omach picked up the other shoe and looked again.

  “What do you think chair? Is it possible that it was more than just a crazy dream?” The Omach slipped his left foot in the other shoe and stood up. “I tell you what chair, when I see a flying wooden bird I will ponder the what ifs and could bees again.”

  The Omach laughed out loud and clapped his hands together. "Maybe I will give you a mouth, then when I talk to you, you could talk back... and I would not be such a silly old man." The Omach scratched his head and thought for a moment. "But first things first, I must go to the garden and pick some flowers. I would not want the first words from your new mouth. to be an icky remark about how dull and dreary this place is." He smiled at the chair that was waiting patiently.

  Two of the suns were already high in the sky and the sunzshine felt good on the Omach's skin as he walked out of his hut and into their light. Off in the distance he could see the third sun on its way up and over the great pyls, beyond the vast desert. The air was light and fresh and carried with it the sweet fragrance of wild flowers. The fruit trees that surrounded the Omach and his hut were alive with the chirping and cheeping and scurrying about of the brightly colored birds that made the meadow their home.

  "Good morning my little friends," the Omach said. He loved their singing and always showed the birds his appreciation by wishing them a good morning. "It is so very nice to see you all and in such glorious spirits,” he said to them.

  The Omach smiled as he walked around to the backside of his hut where he had a modest garden. One of the little blue and yellow birds flew playfully toward the Omach, ignoring the loud chirps of warning from his friends. "My, my, are you not the brave little fellow," the Omach remarked and held one finger high above his head, "I wonder if you are equally as trusting." The little bird flew around the Omach, looking him over carefully. Little by little, the bird came closer and closer until he actually brushed against the Omach's hand. "It is alright my little friend. I would not harm you."

  The Omach shook the long gray hair out from his eyes. "It is alright." All of the other birds continued their noisy warning, fluttering their wings and cheeping loudly... but the little bird paid them no heed and flew straight to the Omach's finger.

  The Omach smiled at him. "You are a trusting little creature. May I ask why is it that your friends fear me? Have I not always been friendly and courteous towards you and yours; as I am to all creatures?"

  The tiny bird looked at the Omach as he spoke, turning his head this way and that, as if trying to understand.

  "Do you wish to be my friend little one?" The Omach held the little bird to his ear. "What, I did not hear you clearly? "The bird poked at the Omach's ear.

  "Oh my, you say that you would like to be my friend. You suggest your friends are just being cautious, that they are really quite friendly... once you get to know them." The Omach looked at all of the birds in the trees surrounding him. "Is that true? Are you really friendly?"

  The birds chirped and cheeped loudly. Some flew away, others watched more intently.

  "Your friends are wondering how I know what you are saying." The Omach spoke softly to the little bird, which was sitting quietly on his finger. "They do not understand that it is your mind speaking me. Is that not the silliest thing you have ever heard? I mean after all, you can talk as clearly as I can."

  The Omach waved his hand over the bird's head in a circular motion and said the magical word 'powie'... "Is that not right?"

  The little bird looked up into the Omach's deep blue eyes. "Yes, I can," he spoke and was surprised at the sound of his voice, not in chirps and cheeps but in words. "I can speak, but how is this possible?"

  The little bird was bewildered so the Omach explained...

  "You are able to speak because of your desire to be my friend. This openness and trusting nature revealed your mind towards me . All I had to do after that, was wait for the right moment and 'powie', you can speak."

  "Can I speak to my friends as well?" The little bird asked, peering around at all of the astonished on-lookers.

  "You can speak to one and all creatures. Always remember to speak only the truth and never, ever deceive any creature with your words. To speak is good... to speak falsely is bad."

  "I will remember... always," the little bird said sincerely.

  "I know you will, Zair." The Omach said grinning at his new friend.

  "How did you know my name?" Zair was puzzled.

  "Oh, I have known your name for a while; your friends have been calling you for the last few minutes. Quite concerned I might add."

  The Omach nodded his head towards the trees. "Now do you think it would be a good idea if you went and explained that I truly mean no harm... with your new manner of speaking?"

  "That is a great Idea."

  Zair flew from the Omach's finger and headed straight for the trees. "Hey!" Zair yelled to his friends, "the Omach will not hurt you! Listen to what he has done for me!"

  The Omach walked slowly to the backside of his hut to where his garden of special flowers were. Zato was covered with many beautiful aromatic plants, flowers and trees, yet the Omach wanted more than ordinary everyday flowers. He cleverly crossbred them adding a little of this and that to their food. As a result, he had created some quite unusual plants. One of which he had to hang from a tree because it grew down instead of up, another that only bloomed at night. Then there was the Omach’s favorite, the one that whistled when the wind blew.

  "Ah, you all look so refreshed, so radiant and peaceful on this fine morning." The Omach spoke to them all as he walked slowly through his garden, making sure to touch each plant softly, and sniffing their sweet petals. "I almost feel ashamed coming here and selecting some of you for my hut, but after all, that is why I planted this garden. You do understand?"

  Th
e Omach loved his plants and spent several hours each day caring for them. Plants were soothing to the Omach... he learned that they gave off a special energy when treated with love. The Omach was careful not to tear the stems as he picked the flowers and made sure he took only one from each plant. "I do not want to diminish your fullness."

  Satisfied with the colorful bouquet of flowers, the Omach stood up and said good-bye to his garden and started back to his hut.

  "Oh ik." The Omach remembered that he had broken his only clay vase while cleaning it. "I wish I would have remembered that before I picked these.

  He hurried into the hut and dropped the flowers into the water jug. "There, that will do just fine until I can find something to make a vase out of... clay would take too long."

  The Omach walked outside and looked around for something he could put the lovely flowers in. He spotted a short stout log lying on the ground near the fire-pit. He picked it up and examined it carefully.

  "Fine, just fine,” the Omach was pleased to see it was hollow at one end. "All I will have to do is carve a bit off the bottom to make it flat and 'powie', a vase."

  The Omach set the log down and hurried back into the hut get his knife. He plucked it from the shelf and tested its’ sharpness. "Oh yes," the Omach said while slicing through a small twig he tore from a wall-pole. "Plenty sharp."

  The Omach took the knife and went back to the fire-pit where he had left the log. He picked it up and rolled it with one hand, then with a few swift strokes, the bottom of the log was flat.

  "There," the Omach said looking it over again, "the first step is done, now for the sides."

  The Omach swiftly and skillfully swiped the sides of the log from top to bottom until it was smooth and clean. Then he added a few carved flowers here and there to dress it up a little. He looked it over and was satisfied.

  "Beautiful," he said.The Omach slipped his knife behind his ear and rolled the vase around with both hands. "It is almost a nice as the clay one I broke... but this one will not break. And as clumsy as I am, that is a good thing. Ha ha ha," he laughed at himself. The Omach went back into the hut and set the vase on the table next to the flowers. He took the knife from behind his ear and put it in its place on the shelf. Grabbing the rickety old chair from the corner, he went and sat down at the table.

  “Now for the flowers,” the Omach said, and started strategically placing the flowers in the new wooden vase one by one. "I will place the tall ones in the back and shorter ones in the front... very nice. Now all I need to do is add a bit of water and you will stay fresh for months."

  The Omach set the flowers in the middle of the table that was in the center of the room and poured some water from the now vacant water jug into the vase full of thirsty flowers.

  The Omach stood up and looked at the chair. "Now it is your turn. What kind of a mouth should a chair have? Should it be a big mouth with large fat lips, or a small mouth, with itty-bitty skinny lips?"

  "Why are you going to give the chair a mouth?" It was Zair; he had flown in to see what the Omach was doing. "Oh, I am sorry Omach. I did not mean to intrude." The little bird felt badly about just flying in.

  "There is no need to apologize Zair." The Omach picked up the knife with one hand and the chair with the other and walked over and sat down on the bed. "I am pleased that you came to see me. It must mean that you want to be my friend and my friends are always welcome in my home.”

  The Omach smiled at the little bird, which was perched above the door. “No, there is no need at all to apologize."Zair appeared nervous. "Oh yes, I would like it very much if we could be friends.”

  “But Zair,” the Omach said with raised eyebrows, “I am just a silly old man. And most think my wizardry makes me dangerous. They stay as far away from me as possible. That is why I live here all alone... me, and my plants and flowers."

  "But I do not think you are silly or dangerous." Zair flew down and onto the windowsill, bringing him closer to the Omach. "And, I think the wizardarious things you do are exciting... Like the time it was oh so hot for a long time and you made it rain only on your garden."

  "How did you know that was me?" The Omach smiled a wide smile as he remembered, “it could have just been an oddity of nature."

  Zair looked at him and ruffled his feathers. "But we all saw you dancing in a circle around your garden and throwing dust into the wind right before it happened."

  "All right," the Omach confessed, "you are right, I did it. And you still want to be my friend? You do not think I am dangerous?"

  "No I think you are very nice." Zair hopped from the windowsill and onto the foot-board of the Omach's bed. "You can not help it if you are different than others... like me."

  The Omach looked at Zair and realized that now he was a talking bird and definitely different than all of the others.

  "Does it bother you now that you are different?" The Omach asked wondering if he had possibly made a mistake.

  "No, I think that now I am like you... special."

  "That you are." The Omach smiled from ear to ear. "And I would like nothing better than to be your friend."

  "Me too," Zair exclaimed and ruffled his feathers!

  The Omach turned his attention to the patiently waiting old chair. "Now, what sort of mouth would you say suits this chair?"

  "I think maybe a wide mouth; with a fat bottom lip would look nice." Zair said and looked to the Omach for approval.

  "That is a fine idea."

  The Omach thought that the knife might have dulled a bit after carving the vase. He tested the sharpness with his finger. "Now all I have to do is sharpen this blade and I can get started." He slowly slid the glistening knife-edge across the palm of his hand, one side and then the other. Then with a cool soft breath from his lips, the knife shined like never before.

  "Was that a trick? Is the knife really sharp now?" Zair asked not believing his eyes.

  "Well now let us see," the Omach said and sliced at the air.

  Zair could not believe his eyes. In fact, he closed them for a moment thinking that they were playing tricks on him. Colors seemed to fall right out of nothing and then disappeared as they hit the floor.

  "Was that a piece of the air you just cut?" Zair asked.

  "Yes, just a small slice though. I just love the colors."

  The Omach whipped the blade in a circle directly over the small wide-eyed bird. A ring of colors appeared from thin air and fell slowly down and around the small bird and sank into nothing.

  "That is incredible. How do you do that?" Zair was amazed.

  "With a very sharp knife and a little luck," the Omach said and smiled at Zair. "But enough fun, now it is time to go to work!"

  The Omach pinched his eyebrows together and carefully started carving a mouth into the back of the chair. The first thing he did was lightly carve an outline.

  "Make the bottom lip a little fatter," Zair suggested.

  "Like this?" the Omach asked dropping the bottom line of the bottom lip a bit, "too fat?"

  "No, just right," Zair was happy to be helping the Omach.

  The Omach did a marvelous job of carving the mouth. Slicing and digging and forming, all with no time wasted. After he was finished, he slipped the knife behind his ear and held the chair at an arm’s length and looked it over.

  "That is a great mouth!" Zair said filled with excitement. "I wonder if it works."

  The Omach looked puzzled. "I do not know. How do we find out?" The Omach set the chair down and looked at Zair. "I guess we could ask the chair if it can speak."

  Zair flew from the foot-board of the Omach's bed and onto the seat of the rickety old chair and looked it right in the mouth. "Can you speak?"

  The mouth started to move this way and that way deliberately and slow.

  "Maybe it is too hard for the chair to speak because it can not hear." Zair said and looked over his shoulder at the Omach. "Maybe you should carve it an ear. Just one would not take very lo
ng. I mean, do you think you could talk if you could not hear?"

  "How would I know if I was?" The Omach pursed his lips and thought for a split second. "Zair, you are absolutely right. How could I have been so silly as to think that a chair could speak without even one ear to hear with? I can hardly believe that I was so ikord."

  "You were not ikord Omach," Zair said, "you just did not think about it."

  "That does not matter," the Omach whipped the knife from behind his ear and pulled the chair close. "What does matter is that I carve this chair an ear, while the mouth is still trying to say something.

  Zair flew onto the chair's one arm and looked back and forth from the Omach carving to the mouth moving. "It does not have to be a big ear."

  "No." The Omach agreed, "but it does have to be pretty.”

  “You know Zair," the Omach said while working on the ear, "I was not at all thinking, like you said, I was only going to give the chair a mouth so it could talk back to me, so I would not feel like a silly old man. But what a silly old man I proved to be... expecting a chair to talk without having an ear to hear with... how silly."

  Zair watched and listened as the Omach swiftly and skillfully carved an ear just to the left of the mouth. He was curious and excited to see if the mouth would start speaking when the ear was finished.

  "Well, what do you think?" The Omach asked and slipped the knife, once again behind his ear.

  "It is a great ear,” Zair said, “but the mouth is still only moving this way and that."

  "Hmm," the Omach bent down and looked at the ear very closely. "Maybe this is the problem, wood chips." He blew out tiny wood chips from inside of the ear.

  "HEY!" the chair shouted so loudly, that he scared Zair right off of its arm and onto the windowsill.

  "Is that anyway to treat someone who has held you up every morning for the past twelve omzs while you put your shoes on? Not to mention all of the nights when you plopped down on me to take them off."

  The Omach and Zair looked at each other, both stunned... neither of them knew quite how to respond.

  "Well," the chair grimaced, “you gave me a mouth and an ear so we could have a meaningful conversation... so far I am not impressed. And by the way, why may I ask, along with a mouth and an ear you did not see fit to give me an eye. After all, is not eye contact vital to a truly meaningful conversation?"

  "I am sorry chair," the Omach said. "The ear was Zair’s suggestion, I just did not think of giving you an eye. I do not really know..."

  "Further more,” the chair interrupted, “you did not want me to see just how much of a silly old man you really are."

  "Hey!" Zair said and flew right down and landed in the rickety old chair’s seat. "You can not talk to the Omach like that. After all, look how much he has already done for you. I can understand how you would like an eye, but you could at least speak nicely... I mean how many chairs do you think can