A Meal of Grand Proportions

A Meal of Grand Proportions

      

       By Wisdom Personified

       “Hey, Buddy!” said the first king. “We’ve got to wage war.” He picked up his guitar and strummed three notes that sounded sinister and clear. He had studied in a royal music academy and was deemed to be very good at brief compositions of the sort that ring in your ears for a second and then are forever forgotten except as memories of something detestable you hope never to enter the porches of your ears again.

       “Nah,” said the third king, “we don’t.” War is all fine and good for you old guys but I am still young enough to be asked to lead the troops into battle and act as all around heroic role model and I will have none of that. I prefer eating fish and sauces and drinking both Rennish and French wines as well as English beer and were I to be emasculated by the throes of conflict and come home without either arms or legs or what lies between these poles, if at all, then what is to become of my concupiscence and its consequences? Nay, nay, war is nat for ones lak mae. Ee wold reethar shat and pae.”

So saying, he sat him down on a fallen log at the entrance to his abode all richly decorated with vine leaves representative of the making of vintage and, leaning against a wall, fell soundly asleep. A dove landed on his head and sang pretty numbers there, in deference to this regent who once had housed without great charge the great Francis of Assissi, belovéd of all nature. He snored. He breathed foul flatulent and feathery mists. The other two stared at him a moment and walked away. They would have nothing to do with such a budgie, such a miscreant.

       The second king was a wise one who prided himself on his insights into history and world affairs. He said, “Now that we are private, and away from that gullet, let us reason together about what is the best way to chastise the Kurds on our borders who have, as you know, already destroyed a good ten percent of our holdings, villages included. Plus, they have taken livestock from the royal barns, treasures from our nobles, measureless tonnes of wheat and barley from the granaries of the richest farmers, and most of the larger women from the houses of both the poor and wealthy. What is to be done, you ask? War, now immediately and no concern since in this condition of siege we already live in a hell of someone else’s making? Diplomacy, with its bowing and scraping, with its singing of mellow praises to the very leaders who have already insulted us beyond endurance?”

He waited for king one to respond, but since that fellow had no resources to understand such things he continued in an attitude of listening, waiting for his friend to enlighten him. A fallow sang, a bittern bounded across the trail before them, and all nature lived for the answer. Flowers of a blue such as we see just before the black of night, scented the air with lemon and orange. A stone rustled down the bank.

“Well, I opt for subterfuge,” he continued. “Let us forge a pact here and now to harbor them without rancor. We will make their stay in our land as pleasant as if the Islands of Paradise had themselves been transported to our Hyperborea, with good viands, fine liqueurs, and various delights of a carnal sort that our daughters more fully understand than we. And, when they are fast asleep, so to speak, we will trip them up so their souls go to hell whereto their heads unfortunate point.”

So saying, king two plucked an apricot from a branch above his head and bit into it. It squirted aphrodisiac and then the two made their way back to the site of king three who still slept with a calm and happy look about him as if he had just indulged in a meal of grand proportions and quality.