Larry is seated on a throne in a throne room. He is surrounded by guards and courtiers, all of whom are standing. A line of priest-like figures appear and form a queue. The first one approaches and kneels humbly before him.
Larry’s mouth opens. “Welcome to bullshit palace, mate.” and proffers his clenched fist towards him.
The priest bends down and kisses a ring on one of his fingers. Then he says “Nice place you got here mate. Listen, There’s a brown dog barking at the back door, and I gotta hang a brown bear in the porcelain cave. Where’s the dunny, mate?”
Larry points leftwards. “Well, it’s a good stroll to the gravy bowl from here. Go down there, third on the right, first left, first right, second right and the shit house is second door on the left”.
The priest disappears in the direction indicated. The next priest also kneels before Larry and, just as the previous one had, kisses the ring on his finger. Larry motions to one of the guards, who hands a sword over to him. He takes it and solemnly touches each of the priest’s shoulders with the flat of the blade.
Then Larry looks up and laughs. “It gives a whole new meaning to bashing the bishop, doesn’t it mates?!”
It was early evening in a hotel room in Los Angeles. Humvat lay back on his bed, his head propped up against a pillow. He held his scrawled list of Strine phrases up in the air in front of his face. “G’day mate,” he idly said to himself as he practised the direction of his journey towards perfection. “Ain’t it a beaut? G’day mate, ain’t it a beaut? G’day mate, ain’t it a beaut?”
Parvark sat cross-legged on the floor in a far corner of the room, testily flicking through the Los Angeles Times. He was trying to fill and occupy his mind with the pictures and words, anything to block out the dirge flowing from Humvat’s side of the room. He turned a page and came across the television program listings. He vaguely inspected them to see if there was anything worth watching, but nothing caught his attention. Then his eyes stopped dead in their tracks. He retraced his steps, and read the words again. It couldn’t be true.
“Holy Baqra! I don’t believe it!” he exclaimed, his mind flitting along the confused, blurry line where stark truth actually meets improbable reality. He almost dropped the newspaper in his excitement. “Look! Look! Look at this!”
He prodded a shaking finger at a point somewhere amongst a page full of indecipherable words.
Humvat stared back at him, expectantly waiting for an explanation.
Parvark gasped “You’d better take a moment to compose yourself Humvat. I’m not sure how to tell you this”.
“Stop messing around and just spit it out. I’ve got lines to learn, you know”.
“Okay then.” he gulped. “Wild About Larry is on the television tonight!”
Humvat’s grip jerked loose in a nervous spasm and he dropped his notes onto the floor. He sat up with a start and a shockwave swept through him. He’d waited so long for this moment he’d pretty much given up on it ever happening. And while he’d never imagined how it might happen, he’d never imagined it would come at a moment like this, at a time like this in a place like this. He didn’t know how he should react. The only thoughts which raced around him were flustered ones with nowhere to go. He felt himself tensing up.
“So we finally get to see if he’s as handsome as me, then.” was all he could muster.
Parvark frantically checked the newspaper page, cross-referencing the program details against the timetable grid plan.
“It’s on channel 48 and it starts at 7 o’ clock.” he babbled. “Quick, what time is it now?”
Humvat glanced across at the digital clock which was set into the wall by the headboard of his bed.
“It’s five to seven.” he replied with a show of forced nonchalance. His mind however was overcome with a wash of feelings of apprehension and foreboding flooding over him. Having come this far without setting eyes upon Larry, he wasn’t certain he wanted to inspect him anymore, to be forced to scrutinise himself against this magical figure who had been like a lucky charm. He was, in truth, fearful he might not measure up to the real thing and his spell of good fortune might be fractured and broken.
“Right then,” snapped Parvark, marching across to the television and picking up the remote control. “Let’s get a look at this Larry person and find out what the fuss is all about”.
He pressed a button and the television sprang into life. It was showing his favourite commercial, the one where the girl has a perfect wedding and a perfect life, all because her mother used the correct soap powder to clean her dirty clothes. He sat down on his bed and gazed upon the serene scene, comforted by the knowledge there would be a happy ending, just like there always was.
Then he flicked through the channels until he came to number 48. In comparison, this offered a far more prosaic illusion. Instead of portraying the dream of a wonderful life lying in wait just around the corner, they were appealing for viewers to pledge funds to keep the station in business. It sounded all too similar to life as a beggar on the streets of South Jefesta or downtown America for his liking, but he continued to view. Humvat shuffled about uncomfortably, convinced he was about to be rudely awoken from his own dream of a wonderful life and robbed.
“Okay then folks,” boomed a voice from within the television. “Let’s swiftly move onto one of the reasons you should be pledging donations to our station tonight. It’s time for another episode of the smash hit show, Wild About Larry!”
Both of them instinctively leaned towards the screen and craned their necks to gain a closer view. The familiar theme music they’d heard in Miami started to play.
Humvat nudged Parvark and muttered “You know that thieving bastard Carbet stole his music from this show, don’t you?”
“Ssh!” hushed Parvark, waving him away with an irritated hand. “The action is just about to start”.
They both sat statically, in intrigued silence as the opening credits disappeared. Humvat gazed intently, but became puzzled by the sudden view of a girl on a balcony. It was on fire and she was waving and screaming for help in some strange, stupid voice. But the face looked familiar enough. He could have sworn it belonged to Kipdip. There was something decidedly odd about what was happening here but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
“There’s something not right about this.” murmured Parvark.
And then it happened. Humvat bent even closer to the screen, and slowly shook his head as a soldier on horseback came riding through a crowd of people.
“No, no.” he muttered in disbelief. “It can’t be. It can’t be”.
But then the camera homed in on the soldier as he dismounted, and there was the undeniable evidence, incontrovertible proof of the truth. It was his face; it was him. After everything he’d been through, it turned out Wild About Larry was, in fact One Great Guide, One Great Nation. He was Larry and Larry was he. The sword of Damocles, which had been hanging over Humvat’s head ever since his arrival in the United States, finally and inevitably fell down upon him and he felt the searing, splitting pain cut through him.
In a fraction of an instant everything came crashing down, and suddenly all of it, all the madness, all the recognition, all the unexplainable acquaintances made total, overwhelming sense.
His left hand was clasped to his forehead, his head bowed, his jaw dropped slightly, his eyes glazed over and he temporarily lost the power of speech. He weakly turned to Parvark, who was in a similar state. Parvark cleared his throat and stammered.
“Merciful Baqra! It’s you! You! You really are Larry. You were really Larry all the time!”
Humvat hardly needed to have it spelt out for him. He simply continued to shake his head and gulped, trying to take in the enormity of what he was witnessing on the screen. Apparently he’d just kissed Kipdip and told her she was hotter than a piss in a sauna. He’d seen enough so he got up, turned the TV off and sat down again on the bed. He was in a dumbstruck state of shock. He’d always assumed h
e was simply playing a role, when actually he’d been pretending to be himself all along. How ridiculously stupid was that? And what sort of idiot did it make him?
He’d been betrayed. How and why and by whom wasn’t clear to him, but it was certainly clear enough that somebody somewhere had made a complete and utter fool of him. Closely following the waves of shock were stormy waves of anger. He’d been turned into a tramp, a whore, a laughing stock, when he should have been riding in victorious glory through a packed Coliseum, basking in the adulation of adoring crowds. Instead here he was, in a pokey, pukey hotel room with only the court jester Parvark for company. He quickly decided somebody was going to pay for this, and he was going to start by settling a score straight away.
“I’m owed a treasure chest full of dollars and I’m going to get it now.” he snarled and stormed out into the corridor.
He dashed up to Janet Mobey’s room and knocked so hard on the hollow plywood door he nearly put his fist through it.
“Alright, alright. There’s no need to break the door down.” he heard her voice from inside the room rising over the sound of a television. He impatiently rapped on the door again.
“Hold on a second. I’m coming, goddamnit!” She opened the door with one hand and clutched a glass of wine in the other hand.
“Oh Humvat honey,” she sighed, theatrically rubbing her eye with her free hand to convey tiredness. “It’s kinda late to be practising your lines right now. Howz about you come back in the morning and we’ll do it then?” she smiled benignly. “I do admire your persistence though. Don’t ever lose that”.
She went to close the door.
“Don’t be giving me Humvat honey!” he snapped, blocking her attempt and pushing past her into the room.
Ignoring her protests about his intrusion, he flicked the television onto channel 48. Larry and Viv, otherwise known as Humvat and Kipdip were being married. “It is me!” he shouted, pointing at the screen. “Is me!”
“You’re…Larry?” she stuttered disbelievingly. She warily approached the television and closely inspected the screen to compare these two people. She scanned the moving picture for some sort of feature, looked across at Humvat, scanned again and looked back at Humvat again. Then she gasped abruptly, placing her hand over her mouth as she did a double take. “Oh my God! You’ve got the same wart as Larry on your ring finger!”
“Yes! Final! I am Larry.” he spat out indignantly. “I am Hollywood star.” he continued. “And I want Hollywood things. I want big house, I want cars, I want girls.” he reeled off his list of demands. And then he thought of his Hollywood daydreams when he was on set back in South Jefesta, and he remembered Kipdip. “Well, I want big house and cars anyhow.” he conceded.
“Hold on a second, Humvat honey.” she replied, her head still spinning from the giddying news he’d just delivered and laid down in a heap before her. “You gotta make serious money before you can start talking like that”.
“I already make you big monies!” he sneered. “I know you little secret. You sit at you desk in office all day, do nothing while I travel up and down country, and for one dollar you give me you keep five for you”.
She shook her head, forced a wan smile and took his hand in hers. “No, honey it’s simply not true. I’d never cheat on you. Besides, a few grand isn’t serious money”.
Her eyes lit up as she greedily realised the potential worth of her investment. Her dirty mongrel had suddenly blossomed into a cash cow.
“We’ve been dealing with peanuts, but now we’re talking major league, honey. We’ll get you on the Matt Black show, just for starters. Then there’s Livermore and goodness knows who. We could even go for Ashanti. I promise you, the sky’s the limit but you’ll have to wait and be patient for a while before you can take delivery of the mansion and the cars”.
He remained unimpressed. “I done with patience. If you don’t treat me with good respect I want freedom.” he insisted. “I find someone else who give it to me”.
She laughed dismissively. “Oh come on now, Humvat honey. You can’t leave me. You signed a contract and you’ve got to honor it, otherwise I’ll have to sue your ass off. Besides, the work visa you’ve got is only class H2. It's tied specifically to your job here. If you leave the job then you lose the visa, and if you lose the visa then you can’t work in this country”.
Now it was Humvat’s turn to start reeling beneath the blows of unexpected news raining down upon him.
“You mean I trapped here?” he sighed, utterly deflated.
“That’s right honey.” she cheerily smiled. “Now make sure you get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day”.
He sloped out of the room and slowly returned to his own, pacing the events of the last few minutes over and over in his head.
“What happened?” asked Parvark. “Did you get your treasure chest of dollars?”
He slumped down on his bed. “No.” he sighed. “All I got was a chest full of empty promises”.
Then he sat up and asked. “Do you know who Matt Black is?”
“He’s a famous TV chat show host. Why?”
“Because we’re going to be contacting him tomorrow. I want to put my case to the American nation. They are an honourable tribe, and I’m sure they’ll want to make restitution to me for all the cheating and suffering one of their people has visited upon me”.
The next morning they both stood huddled by a public phone booth out on a quiet street. They decided to sneak out of the hotel so they could conduct their business in a more private setting, even if it was by the side of the road.
“Hello? CBN television?” enquired Humvat. “My name is Humvat Virit, and I star of TV show Wild About Larry. Have you hear of it? Good”.
There was a jabbering from the other end of the line.
“Well,” he replied. “I wanting to make an appear on Matt Black show tonight”.
There was another sharp burst of jabber, followed by a click.
“Oh,” he floundered. “That’s odd. She said I was the twenty fifth caller this week claiming I am the star of my show. Why would anyone else claim to be me?”
“There are lots of pirates out there, and they are all eager to sail in your wake, Humvat.” proclaimed Parvark. “You must present yourself to the studio, and prove you really are who you say you are”.
“You’re right.” concurred Humvat. “Even I didn’t know I am who I am until last night and we’re talking about me here, not some stranger. Let’s take a taxi to the studios now”.
They walked around the corner to a busier road, hailed a passing cab and instructed the driver to transport them to the CBN studio.
Half an hour later the cab stopped on an avenue in Burbank, and they walked into the studio. As they made their way along the sidewalk, Parvark became aware that Humvat seemed to be attracting even more interest than usual. The flickering glances, the intense stares, the embarrassed smiles now spoke volumes, whereas even up until the previous day they had just been part of an unexplainable vista. They swept past the security guards stationed at the front entrance and presented themselves to a woman seated at reception, wearing her smart black CBN blazer.
“Are you Matt Black?” Humvat asked. Parvark winced.
She raised her eyebrows. “No, I’m not.” she replied tersely. “Could you please state the purpose of your visit, sir?”
“Oh yes. I am Humvat Virit. I am actor of television Wild About Larry, and I want be on Matt Black show.” he announced. “Woman on telephone said impostors pretend to be me, so I here to show I am real Larry”.
She dubiously looked him up and down. She picked up her telephone, conducted a quick conversation and replaced the receiver.
“If you’d care to take a seat sir, someone will come out and see you shortly.” she requested firmly but politely, just as she always did with these fruitcakes who regularly turned up out of the blue.
They sat down and waited for a short while.
And then a short while longer, and a short while longer. Eventually a bespectacled young man appeared.
“Good morning Mr Virit.” he greeted Humvat with a proffered hand.
“Good morning Mr Black,” replied Humvat with a smile. “Is good to meeting you”.
“No, no, no.” stumbled the young man. “I’m not Matt Black. My name is Andre Duncan, and I’m a researcher on the Show Tonight with Matt Black”.
“Oh, I apologising.” gushed Humvat, fearing he might have caused offence and affected his chances of an invitation. “Many apologising”.
“That’s fine. Now I understand you claim to be the star of Wild About Larry”.
“Yes, is true”.
Duncan looked him over and up and down. He asked Humvat to stand up and walked around him, circling him with a critical eye, like an art expert authenticating a previously unknown old master. He thought to himself for a while as he considered the likely merits of this beaming loony actually being Larry. People had been turning up with dubious claims ever since Matt Black made an appeal for the unknown character who unleashed Larrymania across the nation to come forward a month or so ago.
“Say G’day mate.” requested Duncan.
“G’day mate”.
“Hmm. Now say It’s a long way through the outback to the back of Bourke and along the wallaby track to the black stump, onto Bullamanka where the crows fly backwards”.
“It’s a long way through outback to back of Bourke, black stump, crows… erm… say again please?”
Duncan drew in a sharp intake of breath and shook his head.
“I’m sorry pal. You’re a good lookalike, but you’re not the real deal”.
At this point Humvat discarded the fear of offending and picked up the drive of desperation. “What mean you, I not me? Who you are for to tell me who I am?”
Duncan waved him away. “Listen, until the real Larry turns up all I’ve got to go on is my own judgement, and in my opinion you just don’t tick enough boxes”.
“Show him your finger Humvat.” interrupted Parvark, who had remained silent up until this point.
“Ha! Yes! Of course, my burden of proof!” exclaimed Humvat.
Andre looked on in bemusement at these two foreigners babbling away in some distant tongue.
Humvat waved his finger with the priceless wart at him “Check this on Larry and you see I am who I am”.
Taken aback, the researcher closely examined the finger. He still didn’t believe it was going to be of any significance, but he felt duty bound to check it out. He sulkily sloped off and reappeared a few minutes later, ashen faced and apologetic.
“I’m really, really sorry about any confusion which may have occurred earlier, Mr Virit.” he grovelled. “I’ve just spoken to the show’s producer and he’d like to invite you to appear on tonight’s show, if this would be convenient for yourself”.
Humvat and Parvark smiled victoriously at each other.
“If you’d just like to come through with me, there are a few things I need to go over with you”.
“Where’s that pain in the ass Humvat gotten to?” barked Janet Mobey. She was moodily pacing up and down the hotel lobby. Clark Gable, Marilyn Monroe, Bruce Springsteen, Abraham Lincoln and others were milling around, but Larry was notable by his absence.
“We’re supposed to be at the convention center in an hour.” she snapped. “If he doesn’t turn up soon we’ll have to go without him, and then he’s gonna find out what pain really means”.
Nearby a television was playing to an audience of a single young boy who was sat on the floor. She wasn’t really listening to it, but half heard a trailer for the Matt Black show and wandered across to inspect it. One day, one happy, glorious day in the not too distant future, it would be advertising the anticipation of an audience with her boy Humvat.
“Whatever your plans are for this evening, make sure they include the Show Tonight with Matt Black!” reeled off an announcer. “Because Matt has a truly special guest appearance by the star of the TV show which has entranced America, attracting millions of fans; it’s the wacky, wacky world of Wild About Larry! So don’t miss it tonight at eight, be sure to make it a date!”
For the second time in two days she was acutely befuddled as she attempted to sort out what she really saw and heard and sift it from the mirage she thought she’d seen and heard.
In dismay she whispered to the young boy. “Did he say the star of Wild About Larry is on the Matt Black show tonight?”
He nodded.
She shrugged her shoulders, shook her head and muttered with insouciance. “I’m getting too old for this game. Come on everyone, let’s head downtown to the convention center. I’ll sort out that damned pain Humvat later”.
Meanwhile, Humvat was busily rehearsing down at the CBN studios.
“Okay.” advised Andre Duncan. “A portion of the interview is going to simply be ad lib, but I just want to run through some of the questions we’ve prepared for Matt to ask you”.
Humvat nodded. “What is ad lib?”
“It means it’s unprepared; you make it up as you go along”.
“Sounds like story of my life.” sighed Humvat.
Duncan smiled. “Yeah, that’s perfect, just perfect”.
Humvat glanced across at Parvark and they raised their eyebrows at each other in mystification.
Then Duncan checked some sheets of paper on a clipboard. “The first question he’ll probably ask will be for you to explain what, exactly, Wild About Larry is all about”.
Humvat shrugged his shoulders and sighed again. “In South Jefesta it was called One Great Guide, One Great Nation. Was about our beloved leader, not Larry Wild”.
Duncan smiled again. “You're very good. You know, you’re an absolute natural at this. You should have a great career ahead of you”.
Humvat and Parvark exchanged yet more uncomprehending glances.
“Another question he’s going to ask you is where the idea for the Australian slang came from”.
“Dunno mate.” replied Humvat in his best Strine.
“You crack me up!” chuckled Duncan. “I can see you’re going to be fine tonight”.
He made a few notes and put his clipboard down.
“Well, I guess that just about wraps it up.” declared Duncan. “I’ll see you guys later”.
At seven in the evening a queue of people was snaking around the CBN studio building, waiting for the doors to open for the recording of the Show Tonight with Matt Black. Janet Mobey approached the ticket office window.
“I’d like one ticket for the Matt Black show tonight.” she casually requested.
“I’m sorry ma’am.” crackled the electronic voice of the assistant from behind the protective glass. “But I don’t think there are any left. There’s been a run on them since they announced that Larry guy was going to be on the show tonight”.
She’d been half expecting this. “Will fifty bucks help you find one?” she urged.
“It might, but a round hundred’ll do the deal for sure”.
She grimaced and handed over the money. She hated paying over the odds for anything, but she was stuck in a corner. Having learnt of Humvat’s deceit, she decided to make an incognito visit to watch him at work. If he performed well she could introduce herself to Black’s people, maybe get some good contacts. She’d packed the contract in her bag, just in case. But if he performed badly then she could ditch him in private and nobody would ever have to know she’d been involved with him. She walked over to join the end of the queue.
Inside, Humvat and Parvark sat pensively in a dressing room. A flat screen TV was attached to a wall. It was switched off. Humvat arose and made yet another nervous and unnecessary journey to the en-suite toilet. Having produced nothing, he sat back down and started tapping his fingers on the chair armrest.
The door opened without warning, and a male face appeared.
“Who you are?” Humvat grumbled suspicious
ly, irritated that his moment of contemplation had been interrupted.
The man entered the room. “I’m Matt Black.” he beamed, extending a handshake.
Both Humvat and Parvark bolted up from their seats and stood to attention.
“Listen,” continued Black. “I just wanted to pop by to tell you what a great privilege it is to have you on the show tonight. I’m a great fan of Larry myself”.
“Oh no,” spluttered Humvat. “Honour is for me. You give me opportunity of speak to American people”.
“Well, it’s an honor for both of us then.” smiled Black, though behind the smile his mind was whirring, trying to calculate what Humvat might have meant by his words. “Did Andre go through the prepared questions with you?”
Humvat nodded.
“Good. I like to ad lib if I can, but if things start to dry up, it’s always good to have a plan B to fall back on. I’ll probably ask you a few of the things the fans out there would be interested in knowing about. Things like where the program originated from, what was it like to make and how you literally turned up on our doorstep from out of the blue. Nothing too taxing though”.
Humvat nodded again, they shook hands again and Black left the room.
Then Andre Duncan appeared, and switched on the TV explaining that the recording of the show was about to start. He told them it was relayed throughout the whole building, and how they might like to view from the wings. They watched intently as Black went through his introduction routine, making topical jokes and explaining who tonight's guests were going to be. Humvat smiled to himself when mention of his name carried the loudest reception by far.
Then it was onto the show. The first guest was a comedian, the second a musical ensemble and the third was a minor star of the screen with a book to promote.
“Well, thanks very much Bill. It’s always a pleasure to see you.” said Black, waving his guest goodbye and leading the applause.
Then he looked into the camera and said “Okay folks, we’re going to take a commercial break right now, but when we return I’ll be speaking to Humvat Virit, better known as Larry O. He'll be telling us the story behind Wild About Larry, which has become such a huge and unlikely success in this country”.
There was a tumultuous roar from the audience.
Then he winked at the camera. “So don’t go away, and we’ll be right back”.
There was a knock on the dressing room door and Andre Duncan poked his head into the room.
“It’s time for you to meet Mr Black on set, Humvat.” he notified. “You have to follow me down to the back of the studio. When I give you the signal you then walk around the screen and onto the stage, where you’ll be greeted by Mr Black”.
Humvat flexed his fingers, gripped his wrists and arose. Parvark patted him on the shoulder and then that was it. He started out on his short, lonely journey of destiny into the near future.
Janet Mobey sat amongst the studio audience. She’d never been here before and was surprised at how relatively small and compact it was. The volume of the loud crowd helped serve to mask this however. The audience sounded far larger than it actually was.
Various warm-up acts were employed to maintain this air of celebration whenever there was a dip in the action. During the commercial break for instance, one of them had disguised himself as a member of the audience, put up his hand and volunteered to perform a song. It was his ambition he said, to sing in public. The only problem with this was he then proceeded to sing the song completely out of tune and out of key, and everyone shamelessly wept with laughter at the obvious pride in the poor sap’s eyes.
The break was coming to an end. LCD boards flashed the words APPLAUSE! APPLAUSE! and a few of the studio crew orchestrated the audience into a frenzy of hand clapping.
Parvark gazed at the television on the wall, incredulous that the program he was watching was actually being made only a few feet away from where he was sitting.
“This is a rare moment for me,” began Black, addressing both the audience before him and those hidden at home. “Because I get to meet somebody I’m a huge fan of for the very first time. He quite literally wandered into the building this morning asking if he could come on the show. Given he’s the star of the hit TV show Wild About Larry, who were we to refuse him? Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm Show Tonight welcome to Humvat Virit, better known as Larry O!”
Duncan waved Humvat through and he stepped from behind the screen where he could see nothing into the melting pot of the studio. He was almost knocked off his feet by the strength of the reception. The band erupted into an upbeat rendition of the Wild About Larry theme tune. The crowd were pounding their feet on the ground, making strange grunting noises and chanting “Lar-ry, Lar-ry, Lar-ry.” He’d never known anything like it. To Parvark it looked and sounded like a massed celebration for a returning hero.
“Wow!” exclaimed Black, embracing him. “I thought I’d seen it all when we had the Huge Rant on all those years back, but this sure beats that one. How does it feel to be so popular?”
Humvat sat down, adjusted his trousers as the cheering subsided and smiled. “Feels good. If I know I would come here sooner”.
Instantly there were cheers, howls and screams of applause. Although he continued to smile benignly to the outside world, inside himself, Humvat was stunned by the depth of this love he unexpectedly found himself swimming in. It was a warm, glowing, all encompassing feeling, much like a baby nestling in a womb.
Black started. “I understand the show was originally made in the People’s Republic of South Jefesta”.
Humvat nodded in agreement. “Yeah, but people there do not run republic. Not like America, land of the free!”
There was much mirth and laughter, and more wild applause.
“Tell me,” asked Black. “What was it like, making this goofy program? It must have been fun”.
“Was mad days.” smiled Humvat, shaking his head. “We only have film to shoot scene one time, so whatever happen that is it and onto next. Mad, absolute mad”.
The audience roared with laughter, but Black raised an expression, aimed towards himself, which suggested the answer wasn’t quite the one he had been anticipating. Meanwhile, Janet Mobey looked down from her seat with interest. It seemed like the boy was going to be worthy of her talents after all.
Black continued. “So what brought you here to our doorstep in Burbank, Humvat?”
“Well, Matt,” replied Humvat instantly changing demeanour from calmness to measured ferocity. “I here because I sad and I angry”.
The audience responded with a sympathetic “Aaaahhh!”
“I am prisoner of woman Janet Mobey.” he continued, starting to haunch his shoulders and breathe heavily in an effort to control himself.
Janet Mobey looked down on the stage, her eyes narrowing and her lips pursing. Black shuffled in his seat uncomfortably and attempted to butt in, but Humvat was having none of it.
“She say she own me!” he cried, now getting visibly upset.
The crowd roared their disapproval with boos, followed by an orchestrated cry of “Lar-ry! Lar-ry!”
Humvat was now moving out of his nervous stride and into his rampant march.
“She steal treasure chest of monies from me and I here to speak to wonderful American people, for you help. I love you, but is disgracing I am treated like this by one of you tribe”.
Black attempted to pacify him with a reassuring pat on the arm, but Humvat shrugged it off.
“So I making biggest protest at Janet Mobey“. He stood up, dipped his left hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out a lighter. He then pulled an American flag out of his right pocket.
“America supposed be land of free, not land of slave!” he shouted, and he set the flag alight.
For a fraction of a second, the entire studio fell silent and nobody moved. The stunned audience looked on in horror. Black sat in his seat, his mouth gaping wide open, his eyes fixed in a sho
cked gaze.
This was followed by a rapid reaction, as the unbelievable reality kicked in. Black leapt out of his chair, ran around his desk and started trying to stamp the flames out of the burning flag.
“Holy shit!” he exclaimed. “I don’t believe it! The dumb son of a bitch just set fire to the Stars and Stripes! Extinguisher! Somebody get me a goddamned fire extinguisher!”
Some of the audience grew restless and jeered and booed. Two burly security guards dashed onto the stage and tackled Humvat to the ground. A stagehand doused the fire with an extinguisher. Fighting and arguing broke out amongst the confused, baying crowd. It had quickly formed into two camps; those who wished to continue loving Humvat, and those who wanted to start hating him. One of the guards picked Humvat up by the scruff of his neck.
Black strode over and wagged a finger in Humvat’s face. “You think you can come on here and burn my country’s flag, our national symbol, on my show, on live TV you son of a bitch?! You’ll never work again in this town! Never! Now get the bum outta here!”
And with that the two guards dragged a screaming Humvat off of the stage.
Fearing a riot was about to break out, Janet Mobey decided it was time to beat a wise retreat. She deftly left her seat, dodged her way out of the studio, navigated her way through the corridors and emerged from the building. Outside in the fading sunlight, there was a tramp lying on the sidewalk just by the front door. He was holding his nose and groaning. She automatically went to step over him, but she felt some vague recognition. She paused and looked down at him more closely.
“Well, if it isn’t dumbass Humvat honey.” she purred. “I understand you’re not happy with our contract”.
He moaned.
She continued. “I understand you want to terminate our contract. I understand you want to be free”.
He clutched his nose and groaned.
She sat down on a nearby bench and had a brief conversation on her cell phone. Then she pulled a chequebook out of her bag and wrote on it. She tore the cheque out, returned to where he was lying and dropped it on the ground.
“I feed you, I clean you and I nurture you.” she hissed. “I take you in and keep you clothed. I give you your shot at the big time, and you repay me by going and crying like a little baby in public. Well, you’ve got what you wanted Humvat honey. You can now consider our contract terminated. You’ve got your freedom”.
As she continued, her face hardened. “You’ve got the freedom to make a complete botch of your life. Because, mark my words, that’s what you’ll do. That’s the choice you’ll make, that’s the door you’ll open every time”.
She paused for a moment and smiled sweetly. “In fact, I do believe you already have”.
He reached his hand across to pick the cheque up, allowed himself a painful victorious smile and regarded it. His smile quickly disappeared.
“Hey! This say three thousand dollar. You owe me ten thousand.” he argued.
She looked down on him with disdain. “So sue me honey. It’ll cost you more than seven thousand dollars to get it, I’ll make sure of that. I wasn’t going to give you anything, but I've just been advised it would only make it easier and cheaper for you to take me to court”.
She turned away, walked away and left his life. At that moment Parvark came out of the studio building. He picked Humvat up off the ground and helped dust him down.
Back in South Jefesta, Doctor Wirliv paced up and down in his study. He was visibly shaken and the reason for this was the last section of the Book of Finding Contentment. The words had caused him to suffer great dilemma, so he gave a copy of the text to another expert in ancient Siminite and asked him to translate it. He didn’t mention what it was or where it was from, because he wanted to keep that knowledge to himself. The translated piece was returned to him and when he read it he felt crushed. For it was almost exactly the same as his own translation.
“I arranged to meet a butcher and an embalmer at the temple.” it read. “The embalmer was purifying a body for its journey towards the kingdom of Light. He cut through the stomach and pulled out the entrails. Then he pulled out the eyes, peeled off the nose and extracted the brain through the holes which were revealed.
Afterwards the butcher was puzzled. He judged that much of what he’d seen, the entrails in particular, reminded him of the innards of a pig. I explained that after the Inventor created the pig he decided it was imperfect, made adjustments to its design and created perfection in man. This is as I recently wrote in the first chapter of this Book, as directed by the Inventor. However, I felt strangely uneasy saying it. During sleep that night I dreamt for the first time in a long time. In my dream a pig had died and I watched it travel towards the stars, to claim its own gateway into the kingdom of Light. Of course, it was unable to find one and got hopelessly lost. I was laughing at this absurdity when the pig turned to me and said. ‘If you find me amusing, you should consider this. You think man is special, but he is not. Your fate is the same as mine, so you can stop laughing at me now’. When I awoke I realised I had received an enlightened truth in this dream. This truth is man is no more special in the universe than a pig, and if there is no afterlife for pigs there is none for mankind either. And if there is no afterlife there is no Inventor.
I take no pleasure in receiving this knowledge. Still, it is the truth and I feel a duty to pass it onto the people, but I am wary of the harm it might cause. Why should they dedicate themselves to a life of good deeds making grace when there is no Inventor to sit beside for eternity? Without the promise of the kingdom of Light or the threat of the kingdom of Emptiness, why retain belief in the rule of law? What will stop the destruction of civilisation, which is the only thing which truly separates us from all other animals? Will people be satisfied with knowing that only oblivion awaits them after this life? Will they be satisfied in their hearts and minds if I tell them all that remains of their departed loved ones are memories?”
“I have spent much time considering what to do with this book of Finding Contentment. I have decided to bury it, in the hope it may be found one day by a tribe with the wisdom to read these words without suffering the catastrophe it will cause my own people. I have concluded they are happier in their ignorance, and sometimes the best truth is to say nothing”.
“Despite all this reflection, or perhaps because of it, I have finally found my own path to contentment. I now realise I have been obsessed by the limitless future which lies before me, and my place in this future after my death. However, I neglected to pay any concern to the limitless past that has preceded me. I do not know where I was before my birth, and I do not know where I will be after my death. In the meantime I have these fleeting moments of my lifespan where I can touch, see and listen to the universe before I return to that whence I came from, and contentment is to be found by simply accepting this. Do not listen to those who tell you that you must buy magic potions, pills or plans. My final enlightenment is that life, like the passage of time, is but an illusion. The past and the future are one and the same. I have already existed for eternity in some shape or form, and eternity is where I will return. All I ask of whoever finds and reads these words is that you pay me the kindness of a passing thought. For my soul is but a collection of fading memories, and I believe that by keeping my memory alive, so you keep my soul alive”.
Wirliv himself had, after much deliberation reached his own decision. He decided people still wouldn’t want to read the words in this book. So he placed all of the assorted parchments back in the original jars in which they had been interred and sealed them up. Then he summoned the builders who had discovered them to his office.
“These ancient texts are indeed from the time of Baqra, but they are not the works of the blessed prophet.” he explained. “They are merely accounting ledgers written by a minor merchant”.
The two builders nodded in acceptance, somewhat crestfallen.
“It has been decided” he continued, “
That they should be returned to the exact spot where they were found”.
The builders looked at each other uncomfortably.
“But Doctor,” said one of them. “They were in the foundation trench of a new building. It will be filled with concrete. They will never be seen again”.
Wirliv nodded both his understanding and his resolve. “Make sure you wrap the jars in suitable cladding then. I don’t want them to get damaged”.
He motioned them to take the jars and take their leave.
As they went to depart he beckoned them back, having suddenly remembered something.
“One thing I do want you to do,” he ordered, “Is to erect a wall plaque where the jars are buried. The words on the plaque should be ‘Whomsoever walks past this spot should pay the soul of the blessed Baqra the kindness of a passing thought’. Here, I’ll write it down for you. Send any bill for this work to me”.
He scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it over to them.
Chapter Fourteen
Sprinkle Me With Bulldust