rather closely. Why didn’t I get stuck?”
Tiepolo frowned, and then he smiled. “He must have succeeded in doubting the power of the road for all others. He’s making progress! One day he will be free.”
“To relcaim his authority?”
“Exactly! To return organised corruption to the world!”
We lapsed into a silence that was by turns glum and hopeful. Finally I spoke to myself, but loudly enough for him to hear: “All my working life I looked for the right gig, for a place that actually wants to hear me play. As a last resort I came to the future...”
“A fine resort. We have crystal piers.”
“You misunderstand me. Even the future isn’t my venue. I’ve seen the instruments you have here and none are capable of sounding G sharp, not easily at any rate. I know that I’ll never want to master instruments that can’t play my favourite note.”
A profound feeling of self-pity came over me, but it was at this point that Tiepolo sprang his suggestion.
He cried: “Since I first set eyes on you, I realised you might be the answer to my prayers, and I pray every night, to Drigg and Peekant, sometimes to Bridget, once to myself. Yes, I pray and have prayed many times for one such as you to come along. One did recently but some idiots threw him into the sea. Anyway, now you are here and I have been given a second chance. I didn’t befriend you and give you a guided tour because I’m a nice man. On the contrary, I’m a horrible one. I did it because I guessed you could be useful to me. And useful to society. I want to offer you a job. It has nothing to do with music. Because you have so many arms, you always assumed that a career in music was your best option. Your failure in this area is a shattering not of your life, as you believe, but of an empty dream. Fate has reserved you and your mutation for something much bigger.”
Then he made his offer.
And I accepted.
Woman was not made from a man’s rib, but from that one area of his back where an itch is beyond a scratch. I always imagined a President would never feel short of female attention. I believed he would have his pick of girls and their physical charms. I soon learned this was not the case. If anything, success with the ladies becomes even more elusive than before. Bearing in mind my life has been once of enforced celibacy, this is a remarkable statement. I find myself in the position of having negative allure. Don’t ask. I’m not able to explain. If I could, it might rub off on you, if it hasn’t already. Best not to know.
I’m sitting at my desk. It’s a grand desk. I have other desks in other offices and I’m currently occupying them all. At this one I am relaxing. I’m indulging a new hobby, the writing of fiction. I’m composing little stories as practice for writing what you are reading now. These stories won’t be read by anybody, but that doesn’t matter. I’m honing my skills. I doubt I’ll even finish any of them. I’ve just started a new one. This is how it begins:
“Come into my parlour,” said the domestic goddess to the handsome devil.
That’s how I met my wife.
Her name was Reshmi and she had long black hair.
My name is Ug and I am from 20,307 BC.
I am bald. A sign of strength.
But she overpowered me when I first saw her. Muscles count for nothing when the heart which feeds them blood begins to melt.
I shake my head, scratch out the third line and rewrite it thus: “Her name was Lola and she had nuclear bosoms.” Yes, that’s more like it! More racy. I’m learning fast. This is more fun than the official report writing I have to do at my other desks. Now I hear a noise outside the door. The sound of a man clearing his throat. This signal is used instead of knocking for urgent situations. I call for him to enter. It’s my Prefect of Police. He is holding something pale and grinning under one arm. I flinch but quickly recover my composure.
“Good morning, Mister Caretaker President,” he
Tiepolo frowned, and then he smiled. “He must have succeeded in doubting the power of the road for all others. He’s making progress! One day he will be free.”
“To relcaim his authority?”
“Exactly! To return organised corruption to the world!”
We lapsed into a silence that was by turns glum and hopeful. Finally I spoke to myself, but loudly enough for him to hear: “All my working life I looked for the right gig, for a place that actually wants to hear me play. As a last resort I came to the future...”
“A fine resort. We have crystal piers.”
“You misunderstand me. Even the future isn’t my venue. I’ve seen the instruments you have here and none are capable of sounding G sharp, not easily at any rate. I know that I’ll never want to master instruments that can’t play my favourite note.”
A profound feeling of self-pity came over me, but it was at this point that Tiepolo sprang his suggestion.
He cried: “Since I first set eyes on you, I realised you might be the answer to my prayers, and I pray every night, to Drigg and Peekant, sometimes to Bridget, once to myself. Yes, I pray and have prayed many times for one such as you to come along. One did recently but some idiots threw him into the sea. Anyway, now you are here and I have been given a second chance. I didn’t befriend you and give you a guided tour because I’m a nice man. On the contrary, I’m a horrible one. I did it because I guessed you could be useful to me. And useful to society. I want to offer you a job. It has nothing to do with music. Because you have so many arms, you always assumed that a career in music was your best option. Your failure in this area is a shattering not of your life, as you believe, but of an empty dream. Fate has reserved you and your mutation for something much bigger.”
Then he made his offer.
And I accepted.
Woman was not made from a man’s rib, but from that one area of his back where an itch is beyond a scratch. I always imagined a President would never feel short of female attention. I believed he would have his pick of girls and their physical charms. I soon learned this was not the case. If anything, success with the ladies becomes even more elusive than before. Bearing in mind my life has been once of enforced celibacy, this is a remarkable statement. I find myself in the position of having negative allure. Don’t ask. I’m not able to explain. If I could, it might rub off on you, if it hasn’t already. Best not to know.
I’m sitting at my desk. It’s a grand desk. I have other desks in other offices and I’m currently occupying them all. At this one I am relaxing. I’m indulging a new hobby, the writing of fiction. I’m composing little stories as practice for writing what you are reading now. These stories won’t be read by anybody, but that doesn’t matter. I’m honing my skills. I doubt I’ll even finish any of them. I’ve just started a new one. This is how it begins:
“Come into my parlour,” said the domestic goddess to the handsome devil.
That’s how I met my wife.
Her name was Reshmi and she had long black hair.
My name is Ug and I am from 20,307 BC.
I am bald. A sign of strength.
But she overpowered me when I first saw her. Muscles count for nothing when the heart which feeds them blood begins to melt.
I shake my head, scratch out the third line and rewrite it thus: “Her name was Lola and she had nuclear bosoms.” Yes, that’s more like it! More racy. I’m learning fast. This is more fun than the official report writing I have to do at my other desks. Now I hear a noise outside the door. The sound of a man clearing his throat. This signal is used instead of knocking for urgent situations. I call for him to enter. It’s my Prefect of Police. He is holding something pale and grinning under one arm. I flinch but quickly recover my composure.
“Good morning, Mister Caretaker President,” he
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