Bream Gives Me Hiccups (8 page)

III.

HISTORY

 

MEN AND DANCING

NATIVE AMERICAN WOMAN:
Your people are starving! There has been no rain! The crops cannot grow!

NATIVE AMERICAN MAN:
The rain gods have ignored all my pleas.

WOMAN:
It's because you are not appealing to the gods in the right way.

MAN:
I was going to sacrifice another sheep but you get skittish around blood.

WOMAN:
We don't need another dead sheep, the only solution to our famine is the sacred rain dance.

MAN:
The
only
solution?

WOMAN:
Yes, you must do a rain dance or we'll all starve to death.

MAN:
Okay, I'll just go into the woods and do the dance.

WOMAN:
No, in order to appeal to the rain gods, you must dance in front of the whole tribe, while we point and laugh at you, as is our native custom.

MAN:
You know who's actually a really good dancer? Two Dogs Prancing Unselfconsciously Across New Horizon. Two Dogs could probably do a great rain dance.

WOMAN:
No, it must be you.

MAN:
And what about bear meat? I can go hunt some more bears.

WOMAN:
We have enough bear meat for ten moon cycles. What we need is rain!

MAN:
And I hear that. I totally hear you. Listen: You wait here. I'm just going to go to the forest, make sure there aren't any other bears, check in with Two Dogs, and I'll be right back to do the dancing thing.

KING'S AIDE:
The king requests a performance.

JESTER:
Great. What's he looking for this time? I could do my bit about the moat.

KING'S AIDE:
No, the king would like to see a dance.

JESTER:
Are you sure? He loves moat jokes. You know: What do you call a moat in winter? Useless. Get it?

KING'S AIDE:
Yeah, 'cause it's frozen.

JESTER:
Or: How many alligators does it take to stop an invading Hun? Thirty-one. One to kill the Hun and another thirty to get rid of the stench.

KING'S AIDE:
Right, because Huns smell bad. I get it. But that's
not gonna work this time. The king demands a dance.

JESTER:
And what happens if I don't do the dance?

KING'S AIDE:
If you don't dance, His Highness has requested that your body be slowly torn apart for his amusement.

JESTER:
I see.

KING'S AIDE:
Yes, it would be a slow but hilarious death.

JESTER:
Right . . . Maybe I'll
open
with the moat bit.

PROTESTOR 1:
Hey, brother, you ready for the big protest?

PROTESTOR 2:
Absolutely! What's the plan?

PROTESTOR 1:
We're all gonna take LSD and protest the Vietnam War on the Washington Mall.

PROTESTOR 2:
Great! Finally those bastards in Washington will learn that the way we're imposing our hegemonic capitalist ideology on this poor Asian country is reprehensible.

PROTESTOR 1:
Exactly! So just pop some LSD under that tongue so we can get to dancing.

PROTESTOR 2:
Excuse me?

PROTESTOR 1:
You're not scared of a little LSD, are you?

PROTESTOR 2:
No! Not at all. I'm totally good with LSD. But did you say dancing?

PROTESTOR 1:
Yeah. That's our protest. Just let our bodies loose on the Washington Mall, flailing them around freely in opposition to the war.

PROTESTOR 2:
Oh. That sounds fun, really. But, just to play
devil's advocate, do you really feel we've exhausted all of our options? Have you considered making signs?

PROTESTOR 1:
None of that stuff works! What we need to send a message to those hawks in DC is some good old-fashioned, unselfconscious dancing.

PROTESTOR 2:
Right, sure. But have you considered all sides of the war? I mean it's not so clean-cut. Aren't you worried about the domino effect?

PROTESTOR 1:
The domino effect?

PROTESTOR 2:
Yeah. Say we get out of Vietnam, everyone goes home, a tiny country turns communist, no big deal. But then Laos goes communist, then Indonesia and China, and suddenly Karl Marx is knocking on your door, handing you a red book and asking you to work in his shoe factory.

QUARTERBACK:
Great catch, rookie! Your first touchdown! Now do your thing!

WIDE RECEIVER:
My thing? What do you mean?

QUARTERBACK:
Your dance.

WIDE RECEIVER:
Oh . . . I don't do that.

QUARTERBACK:
When you score a touchdown, you have to do a dance.

TIGHT END:
Yeah, we all do it.

RUNNING BACK:
I rehearsed mine this morning just in case I got a touchdown.

WIDE RECEIVER:
You
rehearsed
?

RUNNING BACK:
Of course. All of our dances have complicated moves.

TIGHT END:
And even though they're different dances, what unifies them is our complete lack of self-consciousness.

WIDE RECEIVER:
I guess I always thought it was optional.

RUNNING BACK:
No, it's mandatory. Especially because this game is nationally televised.

TIGHT END:
Right, so all the girls from your high school are watching.

RUNNING BACK:
Yes, and Seth Neddermeyer, who bullied you before your growth spurt. He's going to watch you dance too.

WIDE RECEIVER:
Maybe I could just spike the ball or something.

OFFENSIVE LINEMAN:
I just dislocated my shoulder for you! Do your dance!

WIDE RECEIVER:
Can I do a moonwalk? Are people still doing the moonwalk?

QUARTERBACK:
No, you have to do an
original
dance.

WIDE RECEIVER:
You know, I think my foot may have been on the line. I think I may have stepped out near the twenty. Maybe we should check the replay.

FINAL CONVERSATIONS AT POMPEII

MISTRESS:
Stop! Get off me!

MAN:
What's wrong?

MISTRESS:
I can't keep doing this!

MAN:
This always happens just as you're about to have a feeling.

MISTRESS:
It just feels so dirty. Meeting here every week.

MAN:
Dirty?! This is one of the nicest villas in Vesuvius's shadow!

MISTRESS:
And I keep having this fear that someone is going to find out about us.

MAN:
What are you talking about? This place is half empty. You know all the Samnites go to the Sarno this time of year.

MISTRESS:
You would never take me to the Sarno.

MAN:
You live in a different hamlet! It's a six-day walk not including stops for cattle castration!

MISTRESS:
But you would take your wife there.

MAN:
Don't make this about Debbie.

MISTRESS:
You said you would tell her about me.

MAN:
And I will! It's just not the right time.

MISTRESS:
So when is the right time? Six months from now? A year?!

MAN:
Can't we just enjoy each other? We have such little time together.

MISTRESS:
How can I enjoy myself when she could walk in on us at any minute?

MAN:
Relax. We are totally alone. In a thousand years, no one would ever walk in here.

ARTIST:
I've been stuck in a rut.

MUSE:
What are you talking about? You're at the top of your game.

ARTIST:
I haven't been able to do anything in months.

MUSE:
You just did that great fresco with the cattle and the phallus. Everyone loved that.

ARTIST:
No one even saw it. At this rate, I couldn't even get a gallery show in Umbria.

MUSE:
Are you jealous of Augusto?

ARTIST:
This is not about Augusto. This is about me and my inertia.

MUSE:
Don't forget how much everyone loved your grape sculpture.

ARTIST:
That was like three years ago.

MUSE:
But it was ahead of its time! Who else would've thought to use lamb's brain for texture?

ARTIST:
(
scoffs
) Certainly not Augusto.

MUSE:
That's right! You're a pioneer!

ARTIST:
Augusto probably would've used eunuch's liver.

MUSE:
So obvious.

ARTIST:
Or calf's ear.

MUSE:
So passé.

ARTIST:
I feel like I was born in the wrong millennium. I feel like people can't appreciate me now.

MUSE:
That's what I've been saying! You're a progressive reformationist stuck in the counter-reformation.

ARTIST:
My stuff is too radical for the counter-reformation!

MUSE:
In a thousand years, this place will be a museum.

ARTIST:
You really think so?

MUSE:
Absolutely. People will come from all over just to see your work. They'll cross land bridges! They'll seize ships at Aden just to see those lamb's brain grapes. You'll make Pompeii famous.

ARTIST:
And Augusto will still be working downtown Nuceria!

MUSE:
Exactly! But don't make this about Augusto.

PRISONER 1:
Hey, man, wake up. We're bustin' outta here.

PRISONER 2:
What?

PRISONER 1:
Warden's kid got the plague. Coast is clear. Don't tell me you're gettin' cold feet.

PRISONER 2:
I'm actually thinkin' I might stay.

PRISONER 1:
You wanna stay in prison?

PRISONER 2:
We only got three months left anyway. We should just pay our debt to society; I mean, we really shouldn't have tipped over those goats.

PRISONER 1:
You sayin' you like it here?

PRISONER 2:
I kind of do. I've met some nice people and I have a good job in the prison library, looking after the books.

PRISONER 1:
Well, I'm gettin' outta here. Tonight!

PRISONER 2:
But you'll spend the rest of your life in Pompeii looking over your shoulder.

PRISONER 1:
No, I'm bouncin' outta Pompeii altogether.

PRISONER 2:
You're gonna leave Pompeii?

PRISONER 1:
I'm sick of it here. I have dreams, man. I wanna travel up the coast, fall in love with a Babylonian woman, and then stone her to death when she menstruates.

PRISONER 2:
That does sound nice. But I think I prefer to serve out my time here and live a relaxing life in Pompeii. Maybe teach Latin to at-risk youth. You know, give back a little.

PRISONER 1:
Well, it was nice knowing you, brother.

PRISONER 2:
See ya on the outside.

WIFE:
Can you please sit still?

HUSBAND:
I am.

WIFE:
No, you keep sneaking little looks into your telescope.

HUSBAND:
I'm just checking to make sure the kids are in bed.

WIFE:
No, I see you peering over the valley. You're checking on the game.

HUSBAND:
Well, the bear mauling finals started tonight.

WIFE:
And you can check the score as soon as we get home. Please just pay attention.

HUSBAND:
I'm trying, but this is literally my worst nightmare, being stuck watching a three-hour performance of guys prancing around in satyr suits.

WIFE:
Your worst nightmare is being stuck with me?

HUSBAND:
No! I love being with you. I was referring to the satyrs. But is this whole thing gonna be in Oscan? I can't understand a word they're saying.

WIFE:
Claudius takes his wife to hymn cantations every week.

HUSBAND:
So maybe you should go with them.

WIFE:
And be a third wheel like on an oxen-pulled cart? No thank you!

HUSBAND:
I feel like this thing is never going to end.

WIFE:
Just be glad we're not at Flaccus's pantomime. It'll all be over in three hours.

METEOROLOGIST 1:
Have you noticed anything strange recently?

METEOROLOGIST 2:
Strange?

METEOROLOGIST 1:
Yeah, I don't know. Just feels like the weather's been eerily calm.

METEOROLOGIST 2:
Well, what's the forecast for the weekend? Have you checked your leaf?

METEOROLOGIST 1:
Yeah, it's still blowing toward Capri.

METEOROLOGIST 2:
So we're fine. You're probably feeling pressure from Titus to invent some crazy story just to boost ratings.

METEOROLOGIST 1:
No, come on. I wouldn't do that.

METEOROLOGIST 2:
I'm not saying you're doing it intentionally. But remember last year, when you said frogs would fall from sky? You always do this during sweeps.

METEOROLOGIST 1:
Do I?

METEOROLOGIST 2:
Yes! We're fine! Look! The sun is shining. We're in Pompeii, the safest hamlet this side of Herculaneum!

METEOROLOGIST 1:
Maybe you're right.

METEOROLOGIST 2:
Of course I'm right.

METEOROLOGIST 1:
I sometimes have this fantasy of running into the amphitheater and telling everyone to evacuate Pompeii, that there's some crazy flood of ashen pumice about to shoot out of the sky, paralyzing us all!

METEOROLOGIST 2:
You'd probably get an 8 or 9 share in the ratings.

METEOROLOGIST 1:
At least an 8 or 9!

METEOROLOGIST 2:
But would it be the right thing to do?

METEOROLOGIST 1:
I guess not.

METEOROLOGIST 2:
Good. Now let's kick back, grab some fermented goat tonic, and watch the sun set behind placid Mount Vesuvius.