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ExamForce :: Article Archive :: Newsletter Article
 The Cert Times: IT Edition Article Archive
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| The Bird Of Paradise Lost (B1N@RY N@T10N (A.J. Axline)) |
They say that wisdom is the by-product of making a survivable mistake. I have made my fair share of mistakes, and have managed to both survive and file away some wisdom from these difficult episodes. However, gaining wisdom is a life-long experience, which is why I inexplicably agreed to Vector's suggestion that he provide the turkey for our Thanksgiving dinner.
Honestly, it was a way for me to cross a major item for the occasion off my checklist. This was enough motivation to turn a blind eye to the potential consequences of such an arrangement.
"Are you sure?" I asked... in retrospect, a pathetic attempt at due diligence.
"Oh yeah, I can do it," Vector replied. "How many guests are there going to be?"
I held up a hand and ticked off fingers. "Red Sonja, her friend Marigold, Robert the Bruce, his brother Bruce the Bruce, and you and I. So, it's not a huge gathering, just a half-dozen. And, both Sonja and Robert are bringing a dish along with them."
"Sounds reasonable," Vector nodded. "Yeah, I'll handle the bird. No problemo."
I nodded, blankly unaware of how close I was to the allegorical hot stove. Wisdom has its price. Always.
* * * * *
On Thanksgiving, the Bruces were the first guests to arrive, each of them nattily attired in shirt and tie, suit jacket, tam, and kilt.
"Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving! What's in the garbage bag?" I asked cheerfully.
"Salad," Robert the Bruce replied.
"Are you daft? There's only six of us at dinner."
"Well, when you mentioned on the phone the other day that Vector was making the turkey, I figured that we should have enough salad for people to fill up on."
"Now, you're not being fair," I chided. "I'm certain that Vector knows what he's doing. He's very capable when it comes to challenging projects."
The Bruces shrugged, and walked the Hefty bag of salad into the kitchen. There were various side dishes in various states of preparation, but something else caught their attention.
"The oven is empty," Robert the Bruce said.
"Yes," I said. "Vector told me that he is making a deep-fried bird. He's out in the back yard, somewhere in his workshop."
Robert the Bruce peered out the window.
"Well, there's no inferno," he remarked, sounding hopeful.
The ladies arrived shortly after the Bruces. Red Sonja was stunning, as she always is. Her friend Marigold was... well... a marigold. There's no other way to describe her. She is a blossom, and a stunning counterpart to Sonja's 'wow' factor.
"Ladies! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving! What's in the wagon?" I asked cheerfully.
Red Sonja held the handle of a red children's wagon. In the wagon were four large pots.
"Um... scalloped potatoes," Sonja replied.
I sighed. "I'll give you the standard guilt speech later."
The food stashed in the kitchen, I served cocktails and we sat in the living room discussing this and that. At one point, Sonja and Marigold started telling a story about two women they saw dancing at a local night spot the other evening. The narrative led to them getting up and reenacting the rather salacious dance moves in question. The Bruces exhibited twin looks of men who have been struck over the head with a board, and I had trouble focusing on objects in the room until my eyes eased back into their sockets.
"Well, it's time to go to table," I said grandly. "Shall we?"
"Shouldn't someone go and help Vector?" Sonja asked.
I shook my head. "I'm under strict orders to have everyone seated at the table at the top of the hour. He wants to show off his culinary accomplishment with a flourish."
I did accept everyone's help with placing the side dishes on the table. We sat down, and waited in anticipation for the bird to make its appearance.
"While we wait," I said, "in the spirit of the holiday, perhaps we could each mention something, however large or small, that we are thankful for."
I asked Robert the Bruce to lead us off.
"Well, without thinking about it too much, I would have to say that I am thankful for the creation of carbide steel," he said.
"Fair enough," I replied. "Bruce the Bruce?"
"Webcams," he answered instantly. He offered no further explanation.
"Okaaaay. Um, Marigold?"
"I'm thankful for good friends to share the holidays with," she said with a shy smile. The men at the table gave the appropriate "AwwwWWWWWWww!" response. I thought for a moment that Sonja was actually going to tear up, but she dug a salad fork into her forearm and recovered nicely.
"And Sonja? Something you're thankful for?" I asked.
Before she could answer, there was the sound of the back door opening and closing, and the clatter of wheels crossing the kitchen floor.
"Aha, here it comes!" Robert the Bruce said, brandishing his cutlery with zeal.
Vector emerged from the kitchen, pushing what appeared to be a large metal utility cart. On top of the cart was a mound covered with a massive cheesecloth. The smell of cooked turkey was intense. It filled the room with a spicy goodness that was incredibly appetizing.
Vector was decked out in a fine looking suit, a sight I had rarely seen before. He was flush with expectation.
"Hi, everyone! I apologize for the cart; I needed something rated for 50 pounds," he said.
This statement was treated with good humor by the guests at table. I, on the other hand, began to experience the first stirrings of unease.
"Okay, Monsieur Chef Vector," Robert the Bruce said. "Let's see this miracle bird."
With a beaming smile, Vector reached down and removed the cloth.
"Voila!" he exclaimed.
The room grew quiet, except for a stunned gasp or two.
It was quiet for a long, long time.
"It has five legs," Bruce the Bruce stammered.
"I know," Vector said placatingly. "I wanted to have a drumstick for everyone, but I had some trouble with the stem cell replication in the end stages of the final generation. The good news," he said as he picked up a 20-inch blade that I eventually recognized as a wakizashi, "is that, if I carve this right, everyone should get a wishbone."
I can't describe it. I am a writer, and part of that skill set is the ability to describe things so that the reader can see them in his or her mind. But, honestly, if I were to describe what the five of us saw on the giant platter on the utility cart, if I were to describe the giant, haunting main course that Vector had created, chances are, you would go mad envisioning it.
"It's so big," Marigold said in a small voice.
"Wow, if I had a nickel for every time I've heard that!" Vector said, and cackled mad laughter.
"It's a sin against nature," Marigold whispered, her voice trembling. She reached out for Sonja's hand, and Sonja, pale and wide-eyed, gratefully took it in hers.
"Now, I made the decision not to fuss around with white and dark meat separation," Vector explained as he made cuts on the... main course. "So, the meat is actually marbled, dark and white throughout. The stuffing is layered just below the surface of the skin. I went with a traditional wild sage plant matrix; I hope everyone approves."
"It smells wonderful," I said exuberantly, trying to lift the mood of suppressed terror.
And the thing of it was, it did smell wonderful. As Vector sliced slabs of marbled meat from the enormous shape on the cart, the delicious smell of turkey and sage was undeniable. Robert the Bruce looked down at his hand, which was eagerly holding out his plate, with an expression of horrified betrayal.
"Hey! Scalloped potatoes! Perfect choice, someone." Vector served out the meat, as one by one everyone slowly offered up their plate. I don't know why one or more of us didn't try to abstain, I really don't. We were all like Blackbeard's wife, too curious to see what was behind the forbidden door to let caution guide our actions.
"Well!" I said. The scent of the meat was excruciatingly tantalizing.
"Dig in, tell me what you think," Vector said. "Be honest. Oh, and you shouldn't have to worry about a flu shot this year. In two weeks, you'll be immune to... well, pretty much everything. I'd appreciate it if you don't talk about it outside of our group--I have patents pending."
It was one of the best meals I have ever had.
There is eating food, and then there is the complete and utter slaying of appetite by a champion, a god-like hero who's only purpose for existence is to provide fulfillment by overloading the senses with epicureal rapture.
Conversation, which had been completely absent since Vector's unveiling, slowly built from a trickle to a wellspring of vivid, delighted chatter that was much more indicative of our normal selves. We shared food and drink and words, and I was thankful for all of it.
The evening passed in convivial revelry. Eventually, sleepy-eyed guests said their goodnights and slipped away into the dark. I left Vector dozing on the couch, and had just finished washing up the last of the dishes when my phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Hi, it's Sonja."
"Hey sweetie. Did you forget something?"
"Yes. I didn't get to answer your question, about what I'm thankful for."
"Ah, yes. You were interupted by Vector's grand entrance. So, what is it that you're thankful for?"
She sighed. Not a sad or lonely sigh, but a sigh of contentment.
"Everything," Sonja replied.
A.J. Axline
Binary Nation
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Posted by
nam on 24/11/2009 10:43 |
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