The
Genie
By Robby
Charters
©1997
He had called me out of the blue, and told me he had something important to give me. I hadn't seen him since school days, and now, we were sitting across the table from each other at a rather nice café.
After
a sumptuous meal that was thankfully on him, we were all talked out
about who of our mutual friends had gone where, who had married who,
and when's the last time we saw who-ever, and we were sipping our
coffee. He still hadn't broached the subject. It was almost like he
was avoiding it.
I
finally bit. 'So, what is thing you were talking about?'
He
pause, looking at me, almost sheepishly. Then, without saying a word,
he reached into the carry case next to him, and pulled out what
looked like an ancient brass lamp, and set it on the table between
us.
'What
is it?' I asked.
'It's
been in the family for a while,' he replied.
'An
heirloom?'
'You
could call it that.'
'And
you said you're giving it to me?'
'Yes.'
'You
sure? I mean, this could fetch a very good price in an antique shop,
or in someone's collection.'
'Things
like this, you don't sell,' he said. 'You'll find out soon enough
why.'
'But
how?'
Now,
he paused, and with a slight grin, said, 'Some day, when you have the
whole day free, just take it and rub it real good.'
He
laughed, sort of nervously. I also laughed, thinking, this has got to
be a joke.
He
said, 'Really.'
'Of
course,' I said, beginning to feel as awkward as he was feeling. I
tried to jog my memory for any private jokes we could have had that
could explain this gesture.
'You
will do it, won't you? I mean, some time, when you've got
time, rub it real good.' Now he looked serious. I was beginning to
really wonder about him.
'What
will happen?'
'You'll
find out. You won't believe me if I told you, but just do it.'
'Look,
really,' I said, 'This is such a valuable artifact, and we haven't
seen each other in such a long time. I can't take this from you,
really.'
'No,
please.' He put his hand on mine as I held the lamp and looked
at me with impassioned eyes.
'Well,
okay,' I said.
Finally
walking away from the restaurant, I felt disturbed. He obviously
seemed well off, and otherwise quite stable. Was he suddenly cracking
up under some immense pressure or other?
I got
home, and found a nice place to set the lamp, and, to tell you the
truth, forgot about it.
I write in my spare time,
and have a few pieces that I'm sending around to various publishers
and literary agents – so far with limited success. My normal job at
that time was as a clerk at a brokerage firm. Those two things kept
me quite occupied, so I quite forgot about my lunch with my old
classmate.
At
times, I allowed my literary interests to run away with me, and when
doing work on a real involving piece, it's hard to get my mind off of
that when I should be concentrating on my other work. That's sort of
what led to my losing my job all of a sudden – well, that and some
other financial setbacks that affected the whole firm, which if I
were more alert, I could have helped to prevent. Quite a few of us
were made redundant, and I was largely held to blame.
This
was quite an upset for me. I was now without a job, and with bad
prospects of getting another one of this sort, what with the
references they were likely to give.
I
gave myself over to my writing. In fact, I buried myself in it.
I was shaken to my senses
by the arrival of yet another rejection letter, along with the bills
for the rent, water, phone, and a statement from the bank showing an
ever dwindling account balance.
My
savings were getting low.
I
just wasn't in the mood to write that day. In fact, I had the whole
day ahead of me with nothing to do.
Alone
in the house, pacing back and forth across the room, I was in one of
my moods, doing weird things on impulse, like shouting, or picking
something up, like the toy gun that my young nephew forgot on his
last visit, shooting some of the dishes in the china cabinet, and
then blowing the imaginary smoke from the barrel.
My
eyes lit on the lamp, and remembered my fiends instructions, when I
have the whole day free, to rub it well.
Without
really thinking about it, with an air of drama, I grabbed the lamp
and began rubbing it vigorously.
I was
just in the process of saying, 'A good day to you Mr. Genie,' when
there, right in front of me stood a real genie.
'And
a good day to you too, Mr. O'Brien,' he answered back. 'I am at your
service for this day only. Ask for what you wish, and I will
accommodate you – within reason of course.'
The
only way I can describe him is to say that he looked like the cross
between a story-book genie, and an angelic being, and a tooth fairy.
Apart from that, there's no way to even remotely describe him.
Needless
to say, I was in a state of shock. My throat was dry, and I reeled
backwards until I collapsed on the settee.
The
genie bent over me. Contrary to what the storybooks say, I felt no
inclination to pinch myself to see if I were awake. The image before
me was so real, and yet so other-worldly, that there was no question
of my being awake or asleep. Real dreams don't affect one like this.
'What
is it you wish me to do for you?' asked the genie.
'–
I need a drink –' was all I could manage.
Instantly
there was a glass of water in his hand which he gently brought to my
lips.
That
water was the most refreshing water I have ever tasted. It wasn't
bottled water from the newsagent's, and it wasn't from the taps. Its
effect was to bring me into a more stable frame of mind.
Finally,
as though the genie were a visitor who had dropped in for a chat, I
indicated for the genie to sit in the armchair. He did so.
'So,
what brings you to my humble abode?' I asked.
'You
rubbed the lamp, just as your most excellent friend from school days
asked you to do, so I am here at your bequest.'
'So,
are you my servant for always?'
'Oh!
By no means! Only for today. Ask me anything within reason, and I
will see about accomplishing it.'
'Within
reason?'
'Well,'
he said, 'For instance, we don't want the local economy to go
spinning into hyper-inflation, now, do we!'
'Oh!'
I said, not expecting such technical expertise from a genie. 'So if I
asked for a Swiss bank account containing about ten billion US
dollars, would that be going beyond the reasonable limit?'
The
genie thought awhile.
'My
sources tell me,' he said finally, 'that there is such a bank account
that once belonged to a close relative to the Czar, who died without
leaving any heir, or anyone to transact his business matters. Is it
your wish to obtain the said account?'
'By
all means, yes!'
'Right
then,' he said. 'Some papers relating to the said account with your
name on them have just been dropped on the desk of the one who will
handle this matter. You will be notified tomorrow, when my service
has terminated.'
'When
your service is – terminated?'
'As I
said, I'm only at your service for one day – twenty four hours.'
'That's
right,' I said, remembering he had said that already.
I
began considering the position in which I found myself. I had a genie
for the day. I had just wished for, and been granted (so he said) a
bank account containing ten billion US dollars. That is quite a sum,
capable of buying anything that can be bought with money. What more
could I wish for?
Then
I said, 'Why don't we solve the world hunger problem?'
'That,'
said the genie, 'Is beyond what I'm authorised to do. World hunger,
national turmoil and things like that must be solved without help
from the likes of me. They require resources that have already been
entrusted to mankind. I'm only authorised to grant selfish
desires.'
That
sounded so noble, and yet, I was taken by surprise by the word
'selfish.'
As if
to answer my thoughts, he said, 'Oh, before the day's out, you
may be in a less selfish frame of mind, and with your ten billion
dollar bank account, you'll be in a good position to start getting
that job done yourself.'
However,
the prospect of using my bank account to solve such problems
wasn't quite as exciting as that of using the genie's special powers.
Finally,
I said, 'I haven't had anything to eat yet. How about a meal fit for
a king?'
'Which
king?'
'Does
it matter?'
'Well,
yes. The British monarchy eats one way, the king of Thailand eats a
different diet, various African kings...'
'Okay,
okay,' I interrupted. 'I'll go British.'
'Fine.
How about the exact same menu that the queen is scheduled to have for
brunch today?'
'Okay!'
I
won't go into detail about what I had, but it was some of the finest
food I ever tasted, and yet in such small portions that I had to ask
for seconds. That was granted of course. I realised afterwards that
it's quite likely that royals eat to mind their weight. It's just
that I didn't feel like doing that just then.
Leaning
back in my chair, I tried to think of what else I could wish for that
my ten billion dollars wouldn't buy.
'I'd
like to see the Orion nebula from up close. Could you arrange that?'
I asked finally.
'Yes.
I could confine you in a bubble of artificial atmosphere, and take
you there.'
The
next thing I knew, I was suspended in something like a transparent
sphere, and we were moving at breath-taking speed through the
universe.
I can
only say here that it was better than a planetarium show, or even a
film show with special computerised effects. The nebula looked even
more awesome in real life than in any of the photographs I've ever
seen. We even came close to being right inside it.
After
that, I asked to see a black hole, which the genie consented to do
from a safe distance so as not to be sucked in. Then, we went to view
a quasar. That was even more awesome. I can therefore tell you many
things about quasars, black holes and nebulae that astronomers don't
even know. I've even left some astronomers quite amazed at some of
the things I knew that they had only just begun to discover. However,
they still won't believe I met a real genie.
All
this, of course, took quite a long time. By then, I was hungry again.
'How
about taking me to the finest café on the French Riviera?'
So he
did.
We
sat and I enjoyed another great meal. I tried to ask the genie more
about himself. I began to notice that he had such an impersonal
attitude.
'You
must enjoy going to all these places,' I said.
'It's
a job.'
'I
mean, all that universe up there!'
'Oh,
it's marvellous, but I see it everyday.'
There
didn't seem to be much that would impress him.
'Why
don't you help yourself to a sandwich?' I offered.
'To
tell you the truth,' he began, 'For me to attempt to enjoy myself
with any of these would be the same as you trying to gain the same
enjoyment from day-dreaming about something you wished for.'
'Then
how do you enjoy yourself?'
'Where
I live, things aren't like this.'
'But
don't you live inside the lamp?'
'Oh!
Goodness no! I only appear when someone rubs the lamp as you did, and
then, only once in their lifetime! No, I spend most of my days in our
world.'
I had
been trying to think of some more wishes on which to spend the rest
of the allotted genie-time.
'Take
me to your world,' I said.
'Now,
that will be a difficult one,' he said, now rubbing his eyebrows.
'It's so different there that I don't think you'll cope.'
'Try
me,' I said defiantly.
'I
can take you only as far as my sitting room.'
'Okay,
let's go.'
Immediately,
we were at a place which I can only describe in sketchy detail. It
wasn't really like a room, yet there was furniture – a few pieces
anyway. The remarkable thing was, everything was alive! Even the
furniture! Everything greeted the genie as we entered.
The
genie greeted each piece and then introduced me to the easy chair, to
the coffee table, and to what looked like a huge video monitor, and
to some other objects, including some books and magazines on the
coffee table. They all greeted me heartily, as though I were a guest
in their house.
I
noted that the genie, himself, began to change his composure ever so
slightly from one of detachment to warmth – at least tofwards the
objects in the room.
The
genie invited me to sit down, and the chair confirmed the invitation.
At
first it had looked something like an overstuffed armchair. When I
sat in it, however, it conformed to the exact shape I needed at that
moment, and then began massaging me! For several days, I had been
having back pains, but the chair began rubbing me in the exact spot I
was hurting. For as long as I was there, sitting in that chair, I was
always in the position I needed to be in, not because I changed
position, but the chair itself moved me around to the position I
needed. At times, it even threw me up a foot in the air, so that I
would land in a way that would soothe whatever part of me hit the
chair first.
I
turned to the genie, and said, 'I wish for one of these chairs.'
'I'm
sorry. I cannot give away my friends.'
Then,
he handed me a tray full of some of the most delicious pastries I
have ever seen.
'Oh,
I couldn't. I just ate,' I protested.
'But
you mustn't offend these dear cakes,' said the genie.
'Yes,'
said one of the cakes. 'You must eat at least one of us!'
I was
shocked! Eat something that talks to me?
'You
must understand,' said the genie, 'these cakes live to be eaten.
Their crowning moment is when they are chewed up and go gliding down
a person's throat.'
'But
– these are living things! They'll die!'
'Ah
yes, you being from the world underneath, where concepts of life and
death have become distorted and therefore obsessed with extending
life for as long as you can hold on to it. These cakes, however, live
and long for the moment for which they were made, and that is to give
enjoyment to the one chosen to partake of them.'
'They
don't want to live a long life?'
'On
the contrary. The saddest food I've ever met was a steak and kidney
pie that had lived over a week, and therefore grown stale and lost
its ability to bring joy to the eater by its freshness. It was a
miserable thing! It even made me weep. It's hope revived
somewhat, however, when I went to feed it to the dog. At least the
dog could still enjoy it so that made the poor dear pie happy once
again.'
I was
still hesitant. This was foreign to anything I had ever conceived of.
The
chair and the coffee table joined in to induce me to eat. 'Oh! Do
have at least one piece! You'll make them ever so happy!'
The
back of the chair pushed me forward towards the tray. The coffee
table stretched and moved the tray closer to my reach.
'The
fact that you're from the other world makes it even more a
privilege,' said the genie. 'Don't let them down!'
Feeling
quite on the spot, I finally reached for a piece; whereupon a cheer
rose up from the entire tray and a squeal of utter delight came from
the bun I selected.
The
noises emitting from the chocolate éclair I picked up certainly
didn't help things as far as I was concerned. I finally took the
first bite fully expecting a cry of pain. Instead, came a cry of joy.
I could even hear the piece I had bitten off laughing and shouting
inside my mouth as I chewed. Every chew produced more cries of
delight, until finally its laughter faded down my throat.
I had
to admit that it was certainly a delicious éclair. By time I had
finished that, the revulsion had been replaced by a sort of curious
enjoyment. Next, I picked up a cream-puff. More squeals of delight,
but this time, slightly different. Each cake not only had its own
flavour, but also a personality of its own.
I ate
several pieces. It was becoming rather fun – like feeding animals
at the zoo, but in reverse.
Being
somewhat satisfied, my attention turned to some of the other things.
The genie was still there, but standing around with that sort of
detached air about him – except that he interacted with the
furniture and the cakes, and had a more jovial spirit about him as
though he were among his own.
The
books and magazines intrigued me. I picked up a book – a sort of
special interest tome one finds on coffee tables – and it opened
all by itself. It was about mushrooms of all sorts, except they were
obviously not mushrooms you would find on the earth. The book told me
so. There were no words in the book, but the book spoke to me, and
the illustrations were all moving pictures.
I
have never been interested in mushrooms, and would never have even
bothered to look at any book on the subject on the earth, but this
was a totally new experience.
The
pages turned by themselves at the exact moment I would have turned
them myself, and the voice of the book would say things like, 'Here
we have a field mushroom. They usually keep to themselves, but
they're really quite pleasant once you get to know them. They go best
in a salad, as they get along quite well with the lettuce. In fact,
given the right ingredients, such as cheese and an oil and vinegar
dressing, this mushroom readily merges its personality with the rest
to make one very pleasant dish, and is generally quite talkative and
erudite on many subjects. On the next page, we see a tree mushroom.
As you can see, they become emotionally attached to the tree on which
they grow, and only consent to be picked if you promise to serve them
up with fruit of some sort. The tree, of course, enjoys the company
of the mushroom...'
I
could actually hear the tree and the mushrooms in the illustration
conversing with one another.
At
one point, I forgot myself and asked a question which the book
readily answered. Later, I asked a question which was a little bit
out of the range of that volume, and a magazine on the coffee table
suddenly opened up. The book said, 'The Weekly Journal of
Botanical Science should answer that question for you.' At that,
I became engrossed in what that had to say.
After
a while, my attention drifted to the thing that looked like a video
monitor. Noticing my attention, the thing spoke:
'Anything
you care to see?'
'What
do you show?' I asked.
'Just
anything you like!'
'Well
– I've always wanted to see the Episode Seven of Star Wars.'
'Oh!
Come now! Of course I could show you that, but then, you can see that
any time you please! After all, you're coming into ten billion
dollars, are you not? Why, you could buy yourself a whole cinema!'
I was
taken aback that the video monitor knew all about my situation.
'Then
what can you show me that I couldn't see myself?'
'Do
you want fantasy, or real life?' asked the video monitor.
'Fantasy,'
I answered. I do enjoy the fantasy genre.
However,
I was unprepared for what immediately came on the screen. It was, in
fact, some of the fantasies I actually entertained.
The
first scene was inside of a publishing house, in a particular room
that I always conceived was where manuscripts are reviewed and either
rejected or accepted. At the desk was a teenage girl chewing gum and
casually leafing through a pile of manuscripts and synopsis. She'd
pick up one, and glance at the title and author, and usually say
something like, 'This guy's a bore,' or 'Him again!' or simply heave
a sigh, throwing the manuscript into the reject pile.
As
she was doing that with yet another manuscript, a superior walked
slowly to her desk. Just as the girl dropped the manuscript onto the
reject pile, the superior grabbed it, saying, 'Come now! You're
hardly reading these at all!'
The
superior looked at the manuscript. It happened to be one of mine. He
read the first paragraph.
'Now
this guy can write!' he told the girl. 'How many of these has he sent
you?'
'Only
about ten,' said the girl.
'And
you've never once sent anything by this obviously tallented writer to
my desk?' He then proceeded to give her a sound brow beating, and
then fired her. That left me with a feeling of gratification.
Walking
into the other room with my manuscript, the superior said to his
colleagues, 'I've just uncovered a gold-mine! Here, look at this!'
The
rest of that scene was that of all the office personnel looking over
one another's shoulders reading my manuscript with comments like,
'This guy can write!' and 'Why haven't we heard of this guy before?'
The
scene changed, and I saw two old school friends walking into a book
shop. There, facing them on a book rack was a book with my name on
the cover.
'Hey!
Look at that!' said one of the two, as the cover of the book caught
his eye.
'That
isn't the same Boz O'Brien we knew, is it?' said the other.
One
of them picked the book up and looked at the back cover. There, on
the back was my picture in a dignified pose flashing a toothy smile.
'I
can't believe it!' he said.
'And
I didn't think the guy would amount to anything!' said the other.
The
first one had opened randomly to a section I was particularly proud
of having composed.
'I
never though he had it in him!' he was saying.
'Some
people are late bloomers, I guess,' said the other.
Walking
to the cashier, each with a copy of my book, one of them was saying,
'Whatever – he's obviously out-bloomed the rest of us!'
The
scene changed again, and there was an old school teacher telling how
he had greatly underestimated me. Other scenes showed me appearing on
talk-shows along side well known rock-and-role stars and actors, who
were gawking in my presence. In yet others, well know politicians
were talking about me, and how they should call me in for
consultation on issues I had addressed in my book.
Needless
to say, I was immensely enjoying the show. The very things I had
visualised were happening right here before my eyes. My sense of
justice was being gratified. It was as though things I felt were true
all along were being confirmed, including that maxim, 'Truth is
stranger than fiction.' The phrase, 'Too good to be true,' was
obviously an antiquated proverb fit only for the literary dustbins.
Just
for further verification, I asked the video, 'This is all in the
future, right?'
'Oh!
Dear me! You did say you wanted fantasy, didn't you?'
That
was my first clue.
'Well
– I guess I did.'
'Would
you like me to switch to 'real world' mode?'
'I
guess,' I said hesitantly.
'Before
I can go into any other 'real world' images, it's necessary to go
back through the fantasies we've pictured, and replace them with
their corresponding realistic images,' said the video. 'We'll begin
with the last one we viewed.'
Immediately,
I saw a repeat of the last image, which was one the scenes with the
politicians and heads of state. However, instead of praising me and
deciding they must call me for consultation, they were saying things
like, 'It's that Boz O'Brien again. He thinks he knows our job better
than we do,' and, 'If I could round up all of these crack pots, like
this O'Brien guy, and force them to take my job for one day,
then they'd see for themselves whether this is an easy job or
not.'
When
it came to the talk shows, instead of me stealing the show with my
sage wisdom, the other guests, which included rock-and-roll stars and
actors were grilling me on what they considered quaint or politically
incorrect ideas. Since public debate is not my strong point – I
have many a time lost an argument with my boss by my inability to
properly defend myself on the spot, only to realise later what I
really ought to have said – I was being made to look like a total
fool on the TV screen.
On
the other hand, since the fantasies had followed a progressive
sequence, each new 'real' image I now saw brought a sense of relief
that at least the previous humiliation couldn't possibly happen. For
instance, being humiliated on national television, at least meant
that the politicians would certainly not give me even a second
thought. The next few scenes rendered any appearance on television
also out of the question.
The
two old class mates walking into the book shop, this time took a look
at my book, and said:
'That
Boz's book?'
'Looks
like it.'
'I
always thought writing was his strong point.'
'Yeah,
but I never cared for the subjects he chose.'
'Doesn't
look like he did much better on this one either.'
They
both walked off without buying a copy.
Then
came the scene that even put the stops on that one. This time, it was
a couple of level headed editors sitting in an office reviewing
several manuscripts.
'It
seems like everyone's trying to write about the same old thing.'
'Yeah.
Plenty of talent. In fact, too much talent. I just wish that either
more of them would launch out in something more out of the ordinary,
or else we would have the guts to go ahead on one of the
really way out ones.'
'You
mean like this one?' picking up my manuscript.
'Yeah
– well – good writer and all that, but...'
'I
know. Just a little bit out of touch some how.'
Again,
my manuscript ended up in the reject pile.
By
now I felt like a deflated balloon. Now, up came a new scene.
This
time, I saw my entrance with the genie into the sitting room where I
was presently. Everything happened just as I remembered it, except,
instead of looking out from inside of my head, I was looking at me
from the outside. Other than that, there was no change from what I
clearly remembered happening, apart from the feeling one usually gets
when looking at a video of one's self, a sort of embarrassment.
After
a while, something began to disturb me about the scene. It suddenly
reminded me of a young child on his birthday, absorbed only in his
own enjoyment. My host, the genie was standing up to one side as I
sat in his chair, taking him for granted as a child would his parents
or teacher. The pastries with their personalities clamoured for my
interaction while I acted like a child feeding animals at the zoo.
Finally, there was me, indulging in the video showing of my
fantasies, with the look of one easily giving in to flattery. All
through this scene, I did my best to convince myself that this
impression wasn't really accurate – that it was just the impression
one always gets when looking at videos of oneself.
However,
I could make no such rationalisation about the scenes that followed.
Now,
I saw some of my present friends saying things like, 'He just stays
cooped up in his house writing his books,' 'What is he anyway? Too
good for our society?' and, 'Whatever can he find to write about if
he never gets out and around!'
Some
of the scenes where from the period before I lost my job. Fellow
employees were saying, 'He's got good ideas, but I think he doesn't
even know how to relate to people,' and, 'I think he's been a
bit out of touch lately – living in a dream world.'
Suddenly,
things started to make sense – though not the sense I wanted it to
make. A definite pattern was beginning to show. Now, I felt sick.
Just
then, the video monitor said, 'That's probably enough for now,
wouldn't you say?'
He
was right.
The
chair said, 'Sit back and relax a bit.'
I
realised I had been sitting on the edge for the past few minutes, and
my back was getting tired. I sat back, and immediately my back began
to feel better. But the rest of me didn't.
After
a few moments, it suddenly occurred to me to say, 'Thank you – er –
chair.'
'Oh!
Don't mention it. You know I thoroughly enjoy doing this.'
'Yeah,
but – well, I appreciate it just the same.'
'Thank
you. I'm glad you told me that.' I could sense a note of genuine
appreciation in the chair's voice. I started feeling better.
I
noticed the genie still standing off to one side with his hands
behind his back, looking off in a different direction.
'Genie,'
I said, 'You've been standing up all this time. You should sit down.'
'Well,
yes, come to think of it...'
I
began to stand up.
'No!
No, no!' said the genie. 'There's room for two of us there, isn't
there, chair?'
'Why
of course there is!'
The
chair suddenly began to widen to become something like a settee, and
the genie took a seat opposite me.
'You
know, Genie,' I began again, 'I really appreciate you bringing me
here to your own home. I mean, I'm sure this isn't the usual thing
for a genie to do, and –'
The
genie looked at me in a way he hadn't all day, no longer with that
detached look. That warmed me further inside.
'Oh!
Don't mention it. Why – here, there's still more of these buns
left!'
He
handed me the tray, and again the pastries began to squeal with
delight at the prospect of being eaten.
I
picked one, but this time, I held it for just a second or two,
noticing the joy radiating from the apple tart.
'You
look delicious!' I said.
'Oh!
I hope I am! I hope I am!'
I put
it in my mouth, and began to enjoy the fact that I was giving the
apple tart its ultimate fulfilment in life.
The
genie helped himself to a few, and I had a few more. Now, we were
talking about things that probably weren't very important, but we
enjoyed talking. I was eating the pastries, but not as a child in a
zoo, but the pastries and myself were mutually enjoying one anther.
All this seemed to be refilling that same part of me that had been
drained completely empty from watching the scenes on the video
monitor – only now it was something more solid.
Suddenly,
I thought about the time. I looked at my watch.
'Oh
dear! Isn't our twenty four hours up?'
'Oh!
Don't worry about time!' said the genie. 'I'm just beginning to enjoy
this!'
'But
you said I could be with you only one day!'
'That
is, I'm only legally required to serve you for
twenty-four hours. If you and I both want to do something beyond
that, that's up to us, isn't it!'
I
laughed with delight.
'I
know,' he said. 'Why don't we go pick some mushrooms!'
I
told him I thought that was a lovely idea.
I
cannot begin to describe the beauty of the countryside we
encountered. It far surpassed any landscape I had ever seen on the
earth. We picked several kinds of mushrooms, including field
mushrooms, which the genie proposed making into a salad when we got
back; and some tree mushrooms, whom we promised we would serve up
with fruit, which we did. We enjoyed one another thoroughly; had
wonderful conversations with the salad on a number of erudite topics,
as we ate it; listened to the tree mushrooms' fond memories of their
trees (they also compared notes with the fruit); and we topped that
off with the remaining pastries. The video monitor then showed us
some other types of shows which I won't even try to describe here.
All in all, the genie, the chair, the coffee table and books, the
video monitor, our food and myself all had a wonderful time.
At
one point, an idea popped into my head. I turned to the video monitor
and asked, 'I don't suppose you could show Back to the Future Four
could you?'
'I suppose I could,' he said.
I wondered how he would pull it off, as any further sequels of that
film would have to explain why 2015 has come and gone, and flying
cars still weren't a reality.
The
film opened sort of like a documentary about
the history of hover-cars. The inventor, it seemed, was searching for
a way to help his young brother who had been crippled in an accident.
His search for a way to give him mobility was
what led to hover technology,
which was later applied to motor vehicles and skateboards.
The
film showed the scene of the accident, a
white Rolls Royce, a black pick-up truck,
an ambulance nearby, with paramedics surrounding the young boy.
Others were assisting Marty McFly, who had injured his hand, and was
looking suitably horrified at what had just happened. Suddenly the
action sped into reverse. The boy flew back into the car, the black
pick-up up-righted itself and
sped backwards, while the white Rolls Royce glided backwards into the
side road. Finally, there was Marty McFly at the wheel of his new
car, and Needles, in the other car, challenging him to a road race.
Again in forward motion, the action proceeded,
but as it did at the end of
Back to the Future III,
in which the accident didn't
happen.
I
don't know if the film will ever be made or not, but I won't give any
spoilers – just in case.
By
the end of the film I was getting tired. After all, I had been up for
well over twenty four hours – although the chair had helped to
offset quite a lot of the fatigue. The genie took me home by the
scenic route, and showed me other parts of the universe that not even
astronomers know about.
Finally,
we ended up in my kitchen. It was late at night.
'You
know, I'd offer you a cup of tea if I thought you'd enjoy it,' I
said.
'Actually,
I would,' said the genie.
'But
– I thought you...'
'Come!
Back there on the French Riviera, there wasn't much to enjoy. Here,
I'll heat the water and you get the cups.'
I got
the cups, and also the biscuit tin.
'I'm
afraid these biscuits don't talk, but..'
'Oh!
Never mind,' he interrupted. 'You and me can do enough talking for
all of us. That's what eating is for, really, isn't it!'
Suddenly,
I was beginning to see that there indeed wasn't so much to be enjoyed
at the French Riviera cafe, or in the queen's brunch. In fact, there
wasn't much to be enjoyed in anything I had been so concerned about
in the last – I don't know how long.
We
had our tea and biscuits, and the genie finally departed. I went to
bed and slept soundly.
The
next morning, I was awakened by a phone call.
'Hello?'
'Is
this Mr. O'Brien?'
'Yes?'
'This
is the Banque of Commerce and Fidelity in Zurich. I've been trying to
get a hold of you since yesterday. It seems that the late Count
Zorrokoff ...'
'Oh –
that. Listen, could you call me much later? I'm really tired right
now.'
I
hung up and went back to sleep.
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