Octavius the 1st

Coda: Succès fou

148 Octavius the 1st Coda: Succès fou If you want to know the taste of a pear, you must change the pear by eating it yourself. —Mao Tse Tung Reader, he ate the orange. Yes, he thought. Yes yes yes. Anyway, maybe. Sick of St. Moritz? Gorged on Gstaad? In Austria’s hamlets of Zurs and Lech (they even sound dirty!) there’s just the right mix of rustic chic, heavenly powder, and snow bunnies—royal and plebe alike, and plenty for every intrepid explorer. Get It Up and Go Go Go! Get your hands on these Twin Peaks while you can! Octavius ate of the fruit of the tree. Citrus, granted, but still . . . The condensed sun of its succulence (redundant word, but right) exploded in his mouth. And—as time, as time is recklessly wont, spun heedless toward . . . toward something or other, or nothing at all, or eternity, or whatever, that was for sure—it tasted sweet to him. 149 Gaylord Brewer He opened to the first blank page of his Scripture-a-Day Calorie Counter©, purchased by himself (remaindered table) some forgotten lifetime ago, and flattened it with a juice-sticky palm. “While he was yet speaking, there came also another, and said: ‘Thy sons and daughters were eating and drinking wine in their eldest brother’s house; and, behold, there came a great wind from across the wilderness, and smote the four corners of the house, and it fell upon the young people, and they are dead.’”—Job 1:1819 . Jolly tidings I bring ye. The guy got around. Wilderness indeed. Mañana, maybe, for a next new life? What was the quote? Paraphrased: So begin again, and fail again, and—maybe Beckett anyway was more useful, end of day, doom and all, than bloody bitch-and-moaning Job—fail better? What was he even asking of himself, his kingdom, his people? The Emperor’s (potentially? presentably?) new suit of clothes? Maybe a little humility and kindness would look good on him, too. He’d again lost the thread of the question. Or maybe not. Anyhow, why not today, for that matter? What would that elephant, properly jerk-marinated and slow-cooked over a wood flame one piece at a time, actually be like? Maybe it was an acquired taste. He’d never really known. Octavius opted for a pencil—why tempt the fates with any conceit of permanence?—gave the sharp point a quick (graphite 150 Octavius the 1st not lead, admittedly, but dangerous even so) lick, and wrote on the first line of Day One: “Orange (Florida, medium). 69 calories .” He studied the words for a moment, the erratic loops of their individual letters. Then, below this, he amended, “Coffee (one Tbsp. ½ & ½). 20 calories.” Well yes, maybe, he thought, and as the Marauder, fully empowered and still heady with glory, leapt not entirely unsuccessfully for Octavius’s groin—awhh! little bastard!—added to “Reminders for the Day,” as if to affix thought to print, “Maybe, yes.” Even so. And indeed, why not. But yes, what? 151 Gaylord Brewer This page intentionally left blank. ...