So I'm on this train and the concession waiter goes by.
"You guys need a drink?" I shake my head, no. No all around the table. We thank him, he leaves.
Look around, everyone's here - beside me there's Nick Nolte or at least an actor that looks like him, he's talking about his latest movie, he's wearing a cowboy hat. Nick takes the hat off, his signature move, cocks his head, all blue eyes, Southern drawwwwwl, now THAT'S acting, am I right?
The mafia is here - a Russian guy. I'm not being a dick here, a stereotyper, ok, he's the real deal and he makes no bones about it, tells us about people he has killed without hesitation, and it seems so rational because of the accent.
The conductor pokes his head in to our booth - you know what I'm talking about - it's like a sleeper without the cots, this little conference room on the train while the landscape dissolves into one green line outside our private window, disappearing as fast as we can approach it.
"Tickets?" We produce the proof we're entitled to our tiny piece of moving real estate and he chunk-chunks them so it's official, then leaves.
The two people across from me are slightly built, I notice it because on my side it's Nick and the Russian and both of them are those tall meaty men, they know how to take up space. The two people I'm facing barely take up one butt cheek's worth of space each. I think the one on the left is from NATO and the other one is Korean; he/she (I can't tell, I keep settling on one then moving to the other) this person speaks no english but NATO is interpreting. It's not as distracting as you might think, you get used to it, the delay like you're talking to someone on a satellite phone. I briefly imagine the conference we could be having, all the stakeholders calling in remotely.
At the head of the table with her back to the window is a major network news anchor; people are forever shaking her hand then furrowing their brow to recall what romcom they last saw her in. Her name is Sally of all things. She does not look like a Sally.
"The Magreets were the guide dogs of Pompeii, owned by the elite," she reads to us from the morning newspaper. "The foot traffic was bad in Pompeii - by afternoon when the sun was at a more reasonable angle and everyone - servants, nobles, pickpockets - was heading to and from the market there would be lines that stretched across town - it could take you two hours to fetch some seafood and bread, not to mention the time to haggle a reasonable price."
"Snacks?" The concession waiter is back. Russia orders some peanuts.
"I'll take a soft pretzel" I tell him. "Oh - and that nacho cheese sauce, too." Nobody else is hungry.
Lacie continues. I can't call her Sally. She's just not a Sally.
Lacie: "And there the Magreets patiently forged a path for their wealthy owners, cutting lines, finding the right vendors. White, sleek, regal, they were trained so early, they never barked but just pointed their heads and led the way to a faster meal, a better seat at the coliseum. They were the ultimate portable symbol of wealth. Everyone deferred to you if you owned a Magreet."
We all start talking at once. Patiently Lacie - no that seems wrong too. Fine. Sally. Whatever. She answers every question. Yes some survived Vesuvius. They became street dogs, the sleek white coat turned matted and filthy. They raided trash heaps, slept in abandoned buildings and continued to breed, for centuries, expanding the original population of well bred, trained guides into a mixed horde of thousands, then hundreds of thousands.
The pretzel and and peanuts arrive. Russia and I tip our waiter. The pretzel is perfect - warm but not too hot, salty. Dipped into the creamy tangy cheese, it's arguably nature's perfect food.
"For most of the last thousand years," Sally says, "Magreets have been considered pests. In the last century, over 90% of the extant population died of starvation or were hunted and killed for sport. About twenty years ago food shortages led to the remaining thousand or so Magreets being reconsidered as useful; their scarcity led to increases in price and they have become prized as delicacies at exclusive wealthy dinner parties."
"The last of the Magreets was eaten at 645pm last night according the AP."
Sally/Lacie folds up the paper. We all take a breath.
It's time for someone to call this meeting to order.
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