Allan had been held up in his rigorous quest for the perfect whetstone by Carl and Margie passing by and wondering what he was doing on his knees, in the dark, in the dirt, in the garden, digging with his fingers.
Carl popped the question. "Allan, what's going on here?"
"What?" Allan said, looking and around for a second before returning to the job at hand. "I need a honing stone. A honing stone. It must be small. Very small and flat. A honing stone ..."
Although Carl started giggling, he still was worried about his friend. "Why do you need a honing stone, Allan?"
"It's for Fred. He's fucking Bree tonight and he must do it properly."
"Really!" This was news that stunned.
"Yes. And I must demand that it likewise be done honorably. He's an ill-bred heathen shit and I will not stand by and watch him be disrespectful to the noble precepts of true love."
"Hey, whatcha' got here?" Margie said, bending down and picking up the fifth of Jack Daniels Allan had packed along on his pilgrimage. Her bottle had been left behind on the Green, empty.
"Well, that's amazing," Carl said, walking over to a window and jumping up three or four times, trying to peer in. "After all these years." Fred rarely mentioned Bree any more -- and all along he'd been holding a torch. "But Allan, what does he need a honing stone for?"
"What? Well, he must first sever my manhood, of course! Release my balls from their anguish, before ... "
"Okay, Allan, let's hear it," Carl sighed, sitting down in the dirt.
"... This stone," Allan began, and he stopped digging, for he had found it, "Will give a keen edge to the saber that will ... liberate me from my affliction ..."
"And that affliction is ... ?"
Allan looked surprised. Wasn't it obvious? "Why, true love, Carl! And she has professed the same for me."
"... Bree?"
"The very. But she's under the spell of ... Fred. That foul-smelling, unctuous Rasputin of our time. He's a charmer, Carl. An evil enchanter of women."
"So," Carl said, trying to screen his amusement, "You two are going to duel."
"No, no!" Allan snapped, dismissing this option with a flurry of fingers, "No weapons, no fisticuffs. We live in a civilized society, Carl. And besides, dueling is for gentlemen -- and Fred may not be termed as such. His allegiance is to the rogues and knaves, the villainous and perverse -- a lesser Order than myself."
There was a long pause. Allan had plunged into a seemingly lulled state of self-pity. Actually, his mind was functioning furiously -- but too furiously for those soddened motor skills to stay abreast. It was a classic bit of his -- one Carl knew well.
Carl also knew those motor skills would kick in soon.
Allan threw up is hands, opened his mouth, and his head swayed sluggishly. Carl knew this meant his friend was about to announce something shockingly profound -- an authentic self-revelation.
"... I ... don't need my dick any more, Carl. I'd be happier without it. It causes me so much misery. Why I have one is ... beyond my comprehension. And, as you know, very few things are ... beyond my comprehension ... and I despise all things that are. What ... my dick is doing here on this earth is just ... unknown to me. It's humbling for me to contemplate its supposed 'being'. And anything ... that is humbling ... is torture."
There was a shorter, not so self-pitying pause. This meant the next statement would only be mildly profound -- probably just a simple corollary.
"Don't you ... define something by its function? If so, I can't ... define my dick, then. My dick, therefore, is ... indefinable. It doesn't exist."
"Well," Carl said, trying to reason with him, "I wouldn't go that far. From what you've said, I'd merely conclude that your dick has certain ... indefinable properties."
That slugged and stung. Those were 'fighting' words to Allan. "What's that?" Carl laughed, but stayed his ground. "Well, you do pee with it, don't you?"
"... Yeah," Allan snarled, getting up with a swagger, "And I think I'll pee all over you!"
Down came the zipper. Carl rolled out of the way.
"Stand still! Stand still!" Allan ordered, howling wildly while wobbling and zig-zagging around the front yard -- ominously jiggling the object that didn't exist. "I'll define it for you!"
"Put that away!" Carl said, doubling up in hysterics and tripping over himself as he tried to get away. "I believe it exists! I'll take your word for it, Allan! I don't need empirical evidence!"
Margie, who'd been calm and quiet and on the sidelines the whole time because she didn't know what to say anyway, decided to intercede. "Allan! There's not much more of this left," she said, holding up the bottle. "Help me finish it and I'll go get another one."
Allan stopped and jerked his head in her direction. "Yes," he said emphatically, marching over.
She pulled back the bottle as he reached for it. "But first zip that up down there," she said, pointing. "You'll catch a cold."
Allan gave her a stern look, but followed orders. Carl was relieved. He got up and brushed himself off.
"He's not driving anywhere tonight, is he?" Margie said, as Allan slurped down what was left.
"No, no. He's staying here."
"So, you guys wanna go to the water?" She was all smiles and revved up. "C'mon! It'll be fun. All the boats at night tied up and creaking does something for my soul. It's my favorite sound in the world. So let's go. Everybody ready?"
Carl was, but Allan continued pacing in front of the house, trying to find a window where he could see in.
"Allan!" Margie said, "Let's go! We're goin' to the water!"
"No, no," he said, waving them away. "I'm on a vigil. It's my duty. The Cross I must bear." Climbing up on a ledge, he spotted them. "Yes, yes! They're still together! Still together! He's fucking her tonight! He's a schemer! He's a schemer! I ... must be here. I must ... stand guard. Stand guard outside their fetid love den. I'll be ... their eunuch at the door. No one shall enter! NO ONE SHALL ENTER WHILE I'M THE SENTINEL!"
"What's he talkin' about, now?" Margie said, shaking her head and smiling.
Carl knew he had to do something. "I don't know. Listen, I don't think he's coming, but I also don't want to leave him alone."
"He's not alone. There're plenty a' people around." She turned to Allan. "Oh, Allan! C'mon! We're leaving!"
"No, no!" He said. "No wavering from responsibility here! I'm staying my ground! It's my duty as a loyal eunuch!"
"Just hold on," Carl told Margie. "Let me go find Fred and tell him about this. He'll take care of'im."
"Fred? Oh, Allan'll love that!"
"It's all right. Fred knows all about this stuff. We've known Allan for years and years. This is ... minor," he lied.
"Okay. I'll watch'im 'till you get back."
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Copyright 1995, 1996, 1997, 1998, Chuck Nyren
Chuck Nyren is also a Contributing Editor at Suite 101.