“Well, I am holding you on your promise. You told me to call you if I needed
something. I need to talk.”
“Hey, go right ahead! You know me “people first” I always say.”
“People, as in people in general? Great. Now I am drowned in the anonymity
of the masses.”
“Stop that!”
“Still busy packing?”
“Yes, I am still packing. I have found some items I have not used for quite a
bit of time and thinking of divesting myself from them. Don’t you think?”
“It all depends what the items are. I mean if you haven’t had sex for a long
time, I would strongly advise you against chopping off the tool.”
“Well, that I have no intention to cut off. Well, I want you to know you are in
my thoughts and prayers.”
“It’s good to know I am in someone’s prayers. I certainly am not in mine.
The pope says he’s praying for Lebanon. But I am not sure it helps, the more
the middlemen, the less effective the prayer. Did I tell you I called the parish
priest and “animal” two months ago? In his face of course. There was an old
family feud with him. And no point dwelling on the details, but he provoked
me. And we thought I wouldn’t reply. I did. I just told him which species he
belonged to. It caused a lot of ripple in the village, you know the conserva-
tive people and those who belong to the sororities and all. But what do I care?
It even verged towards a political problem when some butt head wanted the
municipal council involved.”
“Animal? I can only imagine the title of the book: My priest and other
animals. Orwell would have been proud. There’s just some much to pack,
to throw away, the good thing is that my new apartment is not far off from
where I am right now. So I won’t be losing touch with the neighborhood or
anything. I also have to cook dinner in a short while.”
“Did you know that San Francisco socialite Catherine Cebrian, is rumored to
have once said that she didn’t butter her bread, “I consider that cooking.” So
are you off to butter your bread?”
“No, a little more sophisticated than that. You don’t sound too good to me.
It’s only understandable under the circumstances.”
“Well, yeah. What can you do? Recently, I took that underground tunnel tour
of Pendleton in Washington State.

This is where the Chinese used to live when they were imported here to work
on the railroad and all. It is an underground city all to itself. Everyone was
exclaiming how could so many people live in such a crammed space without
light for a long time. Obviously, none of them has live in a bomb shelter. It
was humidity, that smell of the rotten and moist that really disturbed me. It
reminded me of the many nights we all spent at the shelter. It was fun some-
times, perfect for hide and seek. Except the one time I actually hid in a place
where they had just laid fresh concrete and I ended up messing it badly and
everyone was thinking, this is an adult who did this, look at the size of the
footprints.”
“I’ve been in a shelter before. I was in the army. But I am sure it’s different.”
“It’s kind of nice that you want to relate to what I am saying. One time there
was this couple who ended up having sex there, in the shelter. And someone
told them to cut it off because it would be hard to explain to the children
what was going on in case someone wakes up at night. There were the props
as well: The yellow flashlight, the portable Grundig radio, the spare batteries,
the two yellow gourde for water with one of them being crackled because
it was once left in the freezer for two long, and the red blankets. But there
was nothing to be done with the smell of humidity. I should have known that
something would go wrong when I felt so uncomfortable with the smell in
the underground tunnels of Pendleton.”
“Stop kicking yourself for nothing. Well, I have some more utensils to put in
boxes and dinner to prepare. I wish I could hang around longer to talk, but
really must get going.”
“Sure, I understand. Keep the chin up. This is no time for faltering. Bye.”