Of three workers and a desert (2)

November 30th, 2016

– You know how he tends to become at the last leg of hangover…
– Don‘t dare say son! I swear I can‘t take it anymore.
– Oh, no, Zigmund, I‘ll save you a kidney – you have on left, don‘t you? I‘ll to that this time.
– You better. You better, wise old man. Right?
– Yes yes, as you say, godwilling.
– Hey, both of you, something‘s coming!
– Look, a squirrel!
– Nah, Ziggy, somebody‘s bigger, I go check. Though duly noted.
Jozef smiles as he walks slowly to the hole.
– Damn this young one, he gets to talk, get it? I mean no offense, but I know you right through all the words, Woyzeck, right through all this time.
– I do, Zigmund, godwilling he‘ll tell us something. As he always does.
– How about godwailing, Woyzeck? It‘s not the real thing, isn‘t it?
– I guess not. Still, better than nothing.
– Why you go to the hole? I mean, after you stopped looking for oil, what do you do there? Haven‘t seen you bring back nothing. Or talk, ha.
– I talk.
– You do?!
– I do, not to the animals, sadly.
– What then?
– Well, it‘s difficult to explain…
– But godwilling, Woyzeck, godwilling.
– Fuck you, Zigmund.
– I wish.
– I bet you do, you drunk little shit.
– Ok ok, no need to rile up, old – wise – man, forget I asked. Josy there, he will tell with no greed.
Woyzeck sighs as he stands up and goes deeper into the desert.
– Who was it this time, Joe?
– You didn‘t see?
– Nope, was arguing with that cranky old man.
– Bout what?
– Nothing, that life, is all.
– Right.
– Not left?
– Right.
– So?
– A woman.
– Ooh.
– From another desert she said she was. She said, if you look at the sky, you can see her eyes.
– What?!
– Yeah, that‘s what she said, and when I asked what did those eyes see, she said, the dying of unmoving and the ascendance of the thirsty.
– Dude, Joe almighty, why is it that they all speak in riddles?!
– I don‘t know, maybe it‘s just us, who been here long, that have forgotten how to hear them.
– Yeah, right.
– Not left?
Zigmund spits like a camel.
– Here‘s a suggestion – how about next time you try and not indulge them poesies, just cut straight to the chase and ask them something simple.
– Like what?
– Like why the fuck we are here?!
Jozef starts laughing.
– Ziggy, my friend, how about I ask you the same?
– Shoot.
– Why we are here?
– Not what I asked.
– Oh, sorry, my bad. Why the fuck we are here?!
– We are here, Joe almighty – by the way, do you like that name?
– Not your best. Think I‘d prefer Joe your highness.
– Ok, Johannes, as I was saying, we are here…
– Jozef! Zigmund!
– What the heck?!
– What‘s happening, Woyzeck?!
– Come here, quickly. Faster! Look, look! Not at the finger, you fools!
– Can‘t see nothing.
– Yes, Woyzeck, what is it?
– Don‘t you see it?! Further, meeting the horizon.
– What?!
– Still nothing.
– Look, look there – a squirrel!
– O h m y g o d, couldn‘t have done one of your – dare I say – groundbreaking stand ups at the better time. Aplause, ladies and gentlemen. Johannes, drop the curtain!
– Why Johannes?
– It doesn‘t matter, father superior, don‘t lose the way for the path, or whatever the fuck that‘s supposed to be. I‘m done with y ‘ a l l for the night.
Jozef, having had not properly stopped stopped laughing.
– Ziggy, Ziggy, you haven‘t finished – so why we are here?
Zigmund strolling to the farthest end of the pole.
– For the fuck of it.
– Yeah, I will keep on indulging them their metaphors, Zigmund, ok with you?
– Whatver floats your boat, Joshy, if you get my drift.
– So what was that about Johannes, and who did you talk today to?
– Ah, not important, and – I did talk to a woman as a matter of fact.
Woyzeck, suddenly at ease.
– What was her name?
– Fatima, I think, or Athena, couldn‘t clearly make through the accent.
– Strange, that doesn‘t seem to have been a problem for you before.
– You‘re right. Maybe it was something else, like the noise of the desert.
Zigmund from the end of the pole.
– Carmen!
– Don‘t need to shout, the pole is not that long.
– If we are going for the celestial names, my pick is Carmen. You wanna know why?
– We know, we know.
In unison say Jozef and Woyzeck, sitting down.
– Pass a whisky, Ziggy. Son?
– Papi.
– Bastard.
The workers sit, sipping whisky from the bottle. From time to time moving closer to and farther from each other, as the night unanimously and relentlessly approaches their stomachs.

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