Goulash by Brian Kimberling

Author:Brian Kimberling
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2019-02-26T05:00:00+00:00

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As planned we mustered in the orchard at noon. At first it was a joyful scene: Šarka had gone to the car and returned with beer and baguettes and meat and cheese and a picnic blanket. Everyone was decked out in mud and soaked through. But Ismail had found a cluster of waterwheels—eight of them were laid out to dry on the blanket, side by side, each about six inches long and looking like rosemary. We were unable to admire the plants’ hunting prowess since the traps had closed upon harvesting. Dave the Canadian described hilariously how Russian Pavel had cleaned a whole muddy hillside with his ass. Italian Delia had a hot date with a lonely beer. Amanda and Šarka appeared to be fast friends, tapping each other’s arms as they spoke.

I told our story. Nobody knew anything about boars except where to order the tasty kind. Jokes were made, but Šarka’s face crumpled.

“We were careful about bats,” she said.

UNESCO’s chief concern lay in preserving views that glorified humanity; they stipulated streetlight placement to the millimeter. Šarka’s chief concern was doing what UNESCO told her to. The cement had been poured from above with only temporary braces erected within possible exits like our cave. There was no environmental auditor of Kutná Hora conservation. Šarka was unlikely to face consequences, at least.

Delicate diplomacy ensued. Russian Pavel applied Šarka’s portable hair dryer to the waterwheel plants and proposed that we smoke them in tribute to the boar, a mighty warrior who scoffed at death. Šarka thought he wasn’t taking things seriously enough. Delia thought that if they could end the stupid ritual now she wouldn’t have to get up at 5:00 a.m. next time. Polish Pavel argued that tradition must be maintained and that Russian Pavel’s proposal was the thoughtful way to do it. Amanda chipped in to say that she would smoke or abstain at Šarka’s suggestion. Even though she wasn’t even a member of the Board.

Solidarity or beer ultimately prevailed, and Šarka rolled a spliff. Amanda seemed to love it. To me it tasted like any other cigarette.

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