Sunday, August 19, 2012

A boorish & bawdy story in the highest regard

             The Saga of Raymond the Poor

                                            www.albertoarcia.com
                          
                           Written with a couple of friends 
                
                                                     Chapter I  

                                    (First Installment) 

The Award
There were church mice in the village that had more money than Raymond the Poor.  In the entire kingdom of Zaroch no one was lower on the economic food chain than Raymond the Poor.  If rags were riches, he would have been a financial baron.  Maybe it was pity; maybe it was just helping their fellow man, but for whatever reason Raymond’s fellow peasants nominated him for “Serf of the Year.” 
The nomination went unchallenged, and Raymond was in line for a handsome reward from Herbert the Horrendous, the Grand Duke of a fiefdom that was declared four levels below the established poverty line.   
Raymond was anxiously dressing for the long trek to the Duke’s palace, but he could not decide on what to wear; the ratty tattered brown pants or the faded smelly blue shirt.  Choice of shoes posed no problem as he only had one, the right one, and that shoe had a hole in the middle of the sole.  For a brief moment, he considered asking his brother for a short-term loan to acquire some decent attire, but he quickly discarded that notion.  He dreaded talking to his brother more than he feared the bubonic plague.  Maybe he should try and touch his sister; she had married a blind, wealthy shoe cobbler and had ample funds to spare.  
After thinking things out, Raymond decided he could not appear before Herbert the Horrendous in anything other than his usual shabby attire, after all, a man must be proud of whatever honor falls his way.  But, poverty aside, a man needs to observe the rules of propriety and showing up with one shoe would bring him shame and diminish the affections of Ursula the Unwashed, a woman he loved dearly.
With a fast gate, he called on the blind cobbler.  To his chagrin, when he made it to the shoe store he found that all the shoes were matched, and the blind-relation would not give him or allow him to break a pair.  Upset over this development he went to see Pablo the Prophet, who also worked as a barber. 
The Soothsayer told him he needed to leave the village and venture forth to the land of the Right-Wingers. 
“Everyone there wears right shoes,” he said. “Surely you could get one to match the one you have.”
Disgusted, Raymond spat on the ground.  “But I’m in need of a left shoe,” he complained.  “What good does it do me to go there?  They only have right ones?”
“By golly, you’re right,” said the wise old codger.  He scratched his ample ass and sat on a stool, thinking.  Then an idea shot through him like a bolt of lighting. 
“Eureka!” he said.  “You can try your fortune in the land of the Left-Wingers; surely they will sell you a left shoe.  But you must be careful, it’s been rumored that Robere the Rogue was seen about.”
Raymond the Poor was elated at this most relevant of revelations, and thanked the Sage for his infinite wisdom.  However, before he could depart, the man demanded payment.
“But I can't afford to pay you,” said the poor man, with anguish.  “All I have left in the world is my lucky rabbit’s foot.  I need it.  The journey ahead appears to be quite dangerous.”
His fervent pleas fell on deaf-ears; the Soothsayer demanded payment for the consultation.  Reluctantly, Raymond handed over the lucky talisman. 
Distraught over being taken by the brazen prophet, he called on Ursula the Unwashed, said farewell and commenced his surreptitious journey. 



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