The Pizzarelli Reader

Satire, Parody & Prose

After Reading Kafka

After feasting on a rather juicy anthropoid, I dozed off and upon awakening found myself transformed into a human being. In a nightmarish gaze, I saw the horror of my changed anatomy. This was no dream. I was wingless with only two eyes & four limbs, “How hideous!” I screamed and fainted.

When I re-awoke I still found myself confined inside the human shell, the cubicle I was in was now much smaller and confined, yet familiar, decorated sparsely with familiar objects. Over the desk, hung a portrait of an elderly couple poised, the male of the species holding a pitch fork. My sight, which could no longer see in a 360 degree perimeter, slowly turned to view through a clear portal, the familiar landscape outside – I could see the rain wet leaves and greenery – it completely depressed me.

Time progressed slowly as I pondered my strange predicament. I gradually began to notice I was becoming more acclimated to the human skeleton. For one thing, I gained some control over my limbs which normally waved helplessly before my many eyes. However, as a human I found moving about to be the most challenging. It seemed completely impracticable on just two spindly legs. I must have tried to get out of the bed a hundred times and each time fell crashing to the floor. This caused a horrible sensation the likes of which I had never felt before -- The word “pain” comes to mind -- I soon learned that unlike the vaulted shell of armor I previously possessed, the human shell was soft and weak, vulnerable to pain and totally exposed to injury, Needless to say, I was still in disbelief of my situation— an insect in denial.

Just as I was thinking all this at top speed, without being able to stand upright – I heard a cautious knocking at the door.

“Franz,” someone called – the call was clearly of female gender.

“It’s Felice, open up sugar plum, you still in there?”

What a sweet voice! Strange how, I could now understand the human voice. I was then suddenly shocked to hear my own voice emanating, of all places, from my oral orifice!

“Yes, yes, I’m just getting up!” I badly garbled

– CRASH –

“Franz? Is something the matter with you?” cried Felice.

“I’ll be right there, uh, I’m bathing in the sink.”

“Franz, open up, I’m begging you.”

“Good grief!” I thought, “sounds like she wants to mate, I’m too young to be devoured!…what to do?”

I realized that I must on no account let the female enter.

Knock-knock-knock.

“Franz, please open the door, you sound ill, please let me in, I promise I won’t bite your head off!”

“Sure, that’s what they all say” I muttered.

“Franz, Puh-leese!”

Hearing the sad timbre of her voice, I eventually relented and unlocked the door. Entering the room in a hurry, Felice confronted me and started talking fast then paused abruptly when she noticed I was stark naked.

“Oh, so you were bathing in the sink, no towel?”

“A towel?” I said clueless.

“O Franz, Franz, Franz, why do you stay in this dreadful Castle? You belong with me in the greenery of the valley.

“Why? That’s a good question, I wish I knew the answer.”

“Look, the Concierge Fraulein Heimlich is holding you prisoner here, I have arranged for your escape later this evening”

Then kissing my cheek, she tip-toed out the door. I could hear her sobs fade into an embarrassing silence as I made my way back to the bed, this time by vigorously flapping my four appendages across the floor.

Darkness.

Somewhat refreshed after the sleep (humans have to have their sleep), I could see things more clearly now. My mind and senses had become more acclimated to the human shell I now possessed. Physically, I was able to move about more freely. I paced to and fro on the ceiling for what seemed like an eternity, when another knock came at the door.

“Who’s there?” I asked in a shaky voice.

“Who do you expect, a Jehovah Witness? It’s me, Fraulein Heimlich.” said the voice.

“You know me? I asked.

“Of course, you are Mr. Franz, the land surveyor of the Count,” the same voice said, curtly.

“Surveyor?”

“You suffered an accident Mr. Franz” she said, more firmly.

“What happened?”

“You injured your self while surveying the grounds.

“Oh I see, ahem, that must be why I am so confused” I said, pretending to be naïve.

Slowly, I opened the door. Frau Heimlich, wearing a brightly flowered garment, entered the room, lit the lamplight and to my surprise, turned around in almost one bound and stood facing me. Somehow she appeared more male of the human species; perhaps it was the facial hair. At any rate, as I stood there nude she maternally insisted I put on coverings and proceeded to clothe me in the proper attire. This included trousers, socks, shoes, shirt and a “bow-tie” which I instinctively consumed, mistaking it for a rather juicy moth.

“Now, follow me or as we say “Telefonservice das die Weiterleitung von Telefonanrufe an ein Wahltelefon erlaubt ” she said.

“Follow me will do, I may be wrong but it sounds like one could grow old reading a cake recipe in your native tongue”.

“We must go now”

“Go where, to see the Count? I asked.

“No one ever gets to see the Count.”

“Well, shouldn’t he want to talk with his land surveyor?”

“No one ever gets to see the Count”

“Does the Count dislike me?”

“What makes you think he dislikes you?”

“Because… I’m the land surveyor?”

“Need I say more?!”

“I guess not, where are you taking me?”

“To the banquet hall of the Castle, you must be famished”.

“Yes, I’m also starving. By the way, do these boxer shorts go over or under the trousers?”

As we stepped outside the door, I noticed the interior of the castle looked oddly familiar as Fraulein led me through a maze of dimly lit stone corridors. She remained silent and only raised an oddly curious eyebrow when I descended the wide staircase on my four limbs headfirst and upside down. We soon arrived in a large dining area where we sat together rather quietly over supper. I was nervous and at times abandoned by self-control, at one point I pretended to wipe the perspiration from my forehead while my limbs swung helplessly before me. I was hopeless without my wings and took to shaking violently. During this commotion the servant arrived, dressed in black and buttoned to the collar.

“You rang, Fraulein?” he intoned in a strange, syrupy voice.

“Yes Schleps, you may now serve us our meal”

“Very good m’lady”

There O readers followed a feast of assorted edibles the likes of which I was accustomed to. My appetite was voracious, so much so that I began to choke and since my limbs were previously swinging helplessly about, it was difficult, nay impossible for Fraulein to comprehend my S.O.S. – it wasn’t until I turned purplish that Frau Heimlich came racing behind me, placed her arms around my waist and thrust from my throat the bones of an entire chicken, which rocketed across the room parting the hair of Schleps the Butler.

“Good Grief, you saved my life, what do you call that life saving procedure?”

Turning around in almost one bound, the Fraulein slowly raised her thick eyebrows and said

“Why, the Fraulein Maneuver, of course.”

The evening progressed in what I presumed to be a normal fashion. Schleps the butler struck me as a sophisticated servant who further impressed me by playing “The Brandenburg Concertos” on an instrument called a “kazoo.” It was then, that I was suddenly startled to hear a tiny voice whispering in my ear.

“Psst! Listen to me and remain still! I am here to rescue you!”

“Who are you? What’s more where are you?” I whispered as Fraulein took to dancing wildly about the room.

“I am in the form of an insect at your ear.” said the high pitched voice.

Moving slowly, I carefully palmed the sizeable vermin and nonchalantly returned my hand upon my lap.

The vermin’s voice continued:

“Now listen carefully, when the servant stops playing, and it won’t be soon enough for me, excuse your self from the table and follow my instructions”.

“But how can you help me?” I asked excitedly.

“I am the Count! Only I can rescue you from this fate and return you back to your natural existence as a vermin.”

“The Count?!” I said perplexed, “What about Felice?”

At that moment, the servant’s concerto came to its finale, upon which I instinctively responded with vigorous applause.

• • •

The Tell-Tale Trousers

TRUE! — Inebriated — very, VERY dreadfully drunk I had been at the tailor shop before I awoke as a pair of trousers. The spirits had dulled my senses — and well, altered me. Above all I have the ability to perceive things without conscious reasoning. I have many truths to tell. How, then, am I pulling your leg? Hearken! And observe how soberly — how clearly I can tell you the whole story. It is painful to say how the incident happened upon me; but now realized, it haunts me night and day. There was one reason. I hated the old tailor. He had always bored me to tears with his jokes about slipcovers, and as for his garments I had equally no desire. It was his alterations! Yes, his alterations that made my blood boil: alterations that gave me the gait of a cripple — To think that I was so often made the brunt of jokes, the laughing stock of the entire town whenever I did the Charleston and split the seam on my backside. It was no mere em-bare-ass-ment, but loud guffaws of mortal mockery that would be repeated to my ears forevermore — and so by degrees — finally at wits' end — I made up my mind to fashion him into a window mannequin — by cutting and sewing — and thus rid the townspeople of his unsuitable occupation forevermore.

Ah! You should have seen how tactfully I proceeded — with what skill — with what workmanship! I was never nicer to the old tailor the entire week before I trimmed off his limbs with glee. He shrieked once — once only with a muffled “ouch!”. Oh, you would have marveled to see how skillfully I sewed him back together! I worked slowly — very, very slowly. It took me over an hour just to pick out the buttons and zippers for his eyes and mouth. Ha! — could any tailor work as seamlessly as this? I could scarcely contain my triumph of revenge.

No doubt, my riddance of the old tailor was cause for celebration. I paced the shop to and fro in search of drink and lo! There upon a shelf of thread spools stood a large bottle of distilled spirits! “Eureka!” I raved — I danced — I foamed! I uncorked the bottle and drank deep of its contents. I flung the bottle smashing it upon the floorboards with glee! Pickled — totally soused — I searched again until I found another bottle hidden in a bookcase behind many a volume of mysterious lore. The bottle looked ancient. Then, as I rubbed the dust off its indecipherable inscription and removed its cork — a thick mist of blue smoke arose from within the bottle. I stood there aghast, as an apparition appeared saying “I am the genie of the bottle, make a wish and it shall be granted.”
At first I scarcely breathed, then muttered “Tis a delirium of alcohol — only this and nothing more.” So that now, with a perverse heart, I stood and implored “Make me a pair of the finest trousers.”

Coming Soon . . . A HISTORY OF SENRYU
A Satire of R.H. Blyth’s History of Haiku
by Alan Pizzarell
Translations by Yuko Otomo