The working hours had just ended and Obelisk saw his friend Asterisk in the distance. He was too far ahead to call out to him, and his boots weren't exactly in the best condition to try to catch up with him. He set off home alone. He was half-happy, considering that after a long time he had managed to arrange a meeting. A date, as the new and promising generations liked to say.
On the way to the apartment, he stopped at the local colonial and bought something to eat. If buying can be considered signing a contract. The salesman's cynical remarks that he had an outstanding debt and that he was doing him a great favor slightly dampened the half-happiness he was in, but despite this, the pinkish cloud on which he was sailing remained intact. While getting ready for the date, he noticed that the cavities were dancing a tango in his mouth, that the razor had long since been dulled, and that the lotion smelled too aggressively and smacked of cheapness. But he didn't have the strength to worry, even though all those facts were corrosive to the semi-happiness he found himself in.
Improvisation is a specialty of certain social classes, and so was Obelisk, and his resourcefulness was at a high level. He knew how to make lunch out of any leftovers from yesterday. And on cheap electricity. He knew how to eat for a sum that would drive even the inhabitants of Bangladesh to despair. It was a little more difficult with clothes, and his health never obeyed resourcefulness, unfortunately. The date, as a date, began with a bouquet of flowers. There was an old-fashioned trait in Obelisk's character that wanted to let the feminine know that he was feminine. Theories about gender equality were suspicious to him.
Semipyramid, his partner that evening, wasn't who-knows-what, but she wasn't anything either. More or less of the same class as Obelisk, she knew what to expect, but still she didn't fail to insist on a restaurant that Obelisk didn't know.
Still, she agreed and they went there.
The date was good, without any drama but also without any slips. She noticed that Obelisk was nervous. He just prayed that she would go to the bathroom so that he could study the menu carefully, do the math, see if there was any kind of trap hidden, a trap that would kill poor Obelisk's Ego. Unfortunately, Semipyramid never went to the bathroom, `Are there women like that?' Obelisk thought. Apparently there were. And there were some who drank at least 750 milliliters of wine on a date. But whatever. Obelisk is resourceful, he'll manage. He said that he was in therapy for something so he wouldn't drink alcohol that evening. The truth was that his budget didn't allow him two bottles of wine in a restaurant, but he had to give wings to improvisation.
The moment of truth came, the waiter, like a mythical monster with the bill in his hand, slowly approached the table. Poor Obelisk, now he knew what it was like for soldiers in the trenches on the Western Front before the attack. She was saying something but he was focused on the waiter like a guided missile on a target.
And the verdict was in. Seven hundred and twenty shinters. Darkness descended on Obelisk's eyes, darkness enveloped his brain, the room seemed to be shrinking and would crush him. He only had 750 shinters, almost half his salary. What now? The waiter expected a tip, and a date was a date, long-term plans were at stake with Miss Semipyramid.
All 750 went, and it was time for a taxi.
The goddess of improvisation did not abandon him, she remembered the possibility of a long walk because of the beautiful evening. She looked at him uneasily, her heels were not designed for six-kilometer marches and on the other hand she was still a kind of semi-romantic nature and still agreed. Obelisk almost smiled and was pleased to dare to send a kiss. On the cheek, as befits a gentleman from behind the gas station.
If the goddess of improvisation was inclined towards Obelisk, the god of time was not. She might have had problems with the union of gods in the Pantheon and decided to vent her anger on ordinary mortals. Yes...it began to pour as if a flood were imminent. Obelisk and Semipyramid tried to take shelter in several places but the wind carried the rain right into their faces. Finally they found a place and Obelisk noticed that his feet were flooded. The Chinese clogs were worthy of their reputation. They were even inclined to make an extra effort for our Obelisk by the fact that the sole began to peel off and hang. This time Obelisk had only one way to save his Ego from the massacre and that was to part with her immediately so that the slapping of the peeled sole would not be heard. He told her that the date had been phenomenal but that she had to take her therapy on time or it would be for nothing. He muttered a few apologetic phrases and left, leaving Semipyramid completely disappointed.
He knew that she understood what was going on. And he didn't expect to see them again.
Arriving at the apartment, he noticed the plastic bag with supplies from the colonial. A can of sardines, yesterday's bread, a bag of shampoo, a light bulb. He wasn't hungry, and he thought about going to bed after he'd had his last cigarette. It wasn't worth getting disappointed anyway. He might not see the morning in the arms of the semi-beautiful Sammy, but a breakfast feast of sardines awaited him. Not ordinary ones, but the ones with tomato sauce!
And then...back to work.
(Roger Mortis 032)
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