Nagoya Writes

February 9, 2008

Fox and Grape by Wali Hawes Kumar

Filed under: Issue: 2001,Kumar,Prose — usbengoshi @ 6:36 pm

A modern fable

“It‘s time” thought Fox as he wolfed down a tit in bits and prepared for his trip to the store in town. Fox was appointing himself with special reference to his luxuriant tail for a visit to Drake‘s the Outfitters in Mare Street, Huntsville. Anticipation mounted in him as Fox carefully preened each strand of his bush. Just this morning he‘d got a call from Milly at the store to tell him that his waistcoat, a “campero” trimmed in lace with adornments especially designed to offset his tail had come in. It was a little bit pricey but what the hell!!.

“Hmm…” He ummed slightly dejectedly. “I should do something about the haliotosis.”

He was unable to avoid seeing himself wince as he peered into the mirror. He really hated admitting it to hisfoxself. According to Herr Killweiller, the local dentist, haliotosis was a problem common to foxes. Herr Killweiller hung out at “The Hog‘s Head” always claiming he was sedating himself after a long day extracting. He claimed the variety of teeth he had to deal with was beyond his training and caused him a lot of stress. Fox had noted that the hog‘s head over the bar was rather short in hogtooth. He carefully replaced his paw which he‘d used as a haliotosis analyser.

“Why should this be such a special day? It can‘t just be due to the waistcoat ?” He thought to himself.

“Could it be due to the Greatness of Nature? The sun‘s aglow in the firmament, the

corn‘s been winnowed and Winnie‘s…???”

Suddenly the thought of Winnie clouded his globe of brightness. He‘d forgotton about Winnie. Winnie was the persistant wombat that waylaid him at every nook and cranny in Huntsville. Wombat‘s were not meant to have persistantcy as a trait. But then again, “Was there a wombat like Winnie?” he concluded gloomily. Still, she was one of the few who cold foxtrot as well as any fox could and she was part of Nature..

“Fox” said Fox aloud closing his eyes and speaking to himself. “You‘ve got to do something about her, once and for all!”

Being a wise fox he decided to put it off till a later day. “Why do today what can always be done tomorrow” He wondered at the sharpness of his mind. Was Dr Cox‘s Brain Tonic working? He imbibed it daily and it was considered effective against Hal‘s Zymer and it did have quite an ennervating kick to it. Picking up a stole he nonchalantly tossed it ‘round his shoulders as he clicked the door shut and waved goodbye to the goldfish…..before popping it intohis mouth.

“ How I love the wonder and vastness of God‘s Creations “ He reflected ignoring the fluttering sliding down to his abdomen.”If only I could forgive the evilness of men, their falseness, their carniverous appetites, greed, avarice, vanity and motorized forms of transport!”

“Hi there Fox! See y‘allready‘anupangoin‘totownanfancyalift,? Hop on.”

It was Farmer Brown. He gently stroked the muzzle of his shotgun which he cradled in his arms.

“It‘s OK, Brown” shouted back Fox, from out of shotgun range. “Just need some time to look over the flowers.”

“Flowers?” said Farmer Brown slightly puzzled. “Not foxgloves!? Ha ha ha ha ha ha,” roared Farmer Brown enjoying his joke immensely.

“Yes” replied Fox weakly.

Farmer Brown chugged out of sight, a brace of pheasant slayed on the deck of the flatbed. Fox was going into town because he was planning a display at the Annual Huntsville Flower Vegetable and Redmeat Fete. He was hoping to win the coveted Blue Ribbon in the Allcomers Category. It was rumored that the niece of Brigit Bardot was to be the guest of honour .

“The niece of Brigit Bardot? Did she have family in Hunstville? I thought she loved animals!?”

Yes indeed it was a splendid day. Fox felt the air race. His step lightened and the path to town beckoned .

“Did I switch off the gas,? What if Samuel the Dragonfly calls? What about that book

for Sunil the Snail and his mate Toots the Turtle? Did he switch on the answering machine? Shall I nip back and check?” All these mundane thoughts and preocupations crowded around his eyes like agitated ant commuters hurrying to move the eggs from flooded nests to drier train compartments on the Tokyo Marunouchi Line. Fox contemptuosly cast these thoughts aside , collected himself and was beyond Willow Deep before you could say Mad Cow Disease. Farmer Gonzalez‘s Cottage, Miramar, the ford at Stoney Brook., the Ashok Rajni Mills all came and went like a river in its endless attempt at sweetening the salt of the oceans. It was on the bridge at Monkey Puzzle Bend that Fox stopped to catch his breath. He stifled a fishy burp as he contemplated the pearly waters which came down from the mills upstream.

Bounding along with renewed vigour he found himself in a purple grove. The light a translucent blue and the leaves tinged with a cosmetic pink blush.

“Oh my God !” He exclaimed stunned by the vision. “Must be my imagination. Can‘t be anything else” He whelped flabbergasted.

What Fox didn‘t realize was that the tremendous exertion, the hot midday sun and the extra gulp of Dr Cox‘s brain tonic had begun to affect him. He felt confused and was suddenly overwhelmed by a raging thirst. He lost his vision. Reality has an almost fox-like cunning in herding you back from flights of fancy, whishful thinking and a longing to be free..

“I‘ve got to do something about my thirst. The Hog‘s Head can‘t be that far away. A furlong at the most” He thought hoarsely.

It was just then that he espied , no not a grove but just a cluster. Ripe, resplendent, round and ready. They were there waiting for him it seemed. As he stood under them he noticed that they were just that bit out of reach, tempting, longing but with a little help, say a ladder, at paw.

“Fox is that you?” sherried grape as a white muzzle and whisker to match neared itself in curly anticipation. Needless to say attached to the muzzle and whiskers was Fox.

“No ! It‘s Irene Butcher the farmer‘s wife” replied Fox doing his best to pass himself off asthe farmer‘s wife.

More than ever the thirst was beginning to tear at the base of his throat. If he‘d had an Adam‘s apple he‘d be left with just the core he lamented to himself. His determination to get that grape was greater than ever. It raged as much as his thirst The poet in him gained the upper hand .

“Oh Grape. An ode to you. You lovely terse skin, you midnightie blue, food of the God‘s of ancient lore, oasis in the far flung deserts of Arabi, fragrance of Chanel charm, grace the Ball at the Hunstville Gala. Be mine! Come to me!”

His imploring squeak was holding out. He briefly saw himself in a frilly collar lute in hand serenading a recalcitrant shefox in mating season outside a foxhole He even thought he managed to sound like the farmer‘s wife and might be getting somewhere.Irene Butcher was also a transgenetic bi-sexual.

However, Grape in the sanctuary of distance and security of cluster unhesitatingly shouted

back.”Fox, you aren‘t Irene Butcher. You ain‘t going to fool me not in a million years even

though I‘m deaf in one pip and blind in the other. And what‘s more you are a lousy poet ! Be off with you.”

Fox finding his cover blown in one bound and in a rage at such insults to his poetreeness lept up and snatched Grape in his jaws. He nipped her off in one fell bite and galloped off over the hill in triumph. Not halfway to Godfry Gulp he felt a terrible ache in his stomach. “Christ what pain !” He shouted doubling up in agony and clutching deperately at his abdomen.

“It‘s Grape ! That lowdownuncouthdoublecrossingexcuseforafruit ! She

was unripe and unfit for fox consumption! Aaaaaaaaarh !!!!” As Fox rolled about in torment

in the middle of the road, Farmer Brown shot by in his flat bed with his brace of pheasant and ran him over leaving him as flat as a board.

That was the end of Fox.

What Fox didn‘t know was the owner of the Howzat Vineyards where Grape had been growing was none other than Faizal Carpentier Suzuki who was hellbent on claiming the Blue Ribbon. In order to achieve his dastardly goal he had injected the illegally gene-modified grapes with toxic non-permitted food colouring and other chemical additives.He was hoping to market the new variety and make a killing.

The new variety was to be called “Greip.”

moral: Never judge a grape by its colour when desperate.

Wali Hawes Kumar is a potter and suffers from permanent brain damage. He is also responsible for the commercially successful seed variety “Beans make you fart”.


1 Comment »

  1. […] Fox and Grape […]

    Pingback by 2001 Issue « Nagoya Writes — February 9, 2008 @ 7:24 pm | Reply

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