Castro the Extraordinary (part one)
by 
joeyh
|
Posted: Sunday, February 19, 2006 Word Count: 390 Summary: A short story began under the influence of beer and Bulgakov at half one on a Monday morning. Owes debts to Paul Theroux (Millroy the Magician) and Ian Thompson (Bonjour Blanc) - but with no pretence of equality. |
Castro the Extraordinary was wiggling his toes by the side of the stage before his big entrance. As usual, he was barefoot. Flexing the front of his right, then his left foot, he was concentrating on the different registers sounded by the creaking floorboards under each foot.
Left creak higher, sharper, right creak softer, a note merely peeking out from beneath the stage - it's head above the parapet before shrining back as the toes elevated themselves.
Then the hammond organ struck up a truer, more strident note, before breaking into the Radetzky March. Da-da-da da-da-da daa da-da-da da-da-da da-da-daaa... Castro the Extraordinary considered this counterpoint to the floorboards' groanings, before straightening his posture, adjusting the human pelvis bone he'd fashioned into a hat, tugging the creases from his whale-hair shirt (these immediately, stubbornly sprang back) and propelled his tiny frame onto the stage in a single bound.
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Monsieur Codify watched from the back of the small theatre, leaning disdainfully on a tobacco-stained wall. Unable to take a seat ('booked up two weeks ago, boss. Could've sold this one out three times over'), a discreetly slipped banknote had got him the standing room all to himself. £50 baksheesh and fire regs be damned, eh? Monsieur Codify thought to himself, particularly noting the fuggy miasma fully unfurling from a number of expressively held Gitanes and Gauloises. Monsieur Codify's rarified nostrils also detected pipe tobacco, hashish (Moroccan, he thought) and a faint tang of urine, which roused a memory of an old Irish novel he had read as a student back in Montreal. He allowed himself to fall into a semi-reverie of kidney sandwiches before: da-da-da da-da-da da-da-da daaa da-da-da da-da-da da-da-daaa; the Radetzky March. Then his half-brother leapt barefoot onstage with a pelvis bone on his head and a dead eel for a scarf. The gap between his light snakeskin trousers and his hideously itchy-looking grey shirt was enough to reveal his hirsute navel. Castro the Incredible pulled a small cuddly toy dog from his rear pocket with his right hand, and rattling the bracelet of tiny skulls around his left wrist produced an expensive-looking black lighter from his sleeve, and in one swift motion, with eyes rolled back, he set fire to the dog's head. Then a member of the audience emitted a scream of the purest agony.
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Left creak higher, sharper, right creak softer, a note merely peeking out from beneath the stage - it's head above the parapet before shrining back as the toes elevated themselves.
Then the hammond organ struck up a truer, more strident note, before breaking into the Radetzky March. Da-da-da da-da-da daa da-da-da da-da-da da-da-daaa... Castro the Extraordinary considered this counterpoint to the floorboards' groanings, before straightening his posture, adjusting the human pelvis bone he'd fashioned into a hat, tugging the creases from his whale-hair shirt (these immediately, stubbornly sprang back) and propelled his tiny frame onto the stage in a single bound.
-----
Monsieur Codify watched from the back of the small theatre, leaning disdainfully on a tobacco-stained wall. Unable to take a seat ('booked up two weeks ago, boss. Could've sold this one out three times over'), a discreetly slipped banknote had got him the standing room all to himself. £50 baksheesh and fire regs be damned, eh? Monsieur Codify thought to himself, particularly noting the fuggy miasma fully unfurling from a number of expressively held Gitanes and Gauloises. Monsieur Codify's rarified nostrils also detected pipe tobacco, hashish (Moroccan, he thought) and a faint tang of urine, which roused a memory of an old Irish novel he had read as a student back in Montreal. He allowed himself to fall into a semi-reverie of kidney sandwiches before: da-da-da da-da-da da-da-da daaa da-da-da da-da-da da-da-daaa; the Radetzky March. Then his half-brother leapt barefoot onstage with a pelvis bone on his head and a dead eel for a scarf. The gap between his light snakeskin trousers and his hideously itchy-looking grey shirt was enough to reveal his hirsute navel. Castro the Incredible pulled a small cuddly toy dog from his rear pocket with his right hand, and rattling the bracelet of tiny skulls around his left wrist produced an expensive-looking black lighter from his sleeve, and in one swift motion, with eyes rolled back, he set fire to the dog's head. Then a member of the audience emitted a scream of the purest agony.
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