Chapter 20: Trumped
8.4.2002 Edited by , every Sunday.
Following their unlikely encounter with the somewhat-legendary Gilgamesh, Bjorn’s adventure finally took a turn towards predictability. He and Jesus were able to find the key to controlling the date to which the pills went and send themselves to the beautiful 19th century French countryside. They found a small farmhouse, where they settled.
Bjorn began a small cheese-making operation that expanded to serve the three neibouring towns as well as their own and Jesus proved to be quite fertile, raising a family of 9 children (3 boys and 6 girls), all conceived in Bjorn and Jesus’ regular nights of passio…
Bjorn awoke with a start from the rustling of leaves directly above his ear. As he turned his head, a small mouse scurried past his face, over his waist and into the trees. Jesus was sound asleep to his left.
Bjorn rose, now wide awake, and began to gather his things for whatever journey may lay ahead. They had found refuge for the night in a small forest a few kilometers east of the ziggurat. It was night when they sprinted from its collapsing caves and they had decided that there wasn’t any immediate danger, so they could get some very needed sleep.
They had decided that their plan for the day really was non-existent. They couldn’t stay in ancient Sumeria, as that would leave them sitting ducks for any plan McNoHart might have. The only other option was to use another pill. So that’s what they were going to do.
Jesus awoke several hours later, four and three quarters to be exact. This left Bjorn more than enough time to prepare some breakfast for Jesus and himself, eat his breakfast, eat Jesus’ breakfast, search unsuccessfully for his car, and then prepare a large lunch for Jesus and himself. What would they eat, you ask? Why mushrooms and dried fruit of course.
Following lunch, they decided there was nothing left to do but take their pills. Bjorn handed Jesus a pill from the bag, they clasped hands and then swallowed the pills. Feelings of fear and relief engulfed Bjorn as the recognizable churning of the stomach once again overtook him.
When he awoke, Bjorn was elated.
He had landed in New York. But not just any New York, a modern New York. A New York with tall buildings and lots of people and garbage on the streets. Lots and lots of garbage! A New York where one could find a fake pair of Oakleys in 10 minutes.
“I’m almost home, Jesus!”
He hailed a cab and asked to go to Times Square. There, he bought lunch and a new set of clothes for both Jesus and himself. He still had the American money that he had been carrying at work the day that it all began. It was enough to pay for them both for several days. They could fly back to Washington on his AMEX.
Bjorn’s mind began to drift into dreams. He thought of returning to his home, to his job, to his regular life. No interruptions, distractions or entertainment.
“You wanted Times Square, right!? It’ll be fifteen bucks!”
Bjorn paid the cabby, but skimped on the tip on account of his rough manners. He led Jesus into the square and to some street vendors.
“What do you want?! Pretzels, Hotdogs, Wieners, Sausages… it’s all here.” Bjorn was almost hysterical as he was surrounded by familiar food.
“Any of the last three sound delicious,” Jesus replied, “But no pretzels, I don’t like the shape.”
After having gorged themselves on seven or eight courses, Bjorn and Jesus began walking.
“What was it you said you did for a living?” Bjorn asked.
“I don’t think I did say.”
“I’m the world’s oldest profession. Where I’m needed, I go. I’m not the in the most respectable positions…”
“Who is!?” Bjorn interjected, laughing (and totally missing the point).
“Yes, heh. In short, I’m a pros…”
“Excuse me, would you by any chance be Bjorn Lincoln?” A small man with a narrow face and horn-rimmed glasses meekly poked Bjorn on the shoulder.
“Why yes, in fact, I am!” Bjorn replied, with the same excitement that had consumed him since awaking in New York.
“I represent Donald Trump, famous billionaire celebrity. He recognized you from his office and asked that I come get you for a short meeting.”
How odd, Bjorn thought to himself, What on earth would Donald Trump want to meet me about? Oh, well, it sounds like a lark, why not?
“Lead away, good sir.”
Bjorn and Jesus followed the small man into a large office building nearly a block up the road. He lead them through the lobby and into the elevator, where they rose to floor 81 before stopping and exiting the elevator into a beautiful office overlooking much of New York.
“Welcome, Mr. Lincoln! Can I offer you a drink?” It was Donald Trump himself, dressed in a lavender suit.
A Lavender suit, how odd, Bjorn once again thought to himself, Why would such a rich and stylish man like Donald Trump want to wear a lavender suit? It’s almost is if he’s not really Donald Trump… Oh, well, no bother.
“No thanks, I don’t drink. But you wouldn’t happen to have any chocolate milk, would you.”
“Actually, I’m quite well stocked.”
“I’ll take three litres.”
“And for the lady?”
“Scotch. Straight. Lots.” Jesus looked very uncomfortable in the surroundings. Trump’s lavender suit didn’t seem to be helping.
“Now, Bjorn, I’m sure you’re very curious as to why I would pick you off the street and call you to my office for a private meeting in my incredibly nice and incredibly expensive office.”
“Yes, that thought had passed through my mind.”
Man, I really have to go the bathroom… Bjorn thought to himself.
“Well, I’ll be honest with you Bjorn, there’s some good news and there’s some bad news. Which would you like you hear first?”
“The good news, please”
Dude! I really have to go to the bathroom! I’m going to burst here
“Well, you seem like a really good guy.”
“And the bad news?”
Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod. Pleeeaaase let him finish this soon.
“Well, I’m actually not Donald Trump. I’m a robot and an agent for McNoHart and I’ve brought you here to kill you.”
As fear engulfed him, a sense of relief overtook him.
By Ben Piper