ringo starr

watermelons, watermelon;
everywhere, everyone.

it’s the season of watermelons. i see them all around. i see them when i go to work. i see them when i come home. i see them when i take ringo starr (my pet dog’s name- massive beast of a german shepherd) for a walk. i see them on the fruit stands next to the giant poplar trees.

i seen them even on the riverbed the other day when i was rushing to get to the meetingplace. and i seen them in my dreams too.

giant, light-green, scarlet, heavy-set, juicy, watery, fleshy, corpulent beings
[them watermelons]

massive piles of them arranged carefully in lego-brick manner under old tattered jute bags.
and often that one big watermelon sitting on top of the pile and displaying an obscenely large and scarlet wound on its side. a portion the shape of a tiny square window cut out of its body. inviting the thirsty, heat-struck, dazed and confused passers-by.

ringo and i stop by a pile and i point to the largest of the pile: “how much for that one?”
-“hm. i wouldn’t recommend that one, sir.”
-“and why not? i want that one.”
-“because it’s tasteless. full of water only.”
-“which is why i want it. how much?”
-“let me weigh it for you. you’re the one paying for it.”
-“you’re damn right i am.”

the repeating patterns on the concrete yard below look clearer from up here. i catch my breath -climbing three stories is an effort in itself, but carrying this giant watermelon in my hands i feel spent.

ringo is lazily chasing bugs on the grass behind the house.

eversince i saw the first ripe watermelon of this season, i was possessed of an irresistable and irrational urge to do this. and now, i am about to do it.

again i look over the railing and down at the concrete yard three stories below. then i glance around to make sure no one’s watching. i take the watermelon, raise it above my head, lean over, and drop it.

the green giant plummets undecorously and all too quickly, and crashes on the concrete below. scarlet flesh, slippery black seeds, green-whitish skin, and plenty of water explode out of it into a radius of four feet.

i think to myself “that was quick… next time i ought to film it and then watch the moment of impact in slow motion.”

then i climb over the railing, aim for the exact point of impact, and dive headlong into the red fleshy watery fray with slippery seeds. i remember the first lines of the satanic verses and sing:

“proper london, bhai! here we come! those bastards down there won’t know what hit them. meteor or lightning or vengeance of god. out of thin air, baby. dharrraaammm! wham, na? what an entrance, yaar. i swear: splat.”

i fall and fall and fall.
and fall and fall.
and i FALL.

i land in a long corridor [carpeted in red] with white walls, extending infinitely on both ends. the portal above me closes seamlessly just as i pass through. i swear: thud.

i can’t decide which way to go. i miss ringo. a faint noise getting louder. it sounds like a million raindrops hitting a glass ceiling.
i have still not decided which way to go.

down in the corridor i see a shape coming towards me,
getting bigger.

it’s a woman in pigtails and sports clothes riding a bike. the bike has a wire basket in front. just as i am about to feel relieved at the sight of another person, i see the brown envelopes in the basket and a deep, dark, dreadful terror takes hold of me.
i run.
and run.
and RUN.

and i slip.
i fall.

prostrate, i look up at the woman in pigtails standing above me, tiptoeing on her left foot with the bike leaning to one side. she takes a brown envelope from the basket and throws it down at me.
and says:
“you have six days.”


~ by safrang on June 5, 2008.

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