THE SOLDIER WHO CAME TO DINNER: PART FOUR.
DINNER IN THE STRANGE HOUSE.
I
gingerly emerged from my hiding-place in the back of the house, that chamber of
horrors whence I had been divested of all my humanity, my clothing, my hair, my
dignity and my manhood; and allowed my friend to lead me into the kitchen. The boy’s aunt regarded me with hands
on her hips; her face was one of approval. “Good to see your friend has decided to join the world of
the living.” She nodded. “I see my nephew shaved your hair and
beard off. Are you more
comfortable now?” I nodded to
reassure her; still unsure of myself.
I felt very much naked and defenseless.
“Well,
are you hungry, soldier? We were just discussing what to do about supper.” My stomach still felt like an empty
abyss. I was all too conscious of
its various quakings and tremblings and groans. I cleared my throat.
“Ahem…may I have some water, please?” “Why of course! I’ll get you a glass honey.” She opened up one of her many
dark-stained wood cupboards and extracted a vessel for me to drink from. She twisted a knob and a steady stream
of clear water poured out of the spigot poised over the inset bowl in the
counter-top. She then walked over
to a large upright box that appeared made of pocelain and opened up the front
of it, which swung open on unseen hinges.
I was startled to see many different containers of what must have been
food stacked inside this box.
Steam or water-vapor poured out of it, I felt a draft of cold air. It seemed this was how they kept their
food from spoiling. With a cold
box inside the house!
Incredible. She opened up a
small drawer and extracted two tiny blocks of ice, which she dropped into the drink.
She then closed the door on the giant ice-box and offered the glass to
me. I gulped it down without a
moment’s hesitation. I had never
drank water so clear and pure or chilled before. “Very good. Danke” I thanked her most graciously and
returned the glass she had offered.
“Now if you want more, this fridge dispenses cold water and ice cubes. Push these buttons here.” I drew closer and saw one was labeled Ice
and the other Water. Truly
spectacular!
So
leaning against the counter, the boy’s aunt said, “So would the guest be so
kind as to help me prepare dinner?”
My friend interjected on my behalf and said, “Uh…actually, I was
wondering if we should have a cookout on the deck. My friend really likes to eat food cooked over a fire
outside when the weather’s nice. Reminds him of camping.”
“…Alrighty.
I was going to order a pizza but I guess we can do that. Sorry my husband is not home from work
yet, so I’ll go out and fire up the old grill. Be a dear and grab the hot dogs and rolls and
condiments. And get some drinks to
bring out. Pop cans are in those boxes.”
She gestured at some brightly colored boxes stacked in the corner.
I
confided in my young friend, silently so she could not hear. “What is a ‘hot dog’?” “Oh,” --he said-- “Sausages. Like
your German bratwurst. It’s just what we call ‘em.” Imagine my relief to learn they were not made of cooked dog
meat!
I
saw the boy’s aunt leave the house by sliding open a glass panel, which she shut
behind her. She stepped out onto
the back porch and uncovered what looked like a round metal cooking-pot by
lifting off a very large round lid.
It was shiny and black, not dull like cast iron. I noticed the pot was on three thin
metal legs. Reaching beneath it,
she extracted a paper bag and poured out some black stones into the pot, and
hinged down a metal grate over them.
Then she picked up a can and poured some liquid on to the stones. She
then pushed a button underneath the pot, I heard a snap and the stones went up
in flames a foot high! So
this was how they cooked with a bon-fire.
I
watched with keen interest as she stirred the charcoals with a metal rod and
then closed the lid. White smoke
escaped through a hole in the top.
Watching the fire suddenly made me ache for some boiled coffee. I asked my friend how I could go about
boiling some water, to make that elixir of life that was the staple of every
soldier’s diet; that had revigored me after many a long march.
“You
want to drink coffee this late?
…Well, yeah I guess. You
guys live on coffee and whiskey pretty much all the time. I could heat some water up on the
stove. Like you, I prefer the
old-fashioned way to using the micro-wave.” So many curious words, and wondrous time-saving
devices. I could only speculate
what a “micro-wave” was or how such a thing worked.
“Time
to teach you how we cook on a modern stove, my friend. Should only take a few
minutes. It’s quicker than a fire,
she’s got an electric cooktop. Only thing is, you gotta be careful to turn it
off when you’re done. You won’t see anything burning. But believe me, you’ll feel the heat. Don’t lay your hand or
rest your arm on it or anything. You’ll be sorry.”
He
led me to a boxy affair that was set into the counter-tops and cabinets. It was made of some highly polished
surface like the cooking-pot outside.
I noticed knobs and a glowing display of some kind on a panel above
it. The top of this stove was
smooth, with no evidence of a griddle or indeed, anything to mar its
surface. My friend turned a knob,
and a small lamp was lit. A
circular area roughly eight inches square on this smooth and featureless top of
the stove began to glow a soft red, which gradually brightened to orange. I could feel heat rising from this “hot
spot”, despite there being no evidence of flames! Where did the heat come from? He placed a very shiny teakettle into the “sink”, and let
some water pour into it. Then, covering his hand with a thick glove of some
kind, he placed this kettle-full of water directly on top of the glowing
spot.
In no
more than a minute, it began to boil
and whistle! I remember trying for
hours just to get a fire going and then another hour to boil some water. What marvelous wonders there were in this
kitchen! Then, he removed the
kettle and poured its steaming water into a pot with a handle made of some
hardened, black tar-like material.
He asked of me whether I had any coffee beans and a means to grind
them. “Let me fetch my
haversack.”
I
left the room and went back in the bath-room where my haversack lay undisturbed
on the tile floor. Fortunately I had a poke sack full of some of the finest
coffee beans shipped to me from home, which were sent to us from a plantation
down in Mexico. I also had in my
victual effects a poke sack of about six ounces of raw sugar. And of course, my old tin dipper. I hurried back to the kitchen with said
effects, and readied my coffee.
I
explained to my cohort that we did not like to grind our coffee beans, but
rather boiled them whole in the water.
I demonstrated by drawing the string tightly of my poke-sack, then tying
it in a knot so no beans would escape.
I then carefully dropped it into this hot water, which was now bubbling
furiously. I told him it had to
sit for no less than an hour. I
would have to keep stirring it with a wooden spoon.
“Very
well,” my friend said. “So you
know how to use the stove now. Don’t touch anything else unless I show you how
to use it. Okay?”
“O-K” I responded with the mysterious
acronym. He left me in the
kitchen to join his Aunt on the back veranda. I stood there before the stove,
watching the pot boil on its invisible fire, stirring slowly with the spoon and
humming a camp tune softly to myself, feeling much more at ease.
I
glanced out the window at the two figures talking on the back veranda with
their backs turned to me. I
remembered with no great enthusiasm the problem of my lice-infested clothing. It had been a long time since I had
boiled my shirt and socks. If this
was the only means of heating water, it would be quite an inconvenience to do
it on this stove. I did not see a
bucket or any such vessel of sufficient size. It occurred perhaps I could fill the tub in the bath-room
with water and thus cleanse my clothing in that way; perhaps if I let the water
out of the wall run very hot.
After
the space of about an hour my coffee was ready. Instead of trying to pour the pan into my cup (having burned
myself rather severely before around the campfire) I scooped some liquid with
my tin dipper. Raising it to my
lips, and taking in deeply of the rich aroma….perfect! I then
reached for the knob to turn it to the “off” position.
Having
made sure that the stove was no longer hot, I decided to examine some of the other
fantastic devices in this contemporary kitchen. I walked over to the large porcelain ice-box and saw it said
“Frigidaire” on it. So that must
be what it’s called. Frigid
Air. Makes sense I suppose. I pulled the shiny handle and the
container swung open. The door
appeared quite heavy. Inside were
all the various food and drink containers. I could ascertain the victual contents of many of these
containers by the pictures on them.
There was an opened can of peaches, a carton of orange juice, a clear
bottle of lemonade, and a container of milk, with a cow on it. And various condiments which appeared
to have something to do with the preparation of vegetables. I extracted the jug of milk to pour
some into my coffee. It had been
quite a long time since I had enjoyed cream in my coffee of any kind.
Replacing
the container and closing the large white ice-box, and sipping from my tin cup,
I then moved to a smaller black box with another handle on it. I pulled that handle, and the entire
front of the box swung down. Inside were dishes, plates and bowls and cups in
racks of some kind. And a bin full
of silverware. I shut the door and
noticed some more labelled buttons and knobs on it. Curious. Then,
I moved across the room to another black box, which said something along the
lines of “General Electric Large Capacity Microwave Oven” There was another handle on it; the
front must have been a door. This
must be the micro-wave device my young friend told me about. I curiously opened the door. It appeared to be a featureless white
box inside. There was a circular dish or plate of
some sort on the bottom, and another one of those lamp lights inside that
turned itself on when I opened the box.
I closed it again and it latched tightly. The light went out. There was an array of buttons which
appeared printed on the outside of this box. A bunch of numbers were displayed in a glowing window, with
two flashing dots. This looked as
if it were measuring time; a clock of some kind. Experimentally, I tried touching a few of the buttons. New numbers flashed across the screen
and then letters. “Please close door and push start to cook food” I found the button labeled START and pushed it.
The thing made a strange noise and then the light inside turned on. I saw the dish rotating slowly around
as the strange thing whirred and blew air at me from somewhere behind it. Then I pushed the STOP button.
I opened up the door, and felt a faint heat inside. It felt strange on my skin. As the door was open, I noticed small
instructions printed on the inside of the door. With different cooking times for various types of food. I decided to experiment. I noticed my coffee was getting cold,
so I placed the cup inside this ‘microwave’ and closed the door, latching it tightly
shut. I noticed a small buttoned
labeled reheat. I pushed it and the device whirred to life again. I saw a counter rolling backwards with
each second. I watched the liquid
carefully for signs it was beginning to boil. Then something happened I did not expect.
There
was a loud sound, and sparks started to jump off the metal in my coffee
cup! The inside of the microwave
started to glow. The cup started
to rattle. Smoke or steam of some
kind was coming out from around this door! Frantically, I fumbled with the buttons and hit STOP. It had no effect. The microwave started to spark from behind. Then, my eardrums were assaulted by the
shrillest, most piercing scream I had ever heard. I clapped hands over my ears and yelled as I felt it was
boring into my skull. SCREEEEECH!
SCREEEEEECH!
A
frightful commotion ensued, as my friend and her dear aunt came barging into
the room and saw the mess I had created.
This black box was on fire and sparks were leaping out in all
directions, and….that blaring screech inside my ears! I cowered in the corner as my friend and aunt started to
shout unintelligible words at me.
I saw him pull a thin black wire out of a socket in the wall while his
aunt reached for a cylindrical bright red tank with a black nozzle and a fire
symbol printed on it. She
continued to yell as she pulled a red pin out of this tank, and squeezed the
handle. A stream of curious white
foam sprayed out all over the microwave.
It steamed, but the fire went out.
My friend sternly grabbed me by the arm and yanked me to my feet. He essentially threw me out the back
door and slammed it behind him.
I stumbled out into the back veranda as I heard the frenzied shouts from
inside. It sounded like a heated
argument.
I
felt an awful sensation in the pit of my stomach as I came to the realization I
could have burned the entire house down.
I sank to the ground and held my head in my hands, and began to
weep. What a pathetic creature I
was. The screaming inside the
house continued for some time. Then it died down and became low voices. A long discussion.
Then
at length, I saw the door open and my friend, ashen-faced, approaching me. He sat down beside me. He pressed a plate with a sausage on a
bun on it into my lap. “Here,
eat. You need to eat
something. We need to have a
talk.” I glumly nodded, still
teary-eyed, as I hungrily devoured the blackened sausage. He rubbed my back as he could see I was
very upset.
“Didn’t
I tell you not to touch anything in that house without permission?”
“Yes you did tell me….I’m sorry
sir.”
“Maybe
it’s my fault. You were just curious.
I didn’t explain to you how that thing worked. I should have.
You see, how it works is there’s an invisible beam of light that
scatters all over inside that box, and heats up the food by expanding little
pockets of water trapped inside the food.
I forgot to explain that if metal is in there, it reflects this light
beam and because of how it works, it could start a fire. I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to yell at
you, we were just scared. You didn’t know any better.”
I
had lost my composure at that point.
More than anything, my dear readers, I wanted to go home. This was just
too humiliating. I had no shred of
dignity left within myself. I
began trembling and sobbing into my friend’s shoulder uncontrollably for a few
minutes, while he did his best to comfort me. I felt like a terrible mindless bumbling idiot. I was unfit to live or function
properly in this society. I felt
as if I was an outsider, scorned and rejected for my careless and clumsy
ways. I tearfully asked him if I
would be thrown out of the house and driven from this lovely home, having
nowhere else to go.
My
friend sighed and said, “Well obviously, we can’t leave you alone in the
house. Now it so happened that my
aunt’s microwave was very old, and she needed a new one anyhow. So later, we’ll have to go out and help
her pick out a new one. I talked
it over with her, and she knows your story now of where youc ome from. I understand you must feel very out of
place here, and scared, confused and alone.”
I
nodded, still sniffling.
“Well,
we talked it over, and we think the best thing for us to do is take you back
where you belong, so you can find your way home. But we can’t do anything about it today, because the
battlefield and park are closed.
You’ll have to spend the night here, since we know you can’t go anywhere
else. We’ll figure out what to do
in the morning. But for now we
should take you out of the house and off my aunt’s hands for awhile. Let her clean the place up. I told her I want to take you out to
dinner at a fine restaurant and get a good meal in you, and then maybe take you
to see a show. Would you like
that?”
I
told him I would very much like to leave this place where I had been so
thoroughly humiliated, and never darken her door again or trouble her with my
idiotic foolhardyness. He told me
to cheer up, and that things would work out for the best and I should not be so
down on myself. “Come on, I’ll go
get some things and then I’m taking you out, after I make sure I’ve got enough
money. You come inside and just go
wait by the car in the garage. I’ll charge my phone and get ready. Just give me a few minutes.”
I
obeyed him and went back into the house, and obsequiously apologized to my
hostess. She just gave me a firm
squeeze tightly to her bosom, saying “Oh, don’t worry about it deary. That
microwave was fifteen years old. It was an accident waiting to happen. If not to you, then it would have been me.” She gave me a peck on the cheek and
told me to just have fun and behave myself. I assured her that I would try my best not to cause any more
trouble.
TO BE CONTINUED.
No comments:
Post a Comment