Thread: Harriet wakes

She takes a long draw on her kretek. She knows it's bad for her health, but she is living dangerously this year, and she loves how it feels going down. Five years ago her husband Edgar, who often traveled to the far east on business, chose to end their marriage and take on a new life abroad. Did I say life? I meant wife. Well, both actually. Their friends hear from him sporadically: he has never been happier! Edgar's new wife is a delicate frangipani of a girl, a true Shakti to his Shiva [note to the spelling police: please substitute Shakti and Shiva if you prefer---it's really tricky to transliterate the retroflected S]. In all modesty, if pushed Edgar will own to keeping a sizeable fraction of his new wife's village in his employ as an ongoing act of benevolence. Thus, his retainers include a cook, an amah for his beautiful babies, two maids, a groundskeeper, and a chauffeur. Not to complain, for he would never, but why wasn't Harriet ever this serene when she was raising his other children? She always seemed so...harried, rushing around hither and yon. Sure, he misses the children, but a man can only deny his Martian nature for so long.

Harriet initially came close to immolating herself on the pyre of her dead marriage, but she liked to think that she had moved on with her life. Being Irish, and not Indian, she had finally decided to wake the dead instead. Both of the children were in college now, and Harriet felt liberated as never before to explore her options. She'd had her fill of Mars-men, so she set about in search of a man from Venus. Lamentably, she found that they existed only in the immortal lines of the poet-bard of Limerick, to wit:

"There once was a fellow from Venus,
Who had an immensely long...

...and so on, best not repeated here. Harriet's experience led her to conclude that such a one was only a figment of a fevered poetic imagination.

Harriet took a couple of workshops through the local adult ed. program, and one was called "Willendorf 101: Finding your inner Goddess." You may surmise from this how vulnerable Harriet was at this point, how easily gulled. She went away from the class with the conviction that she was an embodiment of the goddess, and that what she needed was a suitable god-consort. No cineaste she, Harriet had nonetheless once taken in a movie in which Eddie Murphy, playing an African prince, went to New York City to seek a bride in the borough of Queens. What better place for her own search than the Island of the Gods?
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If only Edgar could see me now, she thinks, suppressing a bitter titter. Ketut is making his way across the room from the bar, and she likes what he is bringing to the table, namely a couple of cold Bintangs. He, in turn, likes what she has brought to the table, namely a handbag stuffed with travelers cheques.


.....to be continued, or not......

Please continue.

There are several interesting subtexts here and I am very curious to see where you are leading. The spaces are speaking at an eaqual decibal level.

Literary fop Py.

Yes please continue...we are waiting to hear what Harriet does next....and by the way ,welcome to our forum...hope you will enjoy it...G...

I'm on your lips with a Smile. Keep 'em coming!

Thanks for the welcome and your interest. I'm a little curious about Harriet too, so I may write some more just so I can find out how it all turns out. (Not today, though---all I'm getting in my head is potential country music lyrics, which I'm not so sure would play very well in this venue). All I know for sure is the rest of the limerick.

Is anyone game for addressing the "subtexts" head-on amongst ourselves, or does poor Harriet have to live them out? Or is that best left for threads on the other part of the forum, where I fear to tread because I am not an "ex-pat living in Bali"? (I am actually more of a self-displaced person, an Appalachian living in New England).

As with all adventures of the mind and life, Harriet will need to life out her struggles. I could not begin to address any of the issues and will leave it to your literary expertise

Who would have thought we'd find ourselves buried in plastic and duct tape? The tackiness of our fate exceeded only by its terribleness. Behemoth, I plead with you, please resurface, come in from the snow, rewrite the wintry circumstances of our lives.... It's time for Harriet to wake up.....or for the B.Mo to roll.....L