SHORT STORIES
By Arthur G. Slade


Jesus Busts A Bronc

A story about what really happens at those backwoods rodeos.

The Worded Man

A short, short piece about one man on a date who has a paranoia of words.

The Elephant King

Ever wonder where elephants go when they die? Just ask Gerry. He seems to take a few vacations in his mind.



Jesus Busts A Bronc




   So I'm at the Shaunavon rodeo sittin in the stands and
it's a typical small town day flags waving clowns laughing
hot dogs sizzling  and damn if these trumpets don't play a
loud glorious note and a voice on the intercom announces the
next rider is Jesus Christ  and I doubletake twice saying
Jesus Christ  and this man in funny robes beside me pipes up
with yeah, Jesus Christ Almighty and he's pretty good I've
been following him for about two thousand years  and so I
sit back in my seat and wait and wait and wait cause there's
all this opera singing first and a smoke show and angels
performing some mystery play and my attention starts to
wander so I turn to the guy next to me and ask so what's
your name anyway buddy  and he answers kinda sad it's
Judas

     So finally the music's over and there's this commotion
in the arena you see they've just wheeled out this stall with
a dark dark one-eyed stallion inside and he's kicking up dust
and snorting fire and his name's Mephistoffily or some such
long-winded thing he looks evil mean and I know this horse
comes from hades acres  the big burning ranch down under
then another trumpet sounds and in walks Jesus or the holy
cowboy as we call him in the west and he's wearing the
slickest snakeskin boots rawhide chaps blue jeans a white
t-shirt a big texas hat and a leather glove on his right
hand and he bows to everyone then swings himself over the
fence lands square on the bronc grabs the rigging nods to
the gatekeeper and the crowd takes a deep long breath

     do you know who I am  Judas asks me right then and I
get kind of annoyed but I remember something about thirty
pieces of silver and a kiss and him stringing himself up
and I mutter yeah yeah yeah  and he says everyone
remembers me for that one day  then he shuts up cause
there's this noise like trees snapping in two and the
bronc busts outta the open gate his back end bucking his
body twisting in the air and that white hat Jesus was
wearing goes shooting straight towards the heavens up
there with sputnik I guess and the bronc hits the ground
and the earth shakes and sparks explode off its hooves
lava shoots skyward and somehow through all this fight
and fire Jesus is hanging on and I can see he's grinning
too

     Judas kinda sighs saying I never really knew what
I was doing you know it seemed like the right thing at
the time  betrayin' him to the elders an all that  and I
think why of all the people in the world do I have to sit
beside Judas Iscariot then there's this crack of thunder
that silenceseveryone you see the stallion has leapt so
high that he actually blots out the sun and angus-black
clouds have darkened half the sky and the bronc kicks and
bucks in the air like he's not ever gonna come down again
then Jesus lets out a yippe yi yay doggie  and lightning
strikes them both lighting them up like those bright
flashing signs in the city and the horse and Jesus
plummet to the ground 

     and the crowd is going absolutely crazy bananas
clapping and hooting and saying right on Jesus  though for
a second I think I can hear crying or sniffling beside me
but then Christ digs his heels into that bronc's side and
it gives its final burst of rebellion breathing fire
twisting bucking and shaking like he's caught in a giant
invisible paint shaker then he spins around so fast he
looks like a tornado and you can't see a thing but dust
smoke and ashes a moment or two later it all clears and
there's Jesus smiling away his arms in the air and that
bronc is whinnying and neighing and trotting backward and
forward whichever way Jesus wants and the crowd cheers so
loud they hear it in Ottawa

     then the apostles come out and surround Jesus like
bodyguards and the intercom announces that's the end of
the show  folks and people start lining up to meet the
star performer and I see Judas beside me just staring like
he's a kid looking through a glass wall at a prize he could
never ever own and I get this kinda almost sad ache and so
I ask why don't you go down and talk to him you know he's
got this rep of being a  forgiving guy  and Judas just shakes
his head and says naw he said it would have been better if
I was never born he doesn't ever want to see me again not
after what I did to him and for the first time I look right
at Judas right at his face and he looks just like me or like
my uncle or like someone I knew a long time ago then he pulls
up his hood turns and he's gone away from the crowd out the
back of the stands and I watch as he  disappears into the
great wide open space of the prairies

     I look down at the people gathering around Jesus asking
for autographs or blessings and Jesus is waving his hat and
everyone's laughing and laughing and people are kneeling and
the sun is bright and I feel my face cause there are tears
in my eyes and I cannot tell if in this very moment I am
feeling joy or sadness


THIS STORY IS PUBLISHED IN THE ANTHOLOGY "WRITING THE LAND" FROM RED DEER PRESS

                 The Worded Man

desperate to see her finally she agrees we meet in
a cafe the smell of coffee a wraith between us and
she whispers it's not right you and I  and her words
stick to the sides of my face like flies she opens
her mouth and launches we're not meant to be that's
just the way it is a spattering of letters marring
my forehead bleeding nausea and now other 
conversations on black minuscule wings are diving 
towards me from other tables how's your mother she's 
fine how's work work's good a shadow strafes me with 
are you ready to order I flee the table the cafe and 
dash into streets sweltering with life watch it ugly  
sticks below my eye and I'm running cause words are 
chasing me like angry bees stinging my neck filling 
the pockets on my suit nice day ain't it have you 
got the time buzzes over my head stings my bald spot 
and now I'm on the pier running running hey mister 
where you going pushes me ahead and down down I fall 
parting the ocean feet first but the words cling tight 
make me heavy and as my lungs fill with salty water I 
open my eyes and see spiraling towards me like black 
minnows what'd he do that for he'll drown
					


               THE ELEPHANT KING
               By Arthur G. Slade


   `I went to Paris today.' Gerry held up a spoon
and squinted at his reflection.  He looked like a
dried up, DT'ing Jesus.  Everyone in the coffee shop
was gawking at us, I could feel their beady eyes. 
`Or at least I think I did.'   
   `What?'
   Gerry lowered the spoon.  Started rubbing his
wrist.  `I saw that Ethel tower--'
   `--Eiffel Tower--'
   `--Yeah, that's it and all these French women
with hats and fancy clothes and everyone was talking
all pretty...you know how they speak, Keith, like
lovers--even if they're orderin' a hot dog they
sound sexy.  And birds were singing, lots of birds
and people eating in outside restaurants.'  He opened
his hands, stared at his palms.  `I touched one of
them gendarmes.  He was strolling by and I reached
out and grabbed his arm.  I thought he was gonna
shoot me for awhile there...he didn't understand
English at all.'
   I sat back because Gerry was leaning a little
close--he's my friend, we went through rehab
together--but he stinks.  And the summer heat
didn't do him any favors.  `Have you been taking
your medication?'
   Gerry rolled his eyes.  `Keith, c'mon.  This
has nothing to do with that stuff.  I just went.'
   `How did you get there?'
   `Huh?'
   `Well did you fly?  Bus?  Walk?  Hijack a
hot air balloon?'
   `I don't know, exactly.  I was thinking
about it and then I was there.'
   `For crying out loud, Gerry, when the man
says take your pills, you take them.  I do.  You
do.  Then everyone's happy.  You don't want
anymore bathtub incidents, do you?'
   He looked like I'd just told him Bambi was
squashed by a two ton garbage truck.  Too bad,
cause he needed to remember one simple rule--take
`em when you got `em.  You pay the price if you
don't.  I have.  Tried to fly south with the
Canadian geese.  Fell twenty feet.  Broke a few
bones.
   Still have a dent in my forehead.
   Gerry was making eyes at his spoon again. 
`You don't believe me, do you?'
   `When's the last time you saw Roger?  Have
you told him about your vacations?'
   `Yeah...he gave me more pills to take, red
ones.  Said to call him if I got the shakes.  Or
if I peed blood.' Gerry paused.  `I wanted you
to believe me.'
   `Why?'
   `Well it's just that...I wanted you to come
with me.  Maybe to Africa again.'
   `You went to Africa?'
	Years slipped off his face, revealing a
grinning child.  `Saw the elephants.  In the
wild, not in a zoo.  Man they're big, Keith. 
Old too and smart--it's in their eyes.  I think
they're as smart as dolphins.  I met their king,
just before he died.  He went off alone `cause he
knew it was his time.  It's their way...don't want
to be a bother to anyone.  It's so...noble.'
   I felt guilty, but I had to bubble burst.  `How
could someone who gets 400 dollars a month from
the government go all the way to Africa?'
   Gerry stared at the table, didn't move for at
least a minute.  Was he catatonic?  `I guess I
couldn't,' he admitted finally.  He had aged again,
his voice millenniums older.  A big downer was
creeping through his system, I'd seen it before. 
`It's impossible, isn't it?  Just another lie I've
been telling myself.  I thought there'd be a place
where the broken people could go and be put together
again.  A reward for the suffering.'
   `There might not be any reward.  We just have to
keep struggling.'
   He nodded.  `I guess,' he murmured, then he stood
slowly.  `I wish you believed me.  Maybe...maybe that
would mean something.'  He slouched out of the cafe,
eyes following him, then looking back at me.  He's my
friend, don't stare.  Life has given us a few extra
knocks.  
   I remembered finding Gerry in the tub, bathing in
red water, babbling about seeing his mother.  Maybe
I'd been too harsh.  God knows, the kid probably just
needed a few kind words.  I tossed some coins on the
table and left.
   I tracked Gerry, not rushing, but keeping an even
pace.  A minute later I saw him across the street,
hunched over, navigating by watching his feet. 
He turned into an alley, one of those dark lanes you
only find in our fair city, and I felt a chill.  What
if he killed himself?
   I sped up.  My mind awash with all the ways to die,
a suicide gallery.  Why else would he go down there
when he lived the other way?  I crossed the street,
darting through traffic.
   All I found in the alley was the backside of
buildings, the smell of tar and garbage and no sunlight.
It'd be a stupid place to die.  I hurried down the lane
and reached a dead end, a brick wall decorated with
graffiti.  John Lennon sucks.  God was stoned when
he made the world.  Hitler is smiling right now.
   Then I heard Gerry, above me.  `Keith, Keith,
Keith.' 
   `Don't jump.'  The words spilled out automatically.
I scanned the rusted steel balconies.  Was he perched
on one?  A ventilator coughed out the smell of
restaurant food, making my stomach tighten.
   `Gerry, don't do it.'
   `Keith.  Keith.  Keith.'
   Now he was close.  Very close.  His quiet voice
calling from the wall beside me.  Behind the bricks.
Inside the dead end.
   Keith.
   I turned and I saw him briefly, not in the wall
but beyond it, as if I were staring through a waterfall.
He was standing in a rectangle of light, a bright sun
behind him, surrounded by grey tree trunks.  Trumpets
blaring like judgment day.
   Then I realized they weren't tree trunks.  They were
elephant legs.  I saw one move ever so slowly.
   Gerry held out his hand.
   Keith, come on...step through.  It's not that far.
   I was frozen.
   He motioned, urgent.
   Keith.
   I edged my right foot ahead, then my left, sleepwalking.
A car horn blared on the street behind me.  It sounded
so real.
   I hesitated.  Gerry became fuzzy and vanished.
   I stared at the wall, reached towards it.  First my
fingers touched, then my palms.  The bricks were oven warm
and solid as stone.

(This Story was originally published in Transition Magazine)
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