Falstaff and Me
The Unsown Field: Canto 11

by Paul Bailey

Geoffrey and his hostess — a temporary jolt of memory — Geoffrey’s fanfic

Author’s note: Do not expect the ‘fanfic’ part to make it into the final draft, parody or not. The reasons should be obvious.

While sinking in sorrow, our slow-witted hero —
our brining boy, our boob in a pickle —
his feet felt funny, or fizzy you’d say,
as the muddy marinade did make his toes tickle.

“O Burve, O Burve, abandon me then.
Go, then, with Ghoh, and forget this poor dunce.
She’d rather not rescue her wretched friend,
and it follows I failed to be friends with her once.”

“Oh stop with your simpering, you stupid wimp!
You grasp and you grovel, and gosh do you whine,
but no one will know it, and no one will care.
So quit with your crying, and quietly brine.”

“Who calls out this evening? Oh, who could it be?
Are you my new conscience, since Stahp ain’t with me?
He wasn’t a conscience by any degree.”

“A conscience? What? Your head must be airy.
Know that you speak to the lathering fairy.
To see to’t you sink is the duty I carry.”

“You aren’t here to save me? But surely you must!
To let me just rot here is way too unjust!
If you had a conscience you’d help me, I trust.”

“A thousand like you (though not so annoying)
— I made sure they sunk here, a job I’m enjoying.
To gather you fools here, two boys she’s employing.”

“‘She,’ did you say? But who could she be?
I’m sure that this ‘She’ would fain set me free.
I’ve done nothing wrong. Why, nothing, you see.
A paragon of virtue, that’s what I am.
I deserve so much better, O brining madame.
So won’t you please help me escape from this jam?”

“You beg like they all do, it’s really no use.
They ask for exceptions or call for a truce.
What fools think a fairy would half give a deuce!”

“That’s not what that word means—”

“—but since we have time,
let’s break down your plea, ‘I’ve committed no crime.’
If true, then I’d free you from this lathering grime.
Examine yourself and ask if you’re good.
Have you really been doing the things that you should?
Or have you been idle like ever a boy would?“

“Why idleness, tell me? Why always that?
I get that it makes you all lazy and fat,
but no lesser offense is as hyped up as that.”

Although it was dark he could sense her annoyance,
as if he’d acquired the gift of clairvoyance.
Alas for this brine, it cared not for his buoyance.

“For argument’s sake, then, forget about that.
We’ve more to explore, you insolent brat.
(When you start dissolving, I’ll enjoy more this chat!)
Consider your friends, how they left you to rot.
Did they have any reason to stay? I think not!
You gave them no reason, you sniveling snot!”

“Alas, shrilly brine fairy, you speak somewhat true.
But failing to do what is not mine to do,
is no kind of sin for to brine in this stew.
I’ve no recollection, moreover I say,
the life that I had before yesterday.
That should absolve me what debt I would pay.
Except for my name I know nothing at all.
The very first thing that I can recall
was throwing a rock at poor Burve last nightfall—
Crap, I have lost! And alas, this I merit!
The blame, though, between us — we both ought to share it.
It’s worse than I know, how bad she must bear it.
She said something vague, and regarding a quill.
For that I did worse than just be a pill.
So now I must brine like a pickle of dill.”

“Aha!” fairy gloated, “the brine’s worse from here.
The best part is when it gets into your ear.
You’ll scream and you’ll scream both in pain and in fear.
You’ll beg me to kill you, but then I’ll just laugh.
And no one will mourn you or cry f’your behalf.
No funeral service, and no epitaph.”

Now dumb as he was, he knew this was bad.
He plunged through his pockets to see what he had
that might get him out before he goes mad.

“Despair and lose hope, you piddling fool.
You have nothing on you to use as a tool
to escape from the Sprite of the Pickling Pool.
For if you have matches to help you to see,
the fumes will ignite you and I’ll say ‘tee hee!’
— for many did think that it would set them free.”

He reached in his pockets and found in his pants
the keys to his house and — wow! what a chance! —
a cellular phone! He wanted to dance.
Oh how he’d forgotten such things did exist.
And now to his mem’ry his find did assist,
so much that his eyes now had started to mist.

“I almost recall now, though still it is blurry,
from which did my memory flee in a hurry.
Now armed as I am, I’ve no need for to worry.”

“How can recollection arm any man?
As dark as it is, you can’t hatch up a plan.
But what recollection? Recite if you can.”

“‘Recite,’ did you say? I recall a quaint rhyme.
As a child I’d read it and laugh ev’ry time.
‘THE JEDI AND THE PADAWAN,’ a FANFIC sublime:

The Jedi and his padawan
   did walk the narrow path.
Temptation met them frequently,
   risking their Order’s wrath.
Perhaps this is the reason why
   they’d never take a bath.

They fought in battles side by side,
   they fought with laser swords.
(To gunfights Jedi did take knives!
   — or so the tale records.
Perhaps this is the reason why
   ‘twere bested by Sith lords.)

“Master,” quoth she (the padawan),
   “why do we fight this way?
For every rangéd weapon trumps
   a saber any day.
Could it just be we’re showing off?
   We’ll die for that, I say.”

Quoth he to her, “The Force, young one,
   takes shape in many things.
Like time machines or proton packs,
   or magic Elven rings.
But they for other stories are,
   not for you young-a-lings.”

“Though cryptic is your answer, sir,
   I think I understand:
‘Shut up and don’t ask questions, kid,
   or else it’s my back hand.’
I’d have to be an awful wuss
   to fear your reprimand!“

And so they flew past nebulae,
   flying their fighter jet.
They flew all day and flew all night;
   the Sun, it rose and set —
though in another galaxy,
   so they don’t know that yet.

She asked him, “Master, if you please,
   Why do you fly this way?
For don’t you know the saying goes
   ‘The piper you must pay?’
For that the Council counseled us:
   ‘You’ll meet your death someday.’”

“Why death’s the stuff,” the Master said,
   “of temporary things.
To wish for it will soon invoke
   some intern Heaven brings.
I’m doing service in this way —
   to help him get his wings.”

“I doubt your wisdom,” quoth the girl,
   “but you’re the Chosen One,—”
(perhaps you’ve guessed their names by now?)
   “—though no respect you’ve won.
Respect in war is silly, though,
   so let us have some fun.

“For Master, it’s a bore to fight
   a battle-droid battalion.
They shed no blood and it’s no fun,
   sans risk of old Lex Talion’.”

“You’ll get your bloodshed soon enough,
   you jackanapes rapscallion.”

“Oh thank you, Master! Thank you, friend!
   I simply cannot wait!
I care not for what peaceniks say,
   for haters gonna hate.
Let’s slaughter us some enemies
   and hear them lamentate.”

And so they slaughtered to and fro;
   they slaughtered through the day.
They slaughtered any enemies
   wherever they would stray.
The master felt his padawan
   had gone a wee bit cray.

“Master,” she said, “please tell me this:
   why don’t the stars talk back?
It’s like they’re always mocking us,
   though voices they do lack.
Should I to them try pick a fight,
   or should I cut them slack?”

“Shut up and don’t ask questions, kid,
   and don’t be such a quack.”

“I’m not sure I like it,” the brine fairy said.
“The ending is weak, and they ought to be dead,
for clearly the two of them both lost their head.
But that doesn’t matter; you’ll soon join them both.
Dissolving quite slowly; it’s painful, by troth.”
With relish these things the brine fairy quoth.

Now Geoffrey, you’d think, is as dim as he’s slow.
“But cell phones,” you say, “have got flash lights, you know!”
To know this allowed him to one-up his foe.

For when he did light it: “What magic is this!
Please do me no harm, for I’ll offer you bliss.”
(But note that she looked like no creature he’d kiss.)

Quoth he, “you deserve it, but I’ll do you no harm.
I want to escape this unnatural farm.
And for that this magic should cause no alarm.”

He looked round about him, and noticed a hoist.
‘Twas roscid and clammy and just a bit moist,
but still justifying the relief that he voiced.
He threw his keys and they knocked down a ladder
which seemed to do naught but make brine fairy madder.
He realized he needed to empty his bladder.
“Stay focused, old boy,” he said to himself,
while the ladder, in falling, knocked over a shelf.
“You are making a mess!” protested brine-elf.
The shelf, when it fell exposed a small mouse
who, startled by this, ran out of the house.
“Is this what you wanted, you half-witted louse?”
The mouse, past the wall, encountered a cat,
which chased it back in to the shed they were at.
The ruckus knocked over a pickling vat.
Its brine seeped into a pneumonic machine.
The clog made a ‘splosion that has to be seen!
The hoist it controlled once now slid to our teen.

At last he could reach it. He pulled himself out.
The brine fairy panicked, said “What’s this about?
That no one could ever escape I’d no doubt.
And Missus (that’s Grissus) — oh what will she say?
How badly this teenager ruined my day!
Good sir, will you show me some mercy, I pray?”

He thought for a second, and said with a sigh,
“You do not deserve it, but neither do I.
For everyone knows I ain’t been the best guy.
Last night I did worse than I really could know,
but that’s no excuse for the rock I did throw.
I’m no friend at all to Burve, Stahp, and Ghoh.
I want to undo that, and help them I would,
but is there a way that ever I could?
For that I need practice at being good.”

And so he showed mercy as surely he should.