“Get out of my sight!”
The door to the shed slammed in my face. I rubbed my hot right hand over my forehead and then my mouth. I had to decide my next move. And soon.
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The Glory Rites
by Ann Linquist
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And You Can Too
Ann Linquist Writes 
“Get out of my sight!”
The door to the shed slammed in my face. I rubbed my hot right hand over my forehead and then my mouth. I had to decide my next move. And soon.
A marmoset cannot last more than eight hours without water. I knew that instintively, of course, but did my master? I had not intended to break that fancy lamp. When I leapt from the mantlepiece to the small table, I simply missed my footing. (not something I usaully do everyday!) I have never seen master so angry. I wonder what the mistress will do when she learns that he has tossed me into this hot little room full of firewood.
The Fenyes family built their home on Orange Grove Avenue, or “Millionaire’s Row” as it came to be called years later, in 1906. They moved to Pasadena to escape the harsh winters of the east coast. Mrs. Eva Scott Muse Fenyes married her second husband Edelbert after a whirlwind one year courtship in 1890. They had met in Cairo, she there to paint, and Doctor Fenyes, a Hungarian fourteen years her junior, and a practicing neuro surgeon, had been called to treat a member of Egyptian upper class.
Eva had always loved animals. From the earliest days of childhood in New York City, she had always had at least three pets of various types. Dogs, snakes, turtles, cats, and her very favorite, marmoset monkies. So when she and Edelbert moved into their spacious mansion in late 1907, she immediately secured a small monkey and a chihuahua. She named the monkey Dom Pedro de Burra Bora, and the dog Fairy. She had a small wooden cage for Dom Pedro in her studio, but only placed him in there when they traveled. Which they did, extensively. The rest of the time Don Pedro and his friend Fairy were free to roam the ten thousand square foot home at their will.
“Eva, the damned monkey broke your favorite Tiffany lamp. “ scowled Edelbert.
“How do you know?” asked Eva.
“ I saw him jump down from the mantle in your studio onto that rickety three legged table, and that was the end of that.” he said, “I put him out in the shed.”
“Oh my God,” Eva screamed, “he will die out there.” She flew out of the drawing room, and with her short legs, ran akimbo through the north-south hallway, into the foyer, and out the massive front door.
I felt as strong sense of releif as I perceived through all my fine senses that my mistress was on the opposite side the flimsy shed door.
“Poor little Dom,”said Eva, as she opened the door and scooped up the tiny animal in her right hand. “I know you didn’t mean it. I’ll bet you are thirsty.”
And I was.
Enjoyable read. I especially enjoyed the marmoset’s perspective and truly felt Eva’s dismay. I was left with a warm fuzzy feeling at the end. Nice one.
Absolutely adore this story…..Monkey…Millions….Masterful description and a broken Tiffany Lamp. What’s not to love? I tip my hat to you my friend.
Thanks, Lisa. I have a Question for Ann/group: all the characters in this story are real (including Marmoset and chihuahua) and the location and time are factual as well. Only the story is fictional. So what is this called in the writing world? Fiction or non fiction? Does a writer need permission to write about real people ?
Does the marmoset have an attorney?
http://www.copylaw.org/2010/07/libel-in-fiction.html
I think the issue really comes down to living or dead. Claiming Dick Cheney is a robot may cause problems; however, claiming Estes Kefauver (for example) was a robot is quite a different matter. The irony of course is that, given the current state of electronic integration, it is far more likely that Dick Cheney is a robot even though you can’t say so. Estes Kefauver would have relied on vacuum tubes, but you can safely claim that not only was he a robot, his mother was a robot too.
Thanks Gary .. Nice thorough answer – and link. And of course the dead marmoset has an attorney. This IS California after all.
I’m not sure I understood all the legal stuff, but it had robots.
Gale I tried photographing your Gravitar and blowing it up on the i pad, but it was still unclear. Dying to know what is in that typewriter. Was it something the monkey wrote?
Bright , that is an homage to Jeff Switt, Gary Treble, Peanut Branski, and other Masters of Ann’s Blog. A work in progress….
In 100 words:
….
It’s a fine line between PMS and insanity. Awakening pooled in sweat with the burning of fire that even a walk naked in the moonlight can’t squelch. I try to separate the voices – the ones in my head; the ones I scream at him; the ones he returns in hurt and fear. I tip the brandy to my lips and then again. It sits like acid in my gut crawling to my heart. My temples resonate in some native timpani. I squat to pee, tilt my head to the moon and howl. It’s the best I have felt all night.
I howl at the fading moon in awe of you, Jeff.
“…the ones he returns in hurt and fear.”
Resonates a little too close to home for me.
Thank you, Gale.
Your writing is like a gory crime scene. You’re uncomfortable wanting to look but once you do you can’t turn away. What comes from your imagination is disturbing but fascinating and poetic. Once again, nicely done.
Thank you, Lisa.
Switt whose skin have you lived in?????
Thank God you stopped at 100 words!!!!!!
I almost made the same 100 words comment myself. Thank you, brighteyes.
Sorry, that didn’t sound like a compliment but it was actually
Regretfully I have stepped over the line from PMS into insanity….but I am in excellent company here. Jeff you conjure up so much in so few words. You are our Wonder Kid !!!
Thank you, Peanut. I am a really old kid, tho!
I have nothing brilliant in response to this particular prompt, but I did have a Deep thought From The Shallow End of my brain to share with you all.
There are few things more instantly satisfying than a Deep Sneeze.
Thanks for those kind words about my story, Peanut.
Someone posted this Irish Proverb on FB yesterday:
” A good laugh and a long sleep are the two best cures for anything. ”
We should add that Deep Sneeze you conjured up.
Ann has a way of stirring up memories, therapy?
Sorry, the door did slam BEHIND me – I remember it well!
Get out of my sight…………..
The house looked pretty good with its new coat of silver grey paint–and as for me, I knew I looked good. I was seven years old, or maybe five, or maybe six? But whatever age I was I still fitted into my best blue swiss robia-voile Sunday dress. A dress which my mother reminded me many times “Cost a lot of money, Heather”
I was also reminded many, many, times to keep clear of the freshly painted house. “Heather, if you get that paint on your clothes IT WILL NOT COME OUT.” How was I to know that my dad (who usually sent me to Sunday School so that he and my mum could sleep in) would pick today to add a touch up coat?
I loved coming home, loved being greeted by my wildly enthusiastic cocker spaniel, but I was always so careful. “Down Paddy!” I would shout as I ran out of reach of his ever muddy pom-pom paws. This time as I evaded him I swiped against the corner of the house. My eyes widened and I clamped a hand over my mouth to stop my heart from falling out. A long, damp slash of silver grey now rudely interrupted the sky blue of my dress. Terrified I headed for the shed.
The door to the shed slammed behind me. I rubbed my hot right hand over my forehead and then my mouth. I had to decide my next move. And soon!
The paint tin was sitting open, the brush was lying on the lid. Always a lateral thinker I knew what I could do. My father’s oil-skin coat was in the shed, I borrowed its hanger and went to work.
Somehow Mum and Dad noticed when I sneaked in through the back door wearing just my Mary Janes and petticoat.
I could never understand why “Get out of my sight” was always followed by “Come here, I’ll give you a hiding you won’t forget in a hurry” but it always was.
The silver grey swiss robia voile dress hanging in the shed looked fine to me, it would be dry by tomorrow, with six more days ’til Sunday.
Well done, Bright. You did a masterful job of conveying a little child’s innocent approach to solving a big problem.
Thanks guys. Lisa I didn’t get to see the dress again as I was banned from the shed. My father was most disturbed by his best paint brush (‘which I only left out there for a minute’) being ruined. My mother was terrified to face her mother-in-law who bought me the dress. We painted our back deck silver-grey a couple of years ago, my bum hurts whenever I look at it – memories!
“Get out of my sight!”
The door to the shed slammed in my face. I rubbed my hot right hand over my forehead and then my mouth. I had to decide my next move. And soon.
God! I needed a drink, but I guess you could say that was what got me into this mess in the first place. I slowly lowered my head and rested it on the splintery door. I could still hear her rattling around inside the shed like an over-wound top.
Still bellowing too. Something about “jobs” and “opportunities” and “money.” Always money. That’s the problem. There was never enough of it. I knew I wasn’t the best provider, but dammit! She could help out if she wasn’t so lazy. She’s the one who sits at home and watches Oprah all day. And she calls me lazy!
Huh, I’m the one who’s rustled up four jobs in the last six years. I’m the one who says, “Yessir” and “No sir” to some jackass kid who thinks he knows more than me. Some snot-nosed little punk who thinks he can boss me around just because he’s gonna inherit the business from Daddy.
Yeah, well, they can all just go to hell! I turned back toward the house and everything went blurry for a second. I put my hand out, touching the shed to steady myself, before thrashing my way back through the tall weeds.
I could still hear her hollering as I stumbled up the back steps. Something about a mouth to feed. I dimly registered, “A baby.” Yep, I was searching for my baby alright. I’d hidden a fresh bottle in here somewhere.
Thorny, wonderful tension and drama in this short piece. Really enjoyed reading it.
I missed this earlier. Welcome. Do I detect another tortured soul in our midst! Welcome. Jeff
Love it BE. I pictured the whole thing and laughed.. xo
I truly loved your story. I love childhood memories like this and the details painted a vivid picture. Well done. How did it all turn out?
The ice heaved against the gunnel pushing her hard upon the rocks some thirty meters from shore. A gust, and the remains of the mainsail collapsed to the deck. She shuddered, cracking, as the devil himself would have it. She gave her life meter by meter.
The message. A message sent some time ago but just received, in the still cold of the trackless waste.
“Get out of my sight!”
She danced through a carpet of snowdrop hiking her skirt.
Taking on water below, faster than the pumps. A palpable list to port, and there is no place to discharge the boats.
The door to the shed slammed in my face. I rubbed my hot right hand over my forehead and then my mouth.
I could, for an instant, smell her perfume carried by Zephyrus across the clover.
The salt-sweet waves overcome me. As a child, I splash about in mock importance.
I knew. I knew I had to decide my next move.
The ice covered the main deck and obscured the shore.
And soon.
Gary – IMO that is atop the best I have read here.
There is an uncomfortable tense shift in the story. i re-read it putting it in present tense and find that more powerful. But that may be simply a personal preference.Give it a try if you like.
Thanks Jeff! I see it now as well. I really appreciate your input on these.
Read this in present tense first up, as recommended, and really enjoyed it. Love the ‘mock mportance’ line