7
Mary Mary and Chovihani, walked a hundred yards apart as they fought through an Arctic blizzard; it is not an uncommon instinct on the initial meeting of soul-mates for those very soul-mates to want to run as far away from one other as possible. In the vastness of the Arctic tundra, with her pet Chihuahua wrapped snug in a muffler of improvised knit-ware, Mary Mary was throwing a charade of tantrums all designed to get herself lost in the general white-out punctuated by the ever-loving yet possessive attentiveness of Chovihani, who reminded her that not only might she die in the 19 degree sub -zero temperatures if her bare-shouldered impressions of Hollywood actresses persisted, but also that if she cheated on him during one of her momentary disappearances, he would strangle her where she stood.
They had recently met in and escaped from the Ice Labyrinth, leaving behind the pernicious and monstrous sirens Swen Gnillor and Swen Gnikaerb both of whose imperceptible droning leitmotivs ossified the listener in kow-towing dread. The more defiantly blood-curdling Aissur Yadot, last witnessed clawing its way through the glacial walls of Eyes’ melancholy abode, was, outside in the open, pursuing Mary Mary and Chovihani . Sounds, as of fingernails drawn across classroom blackboards, echoed across the ice-scape pursuing them under-foot, terrifying Mary Mary and setting Mitzy’s teeth permanently on edge.
Between gaps in his terror Chovihani could distinguish greyish-blue forms, as of sailors drowned, their bloated bodies peering, mottled and milky-eyed, from beneath the permafrost. At one moment of lucid terror they froze in each other’s arms looking this way and that as they realized the sheer numbers below the frozen watermark stretching out for miles beneath the soles their feet. In the distance, the myriad claws of Aissur Yadot approached in deafening gyrations of ice.
A gigantic articulated carbuncle of boils, boils in between which pores pocked the beast. Each pore a hole, each hole a prison cell.; floor upon floor, storey upon storey. As the series of independently moving blocks, the rotations of which propelled the edifice forward upon razor sharp claws, Mary Mary could see that the claws belonged to those of gigantic bears rather than those of an eagles.
“This way. Lead it further out onto frozen sea!”. Shouted Chovihani.
Mary Mary followed as Aissur Yadot gained on them. She could see that inside each cell, behind its rows of bars, were not actual living and breathing individuals but, in fact the Talking-, and Skyping-heads of Bedroom Academics.
From the Babel that towered above them, the ranting of a thousand or so incarcerated Western voices treacherously decried their own countries short-comings for £9.000 a Judas Kiss; more angles than a Rubiks’ Cube they failed to discern through the honey-eyed questions the true view from Aissur Yadot’s green-eyed vistas , encouraged in their revolutionary froth through subtle changes in direction cloaked by Aissur Yadot’s chameleon-like skin, its eyes as alluring as a whore in a gulag. It was short wonder that the low-slung gaping mouth of Aissur yadot reminded Mary Mary of the entrance to the Tower of London, Traitors’ Gate, seen through twin fangs, as mesmerizing as smiled whispers between war-time, and peace-time traitors Lord Haw Haw, Max Kaiser, Stacy Herbert and Leni Riefenstahl.
Mary Mary screamed covering her ears. "Somebody make them stop!".
Mary Mary screamed covering her ears. "Somebody make them stop!".
Peering over the edge of the largest of several million new open sewers now manifesting in the middle of every Russian living room, the now exiled French veteran actor Gerard Depardieu turned to Edward Snowdon the exiled NSA employee and asked,
“Tell me something I didn’t know?” They were in the Green Room of Aissure Yadot new lair.
“No, you first”. Returned Mr Snowdon.
“Well…Okay then. I did not leave France, tearing up my passport, for tax reasons”.
“Oh?”
“Non, mon ami, que je suis con! I am an idiot. I left because I knew I should not have taken the role of Alexandre Dumas (Pere).
“Oh". said Edward Snowdon WASPishly. “Hey, can you see plastic party cups and plates down there” he said pointing down the black hole in the centre of Russia's main TV broadcasting building.
“Office party....inauguration…how do you say…opening ceremony?”. Said Depardieu
“Pardon me Gerald. Do go on.”
“Gerard..Ger-rar-d. He, was black, wasn’t he…Ah, que je suis bête! I knew, of course I knew…but my head is bigger than my nose..quoi faire! Que je suis un salaud. There was a public out-cry, seeing that the original Dumas Pere’s authorship of his adventure was completement erased and while he was alive. Je suis un sale blanc…je lui a fait la meme chose. I did the same thing to the Father of Alexandre Dumas author of Les Trois Mousquettaires,The Three Muskateers writer. I am a coward”.
After a pause Mr Snowdon said. “ I wouldn’t be so hard on your self, most of white America doesn’t believe Barrack Obama wrote his own life story.”
“Vraiment!? Did you read that in the data?” ask Monsieur Depardieu.
“Don’t need to." Then almost to himself, Snowdon muttered. "Actors are Soft-Power Poster-boys," then snapping out of reverie he coninued. "There’s an almost autistic wall of short-sightedness and dunderhead white supremacy in the US”.
“ En Europe too. Well, That’s why I am here. I am an exile of my vanity”. There was a long pause in which Edward Snowdon pointed out the greyish blue bloated bodies floating in the depth of the sewer.
“The out-going TV Company”. Depardieu said with a shrug. "Look!" the former-French national said leaning dangerously over the rim of the sewer. "An almost full bottle of Vodka. Quel gaspillage!. What a waste!. Isn't that the old liberal anchorman still holding on to it? un vrai poivron, tout comme moi...sante mon pauvre brave! On est tous dans la merde...we are all in the shit."
“You know those guys, those American and European Academics paid to talk against the West?" Edward Snowdon asked suddenly?. "Well, they’re all tracked…every last one of them”.
“C’est entendu…That’s understandable”. Said the French actor looking around aware that their every word was being monitored.
“No but the crazy thing is, they’ve started appearing in the middle of people’s living rooms here in Russia”.
“What?... you mean..?
“Yeah, I do.”
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