All day and no fourth djinn. The Sybyl had told me the last could be posing as anything from a horse to a dolphin, but by 10 pm I hadn't seen so much as a squirrel.I was about to turn in when he stepped out of the shower. A waterlogged marid, if ever I'd seen one, which I hadn't. All I knew of them I leaned from Jacques Cousteau; that they often take the form of waterspouts and typhoons and are the bane of sailors, of which I am not one, nosir, no man has lubbed more land than me. I guess he was simply filling his itinerary, since earth, air and fire had come before him. He stood there dripping, waiting for something.
I suppose if I worked hard at it, connived and cajoled and verbally jousted with the marid, I could have conceivably won him over and scored a wish or two. But you know? I was fresh out of wishes and tired as hell. I flushed the commode and he was gone.
7 comments:
I really enjoyed The sybil and the djinns ! The sculptures are very good and so are the stories!
Thanks, Steph. I've got to say, I'm all djinned out. Time to start on the vodka.
LMAO
You should consider yourself lucky in your experiences with your djinns. Mine was less spectacular, but more telling.
While sipping something interesting in a runofthemill tavern, I was joined by a rather ordinary-looking man. He carried a large valise, and, sitting next to me, proceeded to order a gin and tonic, which he downed quickly, ordering another. When he had done so four times, I asked him about his hollow leg. He grimaced and pointed to the valise, telling me that it was the reason for his attempt at immediate inebreation. I asked what was inside that would cause such behaviour, and he opened it for me. Stepping out of the case was a little man about a foot tall, who subsequently reached into the case and pulled out a like-sized piano, then a bench. Seating himself, the tiny man began to play some of the most beautiful music I've ever heard. After a flawless rendition of Pierre Ponchefsky's Interlude No. 2 in C Minor, I turned to the man with the G&T.
"Where in the world did you find this little guy?" I asked, astonished.
"Oh," the man replied, "I have a djinn that grants wishes."
I had to ask.
"Would you djinn grant ME a wish?"
"Absolutely," he replied, making a strange sign with his hands. Appearing suddenly, the djinn resembled nothing less than a seven-foot three hundred fifty pound professional wrestler in a business suit.
"I'd like a million bucks," I stated plainly. The djinn nodded, snapped his fingers, and the bar was immediately filled with a million ducks.
I looked at his master.
"What gives?" said I. "I asked for a million bucks!"
The man sighed.
"Yeah, I know. This particular djinn is somewhat hard of hearing. Do you really think I'd ask for a twelve-inch pianist?"
I then ordered six gin and tonics myself.
I'll have you know that joke is copyrighted by the JIAA and you, sir, are in violation. Prepare to be served.
Thanks, but I've already had six G&Ts and a Maker's Mark on the rocks. You can pass me that pretzel, though.
Ate it.
You aren't, by any chance, related to Buff Milligan, are you?
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