Incipiat - rated [R]

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 Incipiat – rated [R]  

“It’s John of Patmos,” Uncle Albert was crowing. He had in front of him on the kitchen table a book of Aubrey Beardsley drawings; he was looking at the “Lacedemonian Ambassadors,” pointing to the most angry of the three: “The answer to the trivia question," he said: ‘Who had the most massive hard-on in Scripture?’” He looked up at me, leaning over his shoulder, pot in hand. I had been standing at the counter pouring my first cup of coffee.* I shook my head. “John of Patmos! longing, yearning; gloriously, furiously, joyously erect for the destruction of the world.”

Patmos John priapically pacing.

I went back to pouring my coffee; I put in a slice of bread for toast. “Imagine the little man pacing his cell, stalking his enemies – never mind what Jesus said: ‘Love them’ – stalking, growling in his throat, imagining grabbing them by the neck, screaming at them that they shall die horrible, painful deaths, drowning in a lake of reasty fire – slow . . . painful. No, not so easy: not painful, excruciating; not slow, eternal.

      “Let the inquisition begin!” Uncle Albert thundered, raising his arm above his head, barely missing hitting me in the face, his index finger pointing at the sky - through the kitchen ceiling and the floor above and the bathroom above the floor and the bathroom ceiling, the attic beams, the attic air, the slate roof – at the sky!

The toast popped up. I put it on a plate, buttered and jammed it. I sat down with the plate and my coffee.

    Uncle Albert remained dramatically in position, pointing. I nodded. “Let the inquisition begin,” I said.

01.31.17

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* As the reader knows, I am allowed two a day, one at breakfast and one at two in the afternoon.