FOCUS
Bomzar tittered quietly,
“It is wise that you have come to
see me, as you may need my assistance to seek other employment
soon,” he declared with a note of superiority. He said the minister was
preparing a letter insisting that the
U.S. close its embassy in our country
and suspend its diplomatic relations for the heinous insults
hurled at the minister and our country by Mr. Linus.
I suggested that there must be a misunderstanding.
Bomzar waved the dirty fork at me. “Calling our beloved
motherland an igloo of hairless winos? By King Volmak’s
ghost, these are truly harsh and peculiar words!” I noted
our honored national tradition that, before going to war
with a rival, we invite that rival to share a meal and seek to
resolve our differences. The downside to this tradition is
that, if the differences cannot be resolved, the rival is then
stripped naked, wrapped in bacon and dropped into a pit
of badgers. Bomzar grudgingly, perhaps with visions of
badgers dancing in his head, agreed to recommend that
the minister host Mr. Linus at a dinner.
That evening, when Bomzar led Mr. Linus and me into
the foreign minister’s official residence, the minister
greeted us courteously but coldly. In a dimly lit receiving
room a television in the corner showed an early episode of
“The Brady Bunch.” We were given seats on cushions surrounding a low table with a large spoon in front of each of
us. Mr. Linus, his usual gusto for once absent, said quietly, “Mr. Minister, I would like to express my most sincere
and heartfelt —” The minister held up a hand for silence.
I whispered to Mr. Linus, “First, we must share a taste of
the same dish. It is our custom.”
Mr. Linus nodded and we sat in silence for a few moments, Bomzar smirking a little at me. Then I experienced
a sudden olfactory joy, catching a whiff of the boiled garden thrush in sour snake bile for which our nation is justifiably famous. A servant brought in a large clay pot of the
thick mixture. Mr. Linus wrinkled his nose. “That smell
— what’s in this?”
“It is a turdine dish.”
“What? Are you serious?”
“It is a great honor — you must share it with the minister.”
Mr. Linus smiled nervously at the minister and smelled
the dish again. “The smell — it’s like someone microwaved
an overflowing cat box.”
“It is our national dish — turdine,” I told him.
“I don’t — that’s not even a word.”
“You could also call it turdoid.
But you must eat it — to refuse
would be the most grievous insult.”
Mr. Linus swallowed hard, took
a spoonful of the thick, brown mixture and put it in his mouth. The
minister watched intently as Mr.
Linus closed his eyes tightly, then opened them. He swallowed the mouthful. “Actually, it’s not bad.”
“That is a most generous observation given that it is,
after all, our national dish, amigo,” I observed quietly.
Mr. Linus took another spoonful. “Tastes like chicken.”
“As I said, it is, in fact, turdoid.”
“Stop saying that!”
Mr. Linus proceeded to eat with relish, and the minister nodded with approval. “You enjoy our great national
dish?” he asked.
“Indeed, I do,” Mr. Linus responded in our tongue. “I
find it truly glandular.”
“He means to say delicious,” I whispered.
“Right, exactly!” Mr. Linus responded. “Glandulicious.”
The minister nodded thoughtfully, weighing Mr. Linus’
words. Bomzar tittered quietly, and I knew his thoughts
were of bacon and badgers. We all took spoonfuls of the
dish and chewed in silence. Finally the minister spoke.
“Your efforts to master our most difficult language are indeed noble, sir. That it causes you difficulty is something
we can understand. I know this because I myself have
trouble speaking your language,” and he switched to English to add: “It is a suck on the butt.”
Switching back to our tongue, he went on: “Still, I salute
your fearlessness in trying — it shows a respect for our national culture. I propose to you that we establish a group
to work together to learn each other’s languages, and increase mutual understanding. You are just the partner we
have been seeking for such an endeavor. Bomzar, please
prepare a proposal for me to share with the embassy of the
United States, noting the key role of the chargé d’affaires
here in providing the impetus for this initiative.” Bomzar
looked sadly at me as it dawned on him that the badgers
would not be released that evening.
The fermented badger milk was served, and many
heartfelt toasts were exchanged, with my discreet assistance in translation smoothing the process. By the end of
the evening the minister had his arm around Mr. Linus.
Another episode of “The Brady Bunch” started, and the
minister gestured at the television. “Mr. Linus, my friend
and I knew his thoughts
were of bacon and badgers.
