Read Online The Unwelcome Guest Plus Nin and Nan by Eckhard Gerdes - Free Book Online
Authors: Eckhard Gerdes
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gotten Thoth.
"Good," I said. "It was inevitable." I watched the three of them, Thoth in shackles, walk away through the tall grass, back up to the locked gate by the highway. Too bad they wouldn’t be able to hold him, I thought. Drown him in my pond, Pause Lake. Hecho en USA. I’d have to sell the property of course, now that everyone knew where it was and connected it to good o’ Chattahoochee Edwin. Oh, well.
I was free of him for a while immediately thereafter. I moved, got a job as a night watchman at a resort, and was left alone. I had a radio, books to read, and a putt-putt course. My first night, I remember, I scored a 58 for 18 holes. Take that, Edwin! His golf obsession was legendary. Here I was practicing my putting game every night and getting paid for it! That made me a professional, right? It was the perfect job for an insomniac isolationist like me. My gasping for air because of my sleep apnea would no longer disturb my wife’s sleep. Nor would my snoring.
Dad wouldn’t be grumpy in the morning when my kids woke up because by then I’d be home and have had a couple of beers already, and then I’d be asleep. I’d still have afternoon time and supper with my wife and kids. But what was attractive was I’d never have to deal with Lubjec, who was certainly diurnal.
I asked him if he’d golf with me once, years ago. He laughed and said, "You’re just a beginner. Why would I waste my time golfing with a beginner? Take some classes or something and tell me when you break 80." I assume he meant for 18. What an ass. What a bare-assed baboon! I already had a 58! And a 62 later that night! That’s 120 for 36 holes! In one night! I don’t want to hear about breaking 80 ever again!
My second night at the resort I brought several crossword puzzles. I had completed the Sunday Los Angeles Times puzzle the night before, and I enjoyed it. The second night I tried the New York Times Sunday puzzle, but it was much more heavily drawn from pop culture than the L.A. one. The L.A. paper had more history and geography questions, which I’m better at. I don’t know much about Broadway stars or TV divas. I shot a 57 at 1:30 in the morning. Those poor suckers who wake up at 5:30 only to shoot an 80—what slobs! What rank amateurs!
My second round that night I shot a 59, but I had a 25 on the front nine. Fifteen hung me up—I started getting back spasms and double-bogeyed the hold and then bogeyed sixteen. I had to forego the third round that I’d been planning on. Normally, 54 holes shouldn’t be a problem.
Meanwhile, Lubjec had kept himself busy. I saw him on the news. Daniel Noriega was giving a press conference, and there, right behind Noriega’s left shoulder, stood a bespectacled, bearded Lubjec. Whether he was working toward Noriega’s overthrow or against, I have no idea. Lubjec may not even have known himself. When I was an industrial operative with Lubjec, that’s the way it was— after a while we had no idea if we were working for or against our employer. I suppose you could say we did both. Lubjec, especially. He’d volunteer to birth a cow and then deliver a stillborn. He’d help roofers carry squares up a ladder, but then he’d kick the ladder away.
I figured it out when we played chess. He had no endgame. He would attack, and if black, he’d overtake. But he lacked a final plan. Frequently, even if he was ahead by a couple of good pieces, I could stalemate him by getting him on the run. His essential flaw was, perhaps, that he was purely reactive. One could bank on it.
My third night on the job I recorded a 66 and a 59. I had back spasms, though. I had a 24 on the front nine on my second round. The first round of 66 I put off to the incredible distractions. I was working on a Friday night, an entire YMCA fellowship was occupying one of the four camping areas, and people kept coming by the guard shack to get their assigned campsites. The nerve of some people! Couldn’t they see I was golfing? I
"Good," I said. "It was inevitable." I watched the three of them, Thoth in shackles, walk away through the tall grass, back up to the locked gate by the highway. Too bad they wouldn’t be able to hold him, I thought. Drown him in my pond, Pause Lake. Hecho en USA. I’d have to sell the property of course, now that everyone knew where it was and connected it to good o’ Chattahoochee Edwin. Oh, well.
I was free of him for a while immediately thereafter. I moved, got a job as a night watchman at a resort, and was left alone. I had a radio, books to read, and a putt-putt course. My first night, I remember, I scored a 58 for 18 holes. Take that, Edwin! His golf obsession was legendary. Here I was practicing my putting game every night and getting paid for it! That made me a professional, right? It was the perfect job for an insomniac isolationist like me. My gasping for air because of my sleep apnea would no longer disturb my wife’s sleep. Nor would my snoring.
Dad wouldn’t be grumpy in the morning when my kids woke up because by then I’d be home and have had a couple of beers already, and then I’d be asleep. I’d still have afternoon time and supper with my wife and kids. But what was attractive was I’d never have to deal with Lubjec, who was certainly diurnal.
I asked him if he’d golf with me once, years ago. He laughed and said, "You’re just a beginner. Why would I waste my time golfing with a beginner? Take some classes or something and tell me when you break 80." I assume he meant for 18. What an ass. What a bare-assed baboon! I already had a 58! And a 62 later that night! That’s 120 for 36 holes! In one night! I don’t want to hear about breaking 80 ever again!
My second night at the resort I brought several crossword puzzles. I had completed the Sunday Los Angeles Times puzzle the night before, and I enjoyed it. The second night I tried the New York Times Sunday puzzle, but it was much more heavily drawn from pop culture than the L.A. one. The L.A. paper had more history and geography questions, which I’m better at. I don’t know much about Broadway stars or TV divas. I shot a 57 at 1:30 in the morning. Those poor suckers who wake up at 5:30 only to shoot an 80—what slobs! What rank amateurs!
My second round that night I shot a 59, but I had a 25 on the front nine. Fifteen hung me up—I started getting back spasms and double-bogeyed the hold and then bogeyed sixteen. I had to forego the third round that I’d been planning on. Normally, 54 holes shouldn’t be a problem.
Meanwhile, Lubjec had kept himself busy. I saw him on the news. Daniel Noriega was giving a press conference, and there, right behind Noriega’s left shoulder, stood a bespectacled, bearded Lubjec. Whether he was working toward Noriega’s overthrow or against, I have no idea. Lubjec may not even have known himself. When I was an industrial operative with Lubjec, that’s the way it was— after a while we had no idea if we were working for or against our employer. I suppose you could say we did both. Lubjec, especially. He’d volunteer to birth a cow and then deliver a stillborn. He’d help roofers carry squares up a ladder, but then he’d kick the ladder away.
I figured it out when we played chess. He had no endgame. He would attack, and if black, he’d overtake. But he lacked a final plan. Frequently, even if he was ahead by a couple of good pieces, I could stalemate him by getting him on the run. His essential flaw was, perhaps, that he was purely reactive. One could bank on it.
My third night on the job I recorded a 66 and a 59. I had back spasms, though. I had a 24 on the front nine on my second round. The first round of 66 I put off to the incredible distractions. I was working on a Friday night, an entire YMCA fellowship was occupying one of the four camping areas, and people kept coming by the guard shack to get their assigned campsites. The nerve of some people! Couldn’t they see I was golfing? I
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