Fiona’s Dad and the 1001 Nights
Once upon a time, in a castle there lived a king who believed himself to be
master of all he surveyed. Though pretending to be ruthless, sentencing
miscreants to such punishments as the forced holding of breath, shunning,
or even banishment from the kingdom, it has been reported that he could be
sent scurrying by the sound of a mouse. The king was particularly moved by
the beauty and voice of the feminine form.
Each Wednesday at dusk or shortly thereafter, the lesser people gathered to
hear words of wisdom. Each Wednesday evening, tales were spun and the peasants
rejoiced at the wondrous detail brought forth from the outside world as they
washed down their fruit of the ground and pretzels with the fermented juice
of the vine. As midnight approached, the young women breathed a sigh of relief
as the king was frightened off to bed by the mouse.
With the passage of time, the lesser people became uneasy, as the two hundred
and fiftieth, five hundredth and seven hundred and fiftieth Wednesday night
passed, there was some fear in the kingdom that the wonderful tales would end,
that the resulting chaos would result in total closure of the markets and the
burning of Barnes, that open warfare would break out between the two-handed
economist, fundamentalist and technical factions and worse still, that the
kingdom would be left in the dark.
It is for this reason, that we, you humble servants have seen fit to make this
offering to you in the fervent hope that the tales will continue for one
thousand and one nights and forever beyond and that peace will continue to
reign in the realm.
Written by Herbert and Miriam Bercovitz
Westmount Examiner photo of Wednesday Night #1000
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