The Adventure of the Geese and Our Hero's Persecution by Enchanters.
I have recently been occupying myself with a book titled, Don Quixote, which details the exploits of that flower of chivalry, that pole star of knights errant, Don Quixote de la Mancha, the Knight of the Lions, and his squire, the droll Sanch Panza.
Below is recounted an adventure I had one Saturday reworked so that it imitates the many adventures I have been reading of late. Don Quixote often embarks upon lunacies - such as the time he mistook a flock of sheep for an army and proceeded to slay the sheep as if they threatened his life. When he was finally persuaded to stop his madness (by the shepherds who had begun to stone him), he saw his army as a flock of sheep. But, instead of believing that he had been fighting sheep, he insisted that an “enchanter” (a wizard) had transformed the army into a flock of sheep in order to muddle with the knights affairs. My adventure which is reminiscent of Don Quixote’s.
I awoke Saturday early as usual, for every Saturday morning do I host a three hour span of time on the local radio station, WOUB. I returned to my home at nearly 9AM, at which time I meandered about my house before seeking an adventure. I journeyed on foot, for a steed was nowhere to be found. Going east, I made for the river but stopped short when I saw, to the side of the path, the stump of a tree - indeed a great tree, if my memory serves me rightly - so disfigured that I immediately suspected that the giant Mambroso must had been on a rampage tearing through the countryside and ripping up whole trees as he went. The subject of his anger is both difficult to place and inconsequential to this history, for the valiant knight sooner slays the mighty giant than offers him a shoulder for his grief. Also, a giant hardly needs a reason to rampage.
As I drew near the river, indeed, I did see not only that scoundrel Mambroso lazing about the opposite bank and munching on the entire leg of a cow - a spoil, no doubt, of his rampage - but also a whole flock of giants who seemed to be of the same hill breed as Mambroso is said to be.
"Ho there, you devil Mambroso and all your wicked folk," said I, "look upon this face, sirs, for it is a one that belongs to the most renowned of knights errant that live in this troubled time of ours. Furthermore, it is this knight - with his mighty arms - that shall reckon your evil deeds which you and your kind have perpetrated on this fair day," for Saturday was a beauty.
Mambroso marked my words by spitting out his bit of meat and honking like a fool, no doubt most troubled that his actions had caught the anger of this Don Christopher de Athens, Knight of the Gnarled Beard - for this is the name under which I travel - a name that I received in adventures even more spectacular than this one, but which must wait to be retold.
I wasted no time in jumping into the river, for I intended to promptly commence in beating Mambroso and his fellows like the dogs [cats?] that they are. I forded the river with nearly one bound, drew my sword and removed the heads of a dozen or so giants with a mighty backhand. I proceeded to work on the rest (for there were nearly a hundred such giants) when I heard a shout from across the river addressing me thus:
"By the devil and his fire, what are you attempting to do to that poor flock of geese?"
I hardly heeded those words (which were spoken by a highway traveler), but as his shouting was incessant, I soon paused from my labor and replied:
"Sir, you must see that I am presently very much engaged in ridding this world of the scoundrel Mambroso and his kin. Leave me to my work for it is only this mighty hand which wields the strength necessary to inflict such a pack of giants with their due pain."
At this point I looked back to the giants and found - to my dismay - that they had been transformed from a band of giants to a flock of geese. Their honking was deafening.
Bereaved by this twist of fate, I threw up my hands to heaven and lamented: "Woe be unto the valiant knight who rides through the country redressing the wrongs done to the powerless! For though by his arm he might succor* happiness for the land, he is plagued by those wizards who seek to rob him of his glory by changing his vanquished giant into a geese!"
Vexed by my luck, I left the river and made for my home, which I found wholly in order - that is, untouched by my jealous enchanters.
*This is a most inappropriate use for succour, which is a noun meaning help, relief, aid, or assistance.
Below is recounted an adventure I had one Saturday reworked so that it imitates the many adventures I have been reading of late. Don Quixote often embarks upon lunacies - such as the time he mistook a flock of sheep for an army and proceeded to slay the sheep as if they threatened his life. When he was finally persuaded to stop his madness (by the shepherds who had begun to stone him), he saw his army as a flock of sheep. But, instead of believing that he had been fighting sheep, he insisted that an “enchanter” (a wizard) had transformed the army into a flock of sheep in order to muddle with the knights affairs. My adventure which is reminiscent of Don Quixote’s.
I awoke Saturday early as usual, for every Saturday morning do I host a three hour span of time on the local radio station, WOUB. I returned to my home at nearly 9AM, at which time I meandered about my house before seeking an adventure. I journeyed on foot, for a steed was nowhere to be found. Going east, I made for the river but stopped short when I saw, to the side of the path, the stump of a tree - indeed a great tree, if my memory serves me rightly - so disfigured that I immediately suspected that the giant Mambroso must had been on a rampage tearing through the countryside and ripping up whole trees as he went. The subject of his anger is both difficult to place and inconsequential to this history, for the valiant knight sooner slays the mighty giant than offers him a shoulder for his grief. Also, a giant hardly needs a reason to rampage.
As I drew near the river, indeed, I did see not only that scoundrel Mambroso lazing about the opposite bank and munching on the entire leg of a cow - a spoil, no doubt, of his rampage - but also a whole flock of giants who seemed to be of the same hill breed as Mambroso is said to be.
"Ho there, you devil Mambroso and all your wicked folk," said I, "look upon this face, sirs, for it is a one that belongs to the most renowned of knights errant that live in this troubled time of ours. Furthermore, it is this knight - with his mighty arms - that shall reckon your evil deeds which you and your kind have perpetrated on this fair day," for Saturday was a beauty.
Mambroso marked my words by spitting out his bit of meat and honking like a fool, no doubt most troubled that his actions had caught the anger of this Don Christopher de Athens, Knight of the Gnarled Beard - for this is the name under which I travel - a name that I received in adventures even more spectacular than this one, but which must wait to be retold.
I wasted no time in jumping into the river, for I intended to promptly commence in beating Mambroso and his fellows like the dogs [cats?] that they are. I forded the river with nearly one bound, drew my sword and removed the heads of a dozen or so giants with a mighty backhand. I proceeded to work on the rest (for there were nearly a hundred such giants) when I heard a shout from across the river addressing me thus:
"By the devil and his fire, what are you attempting to do to that poor flock of geese?"
I hardly heeded those words (which were spoken by a highway traveler), but as his shouting was incessant, I soon paused from my labor and replied:
"Sir, you must see that I am presently very much engaged in ridding this world of the scoundrel Mambroso and his kin. Leave me to my work for it is only this mighty hand which wields the strength necessary to inflict such a pack of giants with their due pain."
At this point I looked back to the giants and found - to my dismay - that they had been transformed from a band of giants to a flock of geese. Their honking was deafening.
Bereaved by this twist of fate, I threw up my hands to heaven and lamented: "Woe be unto the valiant knight who rides through the country redressing the wrongs done to the powerless! For though by his arm he might succor* happiness for the land, he is plagued by those wizards who seek to rob him of his glory by changing his vanquished giant into a geese!"
Vexed by my luck, I left the river and made for my home, which I found wholly in order - that is, untouched by my jealous enchanters.
*This is a most inappropriate use for succour, which is a noun meaning help, relief, aid, or assistance.
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