Columbus and I

I was surprised to see a man goose stepping slowly up the street with a telescope clapped to his eye.

I saw him walk purposefully up to a lamp post, collide with it as the telescope flew out of his hands.

“Mama Mia! Isabella will have my hide if I damage the telescope,” he moaned.

I helped him up and he retrieved the telescope immediately.

“I’m Christopher Columbus,” he said and held out a ham-like hand.

“I’m Washington DC,” I replied, “my earlier alias was Jack the Ripper.”

“Shall I call you Washington or Jack?” he asked anxiously.

“You can call me Jack as in Beanstalk,” I replied.

“Don’t tell Isabella about the telescope,” he said conspiratorially.

“Do I know her?” I asked.

“You could have met her on Facebook or Twitter, she’s the Queen of Spain,” he informed.

“I must send her a friend request if she is handing out free telescopes,” I said.

“You will find her on my friend's list as also Ferdie,” he said.

“Ferdie?”

“Ferdinand, the King of Spain,” Columbus said.

“He and Isabella financed my voyage to the USA and also gave me a visa,” Columbus said.

“Lucky chap!” I said, “a free telescope and a free trip.”

“Actually I went backpacking there, it saves money,” Columbus said.

“You could have taken the Greyhound,” I suggested.

“No,” he said shaking his head, “I'm allergic to dogs they give me the rash.”

“What did you do on your travels there?” I asked.

“I met some red-faced Indians,” Columbus replied.

“Red-faced?”

“Yes, they were embarrassed because I found them instead of India.”

“You have been to India?” I asked.

“Yes, I saw the Taj Mahal and the erotic sculptures at Khajuraho,” Columbus said.

“Oh!”

“I had all the sculptures copied on papyrus, I now sell them on eBay and Flipkart instead of buying Penthouse,” Columbus said.

“You should take out a copyright,” I said.

“I have already patented it,” he said proudly, “I also gave a copy to Isabella who has put them in the royal archives.

“What about Ferdinand?” I questioned.

“The trouble is with him, none of the maids stay for more than a week now,” Columbus sighed.

“Isabella must being seeing red,” I chuckled.

“That too and she sees double,” he sighed, “when she is chasing him with a blunderbuss.”

“Must be a royal sport,” I said.

“I taught it to the Red Indians too,” Columbus said.

“Very sporting of you.”

“And they gave me a copy of the Kamasutra in gratitude,” Columbus said.

“You gave that to Isabella too?” I asked.

“Certainly not! I have hidden it under the carpet in my library,” he said.

“What if your maid found it?”

“I have already gone over it in detail with her, she quit after that,” he sighed regretfully.

“Good maids are hard to find these days,” I said shaking my head.

“There is high demand for a maid of honor these days,” Columbus remarked.

“They are made of honor?” I asked surprised.

“Certainly not made in Chile,” he snapped.

“Is your telescope made in China?” I asked.

“Santa Maria! Isabella gave it to me personally after buying it on eBay at a discount,” he said.

“And the Santa Maria?” I asked.

“That was ordered online from Amazon,” Columbus said.

“Does it have an engine,” I enquired.

“Actually it has an outboard motor, he informed me importantly.

“What about the sails?” I asked.

“They were there to fool the Red Indians,” he guffawed.

“So you did a little tomfoolery in the USA?” I asked.

“We also taught the Red Indians to fish in troubled waters and they taught us that smoking is dangerous to health,” Columbus said.

“There can't be a smoke without a fire,” I said.

“They fire their chiefs if they catch them smoking the peace pipe,” Columbus said.

“They war on each other otherwise,” I queried.

“Make love not war, is their motto now,” he said.

“As in the Kamasutra?”

“As also in Khajuraho,” he replied.

“They must be indebted to you,” I said.

“Certainly, they gave us their gold for glass beads and the odd trinket or two,” Columbus 

said proudly.

“Was Isabella happy?” I asked.

“She claps her hands in delight whenever she sees me,” he said.

“Why?”

“She says she will clap me in irons if I fail to find a passage to India,” Columbus sighed.

“Isabella must have read ‘A Passage to India’,” I said.

“She also reads between the lines,” he said.

“Without glasses?” I asked.

“She drinks champagne from goblets made with gold I filched from abroad,” he confided.

“Her lips must be coated in gold by now,” I said.

“That her chef knows because she kisses him secretly in the kitchen when 

he makes pudding for her,”Columbus said.

“That’s Shame and Scandal in the Family,” I remarked.

“And the chef sings her a lullaby when she goes to sleep in her bedroom,” he said.

“Quid pro quo?”

“She also slips him a quid or two quietly so that he makes more pudding,” he said.

“The proof of the pudding is in the eating,” I said earnestly, “ask Jack Horner.”

“Horner is an expert on pies, not pudding,” Columbus said, “he was also a spy.”

“A spy?” I asked in astonishment.

“Yes, he was dropped behind enemy lines during the Hundred Years War and smuggled out 

pies from France,” he said.

“That was very brave of him,” I said admiringly.

“He was caught once and made to sit in a corner a whole fortnight,” Columbus 

said, “but he escaped after throwing pies at the guards who spied on him.”

“He must have been decorated.”

“With icing, birthday candles, and pies,” Columbus said.

“Did he meet Isabella and Ferdinand?

“Yes they are Facebook friends,” he said.

“They don’t Twitter do they?” I asked.

“Mostly Facebook as they are faced with a dilemma,” Columbus said.

“A Catch-22 situation?” I asked.

“The more pies he has, the more he spies on their bedroom,” he said.

“What does he spy on?” I asked amazed.

“When they are reading bedtime stories to each other,” he sighed, “Jack Horner misses his nanny.”

“What happened to her?”

“She eloped with Vasco da Gama,” Columbus said.

“Oh!”

“Because she liked Indian curry and wanted to shop for spices,” he said.

“It must have spiced up her life,” I remarked.

“It did, she then ran away with a prince to turn his harem into Harlem,” he said.

“Did she also open a beauty parlor?” I asked.

“Yes, she did and she also learned how to apply her mind and mehndi,” Columbus replied.

“Very enterprising nanny,” I said.

“Yes, she also began selling spices online,” he said, “and the odd telescope or two.”

“What else did she sell?”

“She sold Edison an electric bulb,” he said.

“Must have made Edison remark ‘Let there be light’,” I said.

“She was his enlightenment,” Columbus replied.

“Did she also sell him a telescope?” I asked.

“She did because Edison needed to keep an eye on his rivals and Jack Horner 

to see that he did not eat too many pies,” he said.

“He must have had a great time with his telescope,” I remarked.

“Edison did and his rivals were forced to buy Venetian blinds to keep him 

away from lighting up their kitchens,” Columbus said.

“His rivals must have had stacks of pies which they hid from the income tax people,” I said.

“No, Jack Horner’s nanny filed their income tax returns, so they had nothing 

to worry about,” Columbus said.

“Did she also sell them telescopes?”

“They needed periscopes actually to ascertain when the income tax people were 

coming so they could tell Jack Horner to inform his nanny that they needed her services.

“Where did they get the periscopes?”

“On the black market,” Columbus said.

“Do you get pies in the black market?” I asked.

“Those who need to keep a finger in too many pies buy them online from the black market,” he said.

“And telescopes?” I asked eagerly.

“Only foreign ones, not the Made in Timbuktu stuff,” he replied.

“They manufacture telescopes in Timbuktu?” I asked surprised.

“It’s a cottage industry there, they need them to keep up with the Jones,” he said.

“Who are they?” I asked.

“The Jones are related to Jonah who was swallowed whole by a catfish. You can read about 

it in The Bible,” he said.

“Never heard of him,” I said, “but why should The Bible give publicity to a stunt 

like that, I bet they do it in circuses all the time.”

“The circuses find it too expensive to give the people a whale of a time all the time,” Columbus said.

“They could take people whaling, that should make up their overheads,” I replied.

 “The circus owners have approached Santa Claus since he lives in the region 

where whales go water skiing,” he said.

“But Santa told them PETA is too strict about people having a whale of a time,” Columbus 

said shaking his head.

“You could tell your girlfriend Isabella to sponsor a voyage to the North Pole,” I said.

“She agreed, but Ferdie told her not to do so until I got him a bevy of pole 

dancers,” he said regretfully.

“You get dancers in the North Pole?” I asked amazed.

“Scantily clad too, that’s how Ferdy wants them,” he sighed.

“Why don’t you do so then?”

“I was recruiting them by the dozen, but someone told the missus about it 

and she was all hellfire and brimstone.”

“Why didn’t you call the fire brigade, they can douse oil fires with foam,” I said helpfully.

“She foamed at the mouth too,” Columbus said sadly.

“You should read Shakespeare, he wrote something about Taming of the Shrew,” I said.

“Will I get in on Flipkart?” he asked, “I could buy it in installments.”

“Why in installments?” I asked wondering, “why not go the whole hog?”

“Because my wife told me that she would have a pound of my flesh if 

I made purchases on Flipkart without telling her,” he said looking sorry.

“Does she pound you too?” I asked amazed.

“When she in not using a grindstone to wear down my alibi for having some 

fun with dancing girls,” he moaned.

“You could look at them through a telescope when your wife is not watching,” I said.

“She has her own telescope to keep a watch on me,” he sighed and accidentally dropped 

the one he had.

“Santa Maria,” he exclaimed as the lens came off, “Isabella will be clapping her hands 

now if she learns about this.”

“She will clap you in iron?” I asked cautiously.

“If not the iron maiden,” he said woefully picking up the pieces.

“Why don’t you tell Ferdie to sponsor a trip to the South Seas, that will keep Isabella 

in her lair and out of your hair,” I suggested.

“What if she tags on?” Columbus asked doubtfully.

“Untag her or better still unfriend her on Facebook,” I said brightly.

“But she will keep following me on Twitter,” he said mournfully.

“Then employ a handsome tutor for her who has read the Kamasutra and 

visited Khajuraho,” I suggested.

“What good will it do me?” Colombus asked morosely.

“The tutor will read intimate passages to her and she will read him like a book 

and you will become a closed chapter,” I said.

“Oh!” he said, “that’s marvelous.”

 “Now pick up your telescope, take the Santa Maria and your maids to the South 

Sea islands where you can play  Blind Man’s Buff with them .”

“Oh! Mama Mia! Here I come,” Columbus said rubbing his ham-like hands in 

glee, “I’ll import them under the head of bone china.”

“They might have a bone to pick with you if you do that,” I warned.

“I don’t like the bony look in models and maids,” he mused, “It’s time I held another beauty 

pageant to pick the winners for the South Sea trip.”

“You can get the creme d la creme of milk maids if you wish,” I said, “just advertise 

for them in The New York Times and hand out leaflets at Times Square.”

“Are you sure it will make their milk of human kindness slosh out by the 

pailful if they accompany me to the South Sea Islands?”

“You must give each of them a telescope so that they give wide berth to each 

other and spy safely on you from a distance.”

“Can’t I get to spy on them a little, especially when they are sunbathing topless?” Columbus 

asked wistfully.

“That you can, but you need a license from your wife to be properly licentious,” I said.

“What if she gives me a learner’s license?” he asked thoughtfully.

“All the better, you can jump red lights and turn green when policemen book you for 

flying above the speed limit.”

“I can always tell the traffic cop that I’m licentious,” Columbus chuckled, “and that 

I’m waiting with my maids  to milk passing cash cows.”

“Don’t make such comments at ATMS, or you might be mistaken for an out of work 

bank robber,” I warned.

“I think I will make ATMs my financier so that I don’t have to rely on Isabel 

and Ferdie to check my cooked account books,” Columbus said happily.

“You can leave the cooking to Isabella’s chef, he will happily cook your goose 

and your books,” I said.

“Certainly not when there is Captain Cook, he cooked goose and books as far apart as

Newfoundland, Hawaii, and Australia. I shall always consult the cookbook he wrote for 

Thomas Alva Edison and Jack’s nanny,” Columbus replied shaking my hand and sauntered off.