Ten Pound Bag Ch 151 155

**** Chapter 151 -- Summer day afternoon ****

By: Emmeran, 20 May 2021

Editor: nnpdad 6 Jun 2021

Hot and muggy.

When it's like that, it's hard to even think, let alone be productive or creative. In the modern world, the city-state of Singapore had intentionally air-conditioned the entire city to overcome the stifling heat. They did everything short of putting a dome over the city. It worked. Productivity went through the roof if you stayed inside. That wasn't happening here, though. We could simply pray for an afternoon breeze.

The soul-sucking part was that my watch had just ticked past 9 a.m.

Sinclaire had returned from quitting her job uptown, focusing on this place was a smart move on her part, in my opinion. Resurrecting this place would keep her busy and with a good income for years. My investment was tiny, but far more than adequate to jump-start this again. Had she tried to do both, she probably would have failed at both.

Here I was, willing to invest a minor sum and all she had to do is invest the work. I was quite sure she'd make this into a success in relatively short order. My confidence was particularly strong with the Byrnes involved to help with vendor accommodations and with the dedicated customers from my companies. This would also suit me for short-term accommodations, though I still wanted my own place here and I wanted it to be a bit nicer than this. I wanted a place with a pool or a bath to cool off in weather like this.

Well, setting up a big tub was a fun idea and a fun idea was just what I needed at that moment, I was ready for something I could have a good time doing. This place needed a bath - something large, if we could manage it. For today, anything that would hold water would do. In Rulo I needed to talk to Peter, our handy engineer; we should be able to build a public bathing house with minimal effort. Public bathing was still a common thing in the Orient and other fun areas, even in the modern age. I didn't mind it at all, but my red-headed buddy had some disturbing incidents. Ah, the tragedy of being a redhead; I still had thing for red-headed women, regardless.

I should mention that my ginger-headed pal was also picked on for having the unfortunate name, "Bob Harder." Jarheads aren't easy on anything like that and every single one of us was singled out for something in our collective, youthful boredom. Do I need to go into depth for you what sort of hilarity they could find in the name Zachariah Ebenezer Narrater? Or even having a slightly oversized penis? "Seriously, guys, it's just in proportion with the rest of me. Leave off, already!" Marines are not easy on one another and you either get over it or get out. To be honest, it was how we kept each other sane. If you were too busy laughing at the wart on Buggy's ear to remember what happened last night, you didn't lose it. We laughed at the world to spite our hatred of ourselves.

I drank to that - best thing ever to drink to.

Then I got busy focusing on a cool bath, cuz that's what a smart guy would do.

What happened next was completely predictable for 19

th

century Missouri. I called for SincereClaire and introduced the topic of a cool bath in a very large and private bathing tub. It was a fun few minutes while she worked to get her head around the idea of a bathing experience like I was describing, but it didn't take very long before she started to get excited. She knew the cooper in town. He was a busy man and ran a large shop as barrels were vital to a shipping port. He might just have what I wanted.

I found one of our boatmen out in the pub and sent him to fetch Amos. I offered free beer for the rest of the night with the promise of another paid day off. That had them all eager to help. We needed a carriage and we needed a large tent. We also needed buckets - lots of buckets. Of course, we also needed manpower and it wasn't surprising how many were eager to help, with the promise of paid time off and free beer.

I reluctantly put on my town clothes and gathered my standard gear, including a wad of cash. Thankfully, all of the St. Louis dollars had been redeemed or left there with Widow Langdon. I could have used another day or so without touching a weapon, but that apparently wasn't meant to be. Sinclaire used this time to spruce up as well, but went scurrying back to her room after she saw how I was dressed. Waiting for women was apparently a timeless endeavor that probably dated back to Eve. She did look much more respectable when she reappeared in her going-to-town, Sunday best. By this point, I was simply seeing various levels of sexy attractiveness.

Amos appeared and was happy to arrange transport if it meant another day here with his girl and Rabbi showed up with a group of contrite men who were willing to bend their backs a little to be back in my good graces. Things started to move quickly.

Aunty had a few of them starting to dig a roasting pit off the 'rustic' back porch. Two other guys, one white and one black, were examining the old well to see if it was redeemable. I had to remind myself that these people all had hidden skills and knowledge. I needed to learn how to leverage that.

The place was a beehive of activity but everyone seemed to be having a good time. There were women inside scrubbing every inch of surface, and someone was even discussing paint schemes. SeriousClaire had set out pitchers of watered down ale and wine and everyone was apparently having a good time.

I was saved by Amos showing up with a horse-drawn buggy and a buckboard. I grabbed SillyClaire and made my exit. There would be no bathing without a tub and I wanted a very large tub.

So off to the local cooper's we went.

**** Chapter 152 -- Rub a Dub Dub ****

By: Emmeran, 20 May 2021

Editor: nnpdad 8 Jun 2021

The cooper had himself quite a setup. Business had been brisk before the Panic but with Fort Dickerson drawing down, things had been doubly quiet. That is, until I showed up in town or time or whatever. On the other hand, I knew this was the start of the national recovery and that it would be a hell of a good bounce-back. I didn't need to look to history to know that you could see it all around if you watched for the signs. Human folk loved capitalism and, when given it with the appropriate socialist support, they were literally unstoppable.

Either approach, capitalism or socialism, left on its own seemed to wallow and fail in deep misery, but together -- wow! My take on it was that, given a level playing field, true winners would emerge by the legion rather than the weak offerings the European aristocratic societies offered up.

Blah, blah, blah! If you know me, you know my feelings: Level play field, strong rules, and excellent referees. The true winners will emerge regardless of background if all things are made equal. I roused myself. I was done with thinking about that. Meanwhile, Sincereclaire and Amos were looking at me like I had suddenly become deaf and dumb.

I shook myself out of that reverie and got on with something fun; I wanted a tub for a bath and I wanted it now.

Of course my luck held. The cooper just so happened to have...

...Yup, he had an oversized barrel that a now-defunct brewery had custom ordered for a Bierfest they wanted to have. Back in '19. The order fell through of course and he was stuck with a gigantic beer barrel.

Mind you, at a traditional Bierfest there aren't a multitude of drinking options. Usually there's a large barrel of beer and, hopefully, a barrel of wine. The festival ended when that barrel was empty. That philosophy carried over to the modern world. "The party is over when the keg floats!" was the norm across a huge swath of the world in modern times.

I was worried about transporting it but was once again reminded that I had people for that; they had it under control. The cooper himself was excited about the idea of a bathing tub that size. His consideration of the number of items I just purchased probably had a 'small' influence on that attitude. I just climbed back into my carriage and let Amos take me to wherever they thought I needed to go next.

Perhaps I was grumpy and really needed a day off. Perhaps it was time to go find that obstinate rocking chair again. So that was where we went.

**** ****

So what did I manage to do that day, aside from putting folks back to work again? On a day that I would have sold your grandmother for a piece of Vonnegut's fabled Ice-9, I found blocks of ICE!!!

Ice cold beer and ice water. I became obsessed and I happily paid seventy-five cents a block for the only three blocks they'd part with. That was after the two dollar side bribe. Yes, that made me the market maker of the moment, and yes, that was three days' wages for the average man per block. But I would have Ice Cold Beer this afternoon and it was just lottery money.

'Lottery Money.' That was still the attitude I took from time to time. A lot had come and gone in the short time since then, but it felt good to splurge on that ice. The blocks were wrapped up in thick straw with a burlap covering to prevent melting and we rushed them into the small beer cellar as soon as we arrived.

I called for advice on how to best use this treasure on a hot summer's day in humid Missouri. I had an idea of my own, but withheld that I had even the smallest inkling until many others had gotten a chance to speak. For once, my first take wasn't wrong. We found a small tub, added cold spring water, and a single block of ice.

We then set two pitchers of beer, a pitcher of water, and one of white wine within to chill. Heck, that was my take on it, but I kept out of it aside from the final, "Make it so." A quote stolen from past and future...that's a fun part of this life, I guess.

That spring water may have been slightly cool, but I'd not drink it. It ran down past St. Charles proper; I can guarantee that at least one person emptied their overnight chamber pot in it. People were reliably irresponsible and lazy about emptying their waste safely. "Out of sight and out of mind" was the overwhelming rule. All I could say was: "Build upstream."

What I did do, was to fill my mug with clean water from my waterskin and set it on the block of ice that was chilling the water to cool our beer and wine. I was rewarded just a half an hour later with a cool sweet mug of water to sip while I worked through a cigarette and found the rhythm of that damned rocking chair again.

I limply rocked and watched the goings-on out in the yard. I felt silly not being part of that work, but the crews were organized and amazing things were happening. Before I knew it, the first pitchers of beer were coming off ice and I was in heaven. Now, heaven didn't come without dinner. Dinner, in this case, was by my special request, since the local butcher had a fresh batch of liverwurst. When they asked about bread, I opted for fresh lettuce instead. It was too damn hot for bread, so just cheese, liverwurst, and mayonnaise.

Mayonnaise wasn't particularly new to the scene at that time, but was relatively unknown here. It's still a simple recipe and can be spiced a variety of ways. It had turned into another word for 'bland' in modern vernacular, as had vanilla. But, unlike that ungodly modern ketchup, the former two were actually magnificent culinary items. In modern times, ketchup had become little more than sugar syrup with a bit of tomato flavoring and color added. No wonder kids loved it and put it on everything.

In that moment though, I didn't care. I had a cold beer and a nice liverwurst wrap in my reluctant rocking chair.

I thought I might keep that damned chair.

**** Chapter 153 -- Dreams and Visions (or Down the Rabbit Hole) ****

By: Emmeran, 20 May 2021

Editor: nnpdad 8 Jun 2021

When logic and proportion

Have fallen sloppy dead

And the White Knight is talking backwards

And the Red Queen's off with her head

Remember what the Dormouse said

Feed your head - Grace Slick, 1967

So I sat in the reluctant rocker and let the combined effect of heat, beer, and food overtake me. It was a blissful if only temporary exit from reality. I napped. But the heat dreams that came were strange and confusing, yet somehow didn't seem quite like dreams. Unlike most dreams, this has never faded from my mind. Strange days indeed.

Usually dreams are relatable to something in your present or past, you can find the tiny ties if you remember those dreams long enough. This one was completely unconnected; it was 'unworldly,' to say the very least.

I found myself in a haze that slowly cleared, revealing an enormous but unfinished tapestry. That tapestry itself was everywhere and everything. Even odder is that it seemed to be everywhen. Bizarrely, I was also part of that tapestry. My mind still shudders when I try contemplate the everything which that tapestry was.

The problem was: that tapestry was and wasn't. There was also an endless curtain of strings which came from every direction...directions I couldn't grasp. I reached out and touched a bit of string and suddenly my mind was full of someone's perception and feelings, none of which were within my realm of understanding. I simply stood, as if in shell shock, riveted in another's unfathomable existence. Not lost in wonder, but lost in confusion. My mind rebelled as I attempted to understand; I became nauseous.

I felt a burning hot/cold grip on my arm as I was pulled free of the thread. The hand that gripped my wrist was many things at the same time. I was in awe, frightened and even angered at this saving hand. The worst came when the face defied recognition. It wouldn't stay. It was, but wasn't, a face that I could understand. The words, though. Those words saved me.

As I was held tight with a delicate claw-like grip, her hands wove the threads of the emerging tapestry. None if it made sense or was fathomable. If one hand held me, how could her hands still both weave? How was this a she, but I knew it was. But she spoke in a willowy, soft, and frightening voice.

Her manner of speaking was concise and staccato.

"I am of the Weavers." Well, that didn't tell me much.

"We weave the threads of lives into the fabric." Ok, that seemed to fit.

"Threads may cross or change direction in the fabric but cannot go back on themselves." Ok, I get weaving.

She raised my hand and pointed -- it was odd, though, because she kept weaving.

In the distance I saw a mad character dancing on an edge of the river of threads. How can you be on the shore of a river which flows from every direction? The madman leapt into the stream and grabbed a single thread. He shuddered for just a moment and then threw the thread back up against the stream.

He was repulsed from the threads and cast outward, aflame like a meteor across the sky. But that thread was no longer in the same when. It was the same place, but a new when.

Again, she spoke.

"Havoc, yet again. He is tiresome.

"Threads cannot be damaged, only woven.

"He has placed that thread out of when. It reconnected, but in a new when.

"We shall weave it into the new when."

"What?" Was all that I could manage.

I was alone again, sweaty and drowsy with afternoon sleep.

I was also really fucking confused.

**** ****

Someone was trying to talk to me, but my mind was still full of dreamscape. They spoke words that made no sense to me at the moment; I was still half in the fog of dreams. With a sudden, mighty shove, I pushed myself erect. On my feet, I shook my head to clear it. That damned person wouldn't stop talking, so I paced a little and tried to get a grip. An abrupt exit from afternoon nap dreams has never been one of my strong points, my head was still in a fog. I found my cup and chugged the last of the now warm beer. I simply held it out and asked for more. I also asked for some water, please, to wash my face awake.

It had to be 95° in the shade and the humidity was heavy in the air. It seeemed like swimming through as you walked would be an option. At times like these, I truly missed Pacific coastal living. Flies and skeeters were everywhere, Aunty had a balm to keep them off of you, but still the incessant sound of insect life was almost as bad as living near a freeway. There was a constant hum.

I knew that all life was important to our existence. We'd slowly learned that. Certainly, people in the modern era realized the mistakes that had been made. Even the most annoying of insects were vital to our existence. My brain finally found its way into gear again and I heard the sound of splashing water, which intrigued me. Of course, first I had to address this endless stream of words that were being run at me.

It was SillyClaire of course and she was full of excitement. I must come and see what had been done in my absence and during my nap. I could see Timmons's hand at work here; the décor strongly leaned toward the river worker. Indeed, marvel upon marvels, we actually had a bar top. It still sat on an array of barrels, but it was a fairly decent bar countertop.

Everything reeked of fresh paint, but with the shutters all open it was starting to air out. It was clean. Decades worth of grime had been scrubbed away and you could actually see the grain of the wood on the floor. Upstairs, the bedrooms were all upgraded to approximately two-star accommodation with real beds and clean linen.

I wanted to sit down and enjoy a cold beer but was dragged outside to see my tub.

Hell's Bells. They had built it.

I had a fully enclosed, private bathing tub.

Heaven had come to earth on this hot and muggy day.

**** Chapter 154 -- Do you remember when ****

By: Emmeran, 31 May 2021

Editor: nnpdad 9 Jun 2021

I remember when Mary Lou said

'You want to walk me home from school'

And I said, 'Yes, I do'

She said, 'I don't have to go right home

And I'm the kind that likes to be alone

As long as you would'

I said, 'Me, too'

And so we took a stroll

Wound up down by the swimmin' hole

And she said, 'Do what you want to do'

-Jim Stafford and David Bellamy

A full-on tent in a very nice backyard - that is what I found out back. That, and a load of proud and smiling men who at first glance had every right to be proud. My engineers stood front and center. They had gotten to do their thing at its core level and had done a bang-up job. I wanted to see what was inside the tent, but I was led off on a tour of everything else first.

It's amazing what an organized group of people can get done in a very short period of time. The grungy, weed pit of a back lot had turned into what I could only call a beer garden. The barbecues were already running full tilt and there was goat or lamb on one of the spits. The other spit looked to have a side of beef roasting.

There was a griddle of sorts, sausages and spring veggies were being cooked there. They had thrown together some long tables, as well as benches and random chairs. We had a lot of people in the garden and kids were already eating under the supervising eyes of the motherly and grandmotherly sorts.

A quick fence had gone up around the entire compound. While not granting privacy, it did form a demarcation line. The work of the engineers, however, was on display at the wellhead. The distribution system they had created was a marvel of DIY ingenuity. The new pump had four times the output and would allow two-person operation. Two kids were working it now, because, you know -- it was new and fun, so they all wanted to.

There was a swivel output director which let you send the water to either the big tub or simply into a bucket. Any spill was directed back into the well. It was all engineering stuff, but really cool to look at. I understood, but couldn't afford to let myself get caught up in it.