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That night, Ronel decided to write a book. Something between an educational fable and a philosophical treatise. The story would be about a king beloved by all his subjects who loses something he cherishes, not money, maybe a child or something, or a nightingale, if nobody's used that yet. Around page 100, the book would turn into something less symbolic and more modern that dealt with man's alienation in contemporary society and offered a little consolation. On about page 160 or 170, it would change into a kind of airplane novel in terms of readability, but of much higher quality. And on page 300, the book would turn into a furry little animal readers could hug and pet, as a way of coping with their loneliness. He hadn't yet decided on what sort of technology would turn the book into that ever-so-touchable animal, but he pointed out to himself before he fell asleep that in the last few years, both molecular biology and publishing had taken giant steps forward and were now crying out to join forces.
And that same night, Ronel had a dream, and in his dream he was sitting on the balcony of his house concentrating on the newspaper in a courageous and sincere effort to solve the enigma of human existence. His beloved dog, Darko, suddenly appeared on the balcony wearing a gray suit, a giant bone in his mouth. He put the bone down at his feet and hinted to Ronel with a tilt of his head that he should look for the answer in the financial pages. Then he explained in a deep, human voice, which sounded a little like his father's voice, that the human race is nothing but a tax dodge.
"A tax dodge?" Ronel repeated, confused.
"Yes," Darko nodded his clever head. He explained to Ronel that his tax consultant, an extraterrestrial who lived on the planet Darko originally came from, had advised him to invest his earnings in an ecologically oriented enterprise, because ecology was big with the extraterrestrial IRS. And that, using shell corporations, he soon got involved in the whole field of developing life and species on planets.
"In general," Darko explained, "everyone knows there's no real money in developing the human race. Or any other race,
That morning, Ronel woke up to a glorious hard-on. |
for that matter. But since it's a new field that's wide open taxationally, there's nothing to stop me from submitting a mountain of receipts."
"I don't believe it," Ronel said in his dream, "I refuse to believe that our only function in this world is to be a tax shelter so my beloved dog can launder money."
"First of all," Darko corrected him, "no one's talking about money laundering here. All my revenue's clean and above board, I don't do any of that funny business. All we're talking about here is a semi-legitimate inflation of expenses. Now secondly, let's say I grant your first premise that it isn't humanity's real function to be a tax shelter for me, okay? If we take this argument a little further, what other function could it have? I'm not asking pragmatically, but theoretically."
Darko kept quiet for a little while, and when he saw Ronel didn't have a single answer in his arsenal, he barked twice, picked up the bone with his mouth and left the balcony. "Don't go," Ronel begged in a whisper, "Please, don't leave me, my dog, my friend, my love..."
That morning too, Ronel woke up to a glorious hard-on and Darko's not-completely-defined licking. When he finally opened his eyes. Darko was running around the room boneless and completely naked.
It's not sexual, was the first thought that came into Ronel's mind, it's sociable, maybe even existential. "Darko, my angel, my friend," he whispered, trying to contain the overwhelming joy he felt so as not to wake Neeva, "You're the only one who really loves me."
Excerpted from The Nimrod Flipout by Etgar Keret, to be published in April by Farrar, Straus and Giroux, LLC. Copyright (c) 2006 by Etgar Keret. All rights reserved. Translated by Sondra Silverston.
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© 2006 Etgar Keret & Nerve.com
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