Red Jaboticaba

Jaboticaba hybrid

You live by the sea and you like to eat jaboticaba (who doesn’t). So you go to the hardware store (with limitless floors, like a Borgesian library) and you get the seeds. You’re in luck as they’re on sale. As soon as you get home, you speak to the bailiff. He tells you there’s a jaboticaba cross that sets fruit in four years. Mine, he contends, will take at least 10 years to bear its delectable navy blue plums. You thank him for the information, and then, in a controlled rage, tell him to get the hell off your property. He laughs, you kick him in the groin, he cries (carefully modeled after the infamously great apotheosis of comma spicedom: I came, I saw, I conquered).

You go back to the hardware store and look up the hybrid the storm-tossed fellow was touting. You find it on the millionth floor (or thereabouts), exchange the seed, and get lost on the way out. In fact, you never get out.

But this is how the plant would look if you had, in a drunken stupor, planted the seeds, by the fulminating sea.

(Posted under “the Mysteries of Fiction, or why an infallible narrator can still get himself suspended from school.”)

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5 Comments

  1. Given your propensity to introduce us to exotica, I’m glad there’s google.

    Ignorance was bliss
    But now, somehow
    I feel there’s something lovely
    That I’ve missed.

    Besides the gorgeous fruit, there’s that Borgesian hardware store to make me desire what I cannot have. Envy is a poison, and he who told you that the seeds were greener on the other side of the fence should indeed be spurned. Never trust a bayleaf…espeically one who thinks a comma splice is a comma spice.
    If you are still at the hardware store, please know I will eventually try to get you out, but right now I’m thoroughly occupied with my meditation upon the lovely photo above.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I’m really getting this rhyme stuff now.

      But don’t you see, you are yourself now endlessly trapped in the photograph, with no possibility of escape. Same fate, different library. Of course this kind of thing could only happen to a poet or a moonshine aficionado. The rational mind does not fall prey to such eye-candy. So sad.

      Liked by 2 people

  2. I’m afraid I’m quite unable to comment on the amazing properties of jaboticaba.In actual fact, I’ve never heard of it – but, nevertheless, your delectable piece made me laugh, particularly the wonderful/unfortunate encounter with the bailiff and his agony at being kicked in the groin. Incidentally, would Julius Caesar appreciate your use of his quote? How did you avoid copyright issues for a start? I imagine the drunken stuopr was your own, Prospero? Evidently, it produced results (and I’m not referring to the hangover).

    Liked by 1 person

    • If Caesar’s heirs are in a litigious mood, they can make representations, but they’ll only be rebuffed by a bevy of my groin-kicking lawyers.

      Liked by 2 people


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