Stunned and
Stoned
by Albert Russo
“Don’t you worry
Bonky,” said Avi reassuringly - I repressed
a laugh, coz it was the first time I had heard
someone call him that, and it rhymed with ...
donkey, which served him right -,"we’re
quite open-minded in this city you know, and in
any case people behave where I’m taking you.
It’s pretty kosher. Zoopy will be like a
fish in the sea there."
"Hey, Mooky Nooky
Tushy yourself," I retorted, trying to
squint and blink at the same time, "you do
have a problem with names in this country,"
I grumbled hoarsely, like a school principal who’d
had too many cocktails, addressing all and sundry
around the table, "either you call me
Esmeralda, as it is written on my passport, or
Esmée, Zapinette too, if you insist, orrr Zapy,
but no other donkey names, ok!"
Mahmood started to giggle
and to shake like a bloomin camel that’s
found a water hole in an oasis, after having
trotted ten days in the desert, and soon
everybody guffawed, including Bonka.
After telling myself that I
shouldn’t be a killjoy, I joined in the most
stupid laughter this side of the Negev. Jeezette,
what baboons we are!
In order to make me pass
for a young adult, Shanty applied some of her own
makeup on my face. The moment I saw myself in the
compact mirror she lent me, I almost jumped out
of my skin, on account that I looked like a
ventriloquist’s puppet, or worse, like Nina
Hagen’s baby sister, a real witch, with all
that mascara, the layers of rouge on the cheeks
and the black lines surrounding my eyes. My mum
would have had a heart attack seeing me like this.
But, low and bee hold, my Israeli
buddies thought I was a stunner.
Unky Berky looked stunned
all right, only in his case I was afraid he would
swallow his tongue forever, coz he could hardly
recognize his darling lil niece. So as to avoid
that such an accident should occur, I asked Miki
to order a triple gin and tonic for my uncle,
whether he liked it or not, I know how to put my
foot down in situations of emergency.
I won’t tell you about
my experience at that nightclub, except that both
my uncle and I came out of it completely deaf and
bleary-eyed. How can people enjoy all them
decibels for so many hours? I hate techno music,
oh yeah I hate it with all my guts, and I don’t
care if that’s what my generation goes for.
It’s the kind of noise that can give an
elephant instant diarrhea, let alone make its
tiny eyes pop out of their socks and
turn its jumbo ears into two overgrown lettuces
that have suddenly become all whitered and floppy,
on account of an unexpected heatwave, which here
they call Hamsin.
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