The Tale of Bob
by Rick Tornello
Once upon a
time, almost before recorded history, but not
quite, in the time of Gilgamesh there lived a
weaver of cloth named Gorfflemychu. Gorfflemychu,
which means bright flame, is also the meaning of
the name Bob. In order not to make things too
confusing to our modern readers and listeners who
have no passing conversational ability in
Babylonian, we’ll keep his name as Bob.
Now as I mentioned, Bob was a weaver of cloth, as
was his father, and father’s father before
him, and even so down before recorded time. They
made a decent living. Bob had a wife and many
children. His skill as a rug maker was known
locally and throughout the Fertile Crescent. Bob
was a content human.
One day while teaching his number one son, also
named Bob, the secrets of the trade, the boy-man
who would inherit all that was his, primogeniture
being the custom and law of the time, there came
a stranger to the entrance of Bob’s
establishment.
Bob the father, not the son, greeted the visitor
with respect, as was his wont, whether or not the
person in front of him was wealthy or not. “All
people deserved respect,” the father would
tutor the younger Bob.
Bob welcomed the man in. “Sir some drink,
wine, beer, dates and other fine eatables as you
might like after your trip. For surely sir, I
would know if you were from these parts. Please
rest. We’ll talk business only after you’re
rested and fed.” This was the custom and Bob
adhered to it.
The guest was very pleased. He displayed no
trapping of wealth and was delighted that this
rug maker, this worker of cloth treated him as a
though he were a king. “Your honesty,
generosity and fairness are known far beyond
anywhere you can imagine,” said his guest.
“You are too kind. I am honored,”
answered Bob.
Finally after food and drink a plenty the guest
began,“ I come to you, maker of rugs because
of your reputation, ability, skills and fairness
which I have seen enough to know is as true as
has been proclaimed. I would like you to make me
a carpet of the best materials known in the world.
Spare no expense.” And so saying dropped 7
bags of gold. “This should be deposit enough,”
declared the guest.
“Sir, I’m not sure I am up to what I
believe you might be looking for, and were I,”
he said pointing to the seven bags of gold
continued, “your deposit is more than I
would charge.”
The guest laughed and said, “It might be
more than you would charge but consider this my
payment for your future efforts and current
hospitality. When do you believe you will have it
completed?”
Bob was quiet for some time thinking about some
of the dreams he had had and the designs that had
run through his mind. He would wake up from his
dreams and press his cuneiform stylus onto the
wet clay he kept by the bedside for his ideas.
“It will be months at best.” He hoped
this would not upset his guest but this was a
tall order.
The guest said with a smile, “I will return
in a half a year’s time.” He rose to
his huge full height, which in our day would be
reckoned as close to seven feet tall. He bowed
and left.
Bob stood there wondering what, how and when this
task could be completed. His son witnessed the
whole proceeding. His wife, when she heard the
story and saw the gold as proof of the guest’s
sincerity said, “You’ve trained a
number of people in the art. Hire them to do the
basic work. You can put the finishing touches.
You can afford to pay them and work this project.
You have six months.”
Six months pass:
To the day the guest arrived and was treated in
exactly the same manner. After the formalities,
Bob said, “Please come with me and let me
show you what I have made for you. I prayed to
the gods for inspiration. I hope this meets with
your desire and approval.” He pulled a
curtain back away from a large loom that was
specially fabricated for this project.
The guest looked, walked around the item, nodding
all the while inspecting the thread count, the
weave, the colors, seven times. At the end of the
seventh time he stopped and looked down at Bob.
He said, “This is the work of a god, not a
human. I am blessed and for such a work I will
impart a secret to you and you alone that you may
impart to your first born only, and he to his,
for ten generations.” He whispered in Bob’s
ear. Bob turned a shade like that of alabaster.
Bob stood there quietly as his guest left,
sitting upon the rug which flew off.
Bob made more rugs with the flying skills but
only for guests who showed the proper
identification that his first guest indicated
would be a sign.
Many years later:
Bob was old and dying. His son now ran the
business in the same manner and fashion as his
father had done. One day just before Bob’s
passing to the great unknown, his son asked him,
“Father, you promised to tell me how you did
this. What is the secret of the flying rugs?”
Bob motioned for his son to come closer. He
whispered most of the secret. The effort was too
great and in his final breaths said, “You
must name the one who will inherit your business
with the name Bob, for not only is it in the
magic I just passed on to you, but it’s also
in the magic of the name Bob. Son, you have to be
both a Bob and weaver.”
As he said his last words in the heavens the
thunder rolled and the lightening flashed and
crashed.
By,
Rick Tornello & The Village idiot Press
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