Simple Simon and the Firepool
Once upon a time, in a beautiful land far far away, Simple Simon met a pieman going to the parliamentary buildings.
Said Simple Simon to the pieman, “I’ll need seven hundred and sixty-nine, eight hundred and seven hundred – listen properly – seven hundred and sixty-nine thousand, eight hundred and twenty, and seventy, pies to feed my wives and extended family.”
“But aren’t we supposed to be cutting back on government spending?” asked the jolly pieman, who had cut his road-trip short to attend to Simple Simon’s needs.
“You’re fired,” said Simple Simon.
He felt no sympathy for the pieman, or his family. Simple Simon had accumulated a huge pile of gold by stealing the hopes and dreams of millions. Whenever he walked past a group of hungry homeless children in the streets, he smiled. Because he knew that he had destroyed their future. It made him happy.
The buses were on strike again, and the trains he had bought were too big for the tracks. His wives had taken possession of more cars than the land could afford. All his over-priced submarines were in dry-dock for repairs. And he was not allowed to buy himself another jet (at least not openly). So Simple Simon didn’t mind walking. It was a short trip from his fairytale homestead, and the path was paved with the bones of dead miners and farmers and mental patients. This also made him happy.
He would normally have taken his goats with him on such an outing. But he had recently traded them for some magic beans. These beans had sprouted overnight, growing into a huge firepool in his yard. From the land beyond the firepool had come a family of ogres who demanded that Simple Simon hand over his country to them in return for lordship over all the sheep in the land. And more gold.
Some of the sheep who lived in the beautiful land had been less than happy with this arrangement, but the vast majority of them had just gone along quietly. Simple Simon found that sheep were much easier to control than goats. They did whatever Simple Simon said.
Especially when he generously provided them with the illusion of freedom. He allowed the sheep to believe that they had some say over what happened in the beautiful land. He waved documents at them, documents that had been drafted by wise men a long time ago, before the ogres and the big bad wolf had darkened the land. These documents assured the sheep that they had rights, and that they were indeed free. Unfortunately, the wise men had written the documents in an ancient tongue, no longer spoken in the beautiful land. So the old documents were often misinterpreted and misunderstood. Simple Simon considered himself exempt from these ancient rules. They only applied to the sheep.
He found that it helped to dance with the sheep at every opportunity, and sing songs with them. This made them believe that he was one of them, and that he wasn’t just dressed in sheep’s clothing. It also distracted them from the annoying public meetings and question sessions they held from time to time. These meetings always made Simple Simon laugh. He laughed so much that his glasses kept falling off his nose. He liked to use his middle finger to push them back up. He felt that this sent an appropriate message to the sheep.
One of his old friends had been caught stealing from the sheep. He had been sentenced to an endless session of playing golf and fighting with news reporters. The message had been clear – steal from the sheep, and your skills would be recognized and rewarded. There would be a lot of bleating, but nothing bad would actually happen. Nobody would ever have to repay their ill-gotten gains.
So Simple Simon had done his best. He hadn’t stopped at theft. He had his way with every young sheep that caught his eye. But he always showered afterwards. So he didn’t understand how anyone could possibly take offence.
And yet, he did hear distant mutterings of unhappiness. Luckily, there were enough dancing sheep around him at all times to keep these problems at bay. To be safe, he always kept his famous spear with him wherever he went. This weapon was so famous, it had even been immortalized in works of art. But Simple Simon and his favourite sheep were not happy about this. He preferred to keep his spear hidden, a secret weapon to be shared with those who were closest to him.
Besides, those who muttered against him had stolen everything themselves originally. Simple Simon wasn’t sure how he knew this, how it worked or exactly what it meant. But he knew it to be an indisputable fact. Whenever they raised their voices in protest, all the king’s horses and all the king’s men were denounced as foreign invaders, and every attempt they made to put the beautiful land’s economy back together again was blocked.
This made Simple Simon happiest of all. He laughed as he trampled his land’s currency into the dust, dancing a jig and raising his voice in song. It was a good day for spending the money that should have been allocated to education and housing and basic services and social grants.
He decided to buy himself a shiny new jet after all.
Extract from Dancing in Valhalla. 13 twisted tales of music, magick, mayhem & murder. Some torn from newspaper headlines in sunny South Africa where, for many, these are part of everyday life.
Conceived, planned, written, sweated over, proofread, edited, bled on, revised, rewritten, proofread again, cried over, published, printed and bound in South Africa.
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