Thermodynamics

He fell out the back window of the bus and landed, cat-like, in the middle of the road. The bus continued on, completely silent. The screaming of the school children and the lively playing of the 26-piece orchestra that had boarded at the last stop could not be heard at all.

There was no traffic at all, save for the steadily shrinking bus, disappearing into the haze of dust on the horizon. A large ginger tabby, impressed by the boy's skill at landing, came over and said hello.

After a brief conversation, they walked off, hand in paw, down a side street. A large salsa band, unnoticed by anyone, marched down the now empty street, eventually disappearing, like the bus, into the distant haze.

At the end of the side street, through a door and down a flight of stairs, was a large walled garden, sunken below street level. Exotic fruits - guava, pineapple, and kiwi - grew abundantly. A huge flock of flamingos were standing around a lake, sipping martinis and discussing finance with raucous enthusiasm.

A woman was sitting quietly in the corner, eating a mango as daintily as one can. The ginger tabby sidled up to the woman and began delicately grooming her.

A ruckus arose amongst the flamingos as the news spread that they had run out of olives. Avian cries of “sell, sell!” rang out across the garden as the birds dispersed in a flurry of feathers and swizzle sticks, leaving behind a sad and withered copse of sticks, the remnants of the olive bushes which they had pillaged.

The same moment the birds made their exit, the doorway opposite to where the boy and the feline had entered opened, allowing the bus and the salsa band, which were there waiting, to enter, which they didn't. Instead they were stopped, poised as if to descend into the garden. The orchestra players disembarked from the bus, leaving their instruments. They walked around at the top of the stairs, chatting and mingling with the salsa players.

Cacophony arose from the vehicle as the children began playing with the abandoned instruments. Trumpets were hooting with laughter, violas and cellos screaming as they were tickled with their bows and the timpani was chased up and down the aisle of the bus, each footstep causing a loud boom to echo out from the bus and across the garden, building in resonance until every particle within earshot was humming in sympathy.

The ginger tabby yawned and yowled, having completed the grooming of the mango-eating woman. She was exceedingly pleased with the work he had done around her shoulders, as well as the precision and definition of the new creases in her beige suit.

She stood up and the salsa band tumbled in through the doorway in an avalanche of maracas and Spanish profanities, coming to a rest at the base of the staircase. The orchestra players, bereft of conversation, corralled the over-excited instruments and set to re-tuning them in a small grove. The children, as punishment for disturbing them, were forced to write lines on the walls of the garden. As the children wrote, the salsa band struck up a jaunty tune as the boy, the tabby and the woman danced around the lake. As soon as they had tuned appropriately the orchestra struck up and out in time and in tune, filling out the air with marvellous sound, rich and dense

Eventually the three dancers tired, so they lay down in the garden bed. There, as they slept, they grew into three beautiful trees. The boy and the woman became towering olive trees, always in flower, always heavy with fruit. He produced powerful black olives, while she developed green olives, the sweetness of which nobody had ever before tasted. The ginger tabby sprouted jars of olives, which had been pitted and stuffed with pimento.

The bands played together long into the night, the garden around them growing and changing with each note, revelling in the improvised tunes and irreverent rhythms. Eventually they, too, tired and slept and joined with the woman, boy and beast in the earth, putting out flowers and trees of great beauty.

Had they been able to complete their lines, the children would have been nominated for a Nobel Prize for Literature.

The maraca player alone danced on, and on.

 

By Daniel Gee