Ride the Whirlwind

by Bob Brill

conclusion

Djaminko joined the taxi queue at the Pan City railroad station, looking for a fare. A train had just pulled in from Prasnovia. Among the stream of people emerging from the station Djaminko saw a man wheeling a suitcase toward his cab.

Djaminko helped him load his suitcase into the trunk. Something about him was familiar. When the man was installed in the back seat and Djaminko behind the wheel, he turned and asked his passenger where he wanted to go.

“I’d like to find a good cheap hotel.”

“I know you,” Djaminko said. “but I can’t quite place you. You’re Prasnovian, right?”

“Indeed,” said his passenger. “You may have seen my face on the Prasnovian currency.”

“Of course,” cried Djaminko. “You’re the king of Prasnovia.”

“Ex-king,” replied the ex-king.

“I used to work for you.”

“I thought you looked familiar too, but I’m sorry, I’ve lost the connection.”

“Well, that doesn’t matter. It’s all in the past now.”

“You’re so right.”

“So, what are you going to do now, Sire, now that you’re not king anymore?”

“I wish I knew. Can you recommend a good, clean, cheap place to stay?”

“But Sire, you’re one of the richest men in the world.”

“I was, but it’s all gone now. They confiscated my treasury and all my personal wealth. They barely let me escape with my life and whatever I could pack into one suitcase.”

“Amazing. So you lost it all. Well, you could stay with me till you get on your feet.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“Kinder than you deserve.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You won’t remember this, but you ordered me to be hanged.”

“Did I really? What for?”

“Ride the whirlwind. Remember that?”

“Oh, now I remember you and your infernal whirlwind. I had every reason to hang you, you pesky philosopher.”

“Well, you don’t have to stay with me if you don’t want to.”

The ex-king thought that over. Finally, he said, “My reign is ended and a new era has begun. All debts must be erased, all crimes forgiven.” In his most kingly voice he proclaimed, “I absolve you of all past irritations to the royal person.” And then more humbly he added, “I accept your generous invitation.”

A few days later ex-king Popsadigagidaspop was driving a taxi, thanks to Djaminko’s recommendation. He was not very good at it, as he had never taken the trouble during his privileged years to learn how to drive. Djaminko took him to the Dancing Boy Café and introduced him to his friends. Erno Huckabuff refused to shake his hand. Viloshiana slapped his face. They made it known to his ex-majesty that they did not appreciate being condemned to hang.

“Djaminko,” said the ex-monarch, “how is it that all these people I hanged are here in Pan City, apparently still alive? Is this where people go after death? Could it be that I am dead too?”

“No, Pops.” Djaminko had shortened the royal seven-syllable name. “We’re all alive. You too. But you may not last long if your driving skills don’t improve.”

The next morning the ex-king’s ex-finance minister, Barmleigh Shtoopen, along with his mistress, Djaminko’s wife, flagged down Djaminko’s cab. They entered the back seat without noticing the driver, announced their destination, and continued their conversation. They were on their way to a famous lingerie shop and were discussing the purchase they had in mind and the role those garments would play in the intimate games they were planning. Apparently, the wily Shtoopen had anticipated the revolution and prudently exported his wealth, as his dull-witted monarch had not.

When Djaminko pulled up in front of the lingerie shop, he turned around in his seat and said, “How ya doin’, honey? How are the kids?”

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. It’s you. You’re alive.”

“More so than ever, honey, and having the time of my life.”

“Oh, Djaminko, what a shock.” She turned to her paramour. “This is my husband, Djaminko. I thought he was dead.” She turned back to Djaminko. “This is...”

“I know who this is, your lover, Barmleigh Shtoopen. I know all about you two.”

“Delighted to meet you, old boy. Glad to hear you’re alive.” The ex-minister exuded a smile, selected from his vast repertoire, in this case the condescending smirk he bestowed on underlings. This face, so at odds with the gracious words spoken, was the real message. Then, dropping the smile, he added, “I hope you aren’t going to press any matrimonial claims.”

“Only one. I want custody of my children. Other than that, joy to your sheets.” He stepped out of the cab and ran around to open the door for them, not in the line of duty, but to rid himself of their company. “The cab ride is on me.”

A few nights later Lord Flagellum came round to the Dancing Boy Café to offer Djaminko the position of finance minister in the new Prasnovian cabinet.

“What? Me, the new Barmleigh Shtoopen? Ha!”

“Djaminko, my friend, you would be so much better at the job than he was. Shtoopen robbed the treasury and got away with it too. All that money is locked up in foreign banks. You, on the other hand, were impeccable when you were the Royal Exchequer Checker. We would be proud to have you in the position.”

Djaminko frowned.

“Think it over, Djaminko. You could return to Prasnovia with honor and participate in a new, honest government. No more corruption. No more arbitrary executions.”

“But I don’t want to return to Prasnovia. I had no idea that I was unhappy there, having known no other life, but that night at the king’s banquet, when I first mentioned riding the whirlwind, a whirlwind snatched me up and swept me away from all that. Look how gently it set me down. I love my life here in Pan City. I’m done with respectability and its demands.”

“Your country needs you, Djaminko.”

“No, not me. Count money again? Never. I’ve let go of all that. I’ve let go of my marriage. I’ve even had to let go of my dear Viloshiana. I drive my cab, I play my drum, and I am content.”

“It’s your choice, of course, Djaminko. But there’s one thing I’m curious about. How can you befriend the man who ordered your execution?”

“Old Pops? Now that he has no power, he’s harmless. He isn’t very bright, but that no longer matters. He was a terrible king, but he’s doing just fine as a nobody. And so am I.”

What Djaminko did not share with Lord Flagellum was the latest vision he received while playing with the trance musicians. He saw the new government, with its banners of hope and noble intentions, slowly disintegrating from corruption, political infighting and greed, till within a few years it would turn into the next tyranny. Those now in power would become the enemies they displaced and be swept away in turn by the next wave of idealistic reformers.

“I’ll make you a counter offer,” said Djaminko. “If you wish, I’ll show you how to play the drum.”