 kieferart EXCERPTS |
"Ways of Man" is a topical literary fiction about two neighboring towns divided by a river where civilized man and the law of the jungle meet. Squatters, led by generations of the lawless Witey family, slowly consume the land west of the river. Conditioning, lack of education and machismo envelop Erskine Witey III, who rules the growing population of ne'er do wells with an iron fist. Wendall Puxley, the savvy leader of the established town east of the river, waits patiently to reclaim the land from the Witeys. This comedic drama follows Witey III and his family as key events lead them to gradually evolve. “Ways of Man” is an irreverent political allegory of a divisive nation.
WAYS OF MAN - excerpt (CH 1)
Mayor Erskine Walter Witey V, or "Mikey" as he was called, stood arm in arm with his elegant Lady Edith atop the hastily assembled and unusually tall platform in the town square. Erskina, the anointed four-year-old heiress who had become impatient and surprisingly uncomfortable with all the attention, tried to squeeze in between them as they waited for her ceremony to begin.
Mayor Mike had felt uncharacteristically wistful at the breakfast table of late. In fact, tiny tears of joy would moisten his crustless, white toast on more than one occasion. One day last week, the very emotional, inspired father of little Erskina had used his official City Order Proscription Pad to quickly jot down a directive for his top lieutenant. He confidently ripped it from its gummy binding and jammed it into the pneumatic tube communication system which ran directly through the sewers to the bedrooms and offices of his immediate staff. The lieutenant was to arrange an official citywide extravaganza to honor the emergence of Erskina's first permanent tooth.
Mikey was insistent that the ingrates share his pride in her and be swept into the glow of this mind-blowing phenomenon. In the wee hours, the lieutenant, upon waking to the sucking sound of the pneumatic tube, had instantly pulled himself from his warm bed and, with eyes still closed, grabbed his handy steamer from its cradle to remove the wrinkles from the grey, double-breasted city uniform, which he never removed. The lieutenant must do it right this time.
A gaggle of mostly eel-necked City Council members and their staff stood on the semicircular array of pale beige pavers fourteen feet below the kingly platform, anxiously looking around wondering why the ingrates had not yet arrived. “Oh, God,” Joy Faith Branson, Senior City Council Meeting Minutes Collator, whispered to her underling, “Mayor Mike is not going to like this one iota. Heads will roll, I tell you.” Mrs. Branson lifted one cheek and sniffed to punctuate her remark.
The twelve members of the middle school brass band were cordoned off several yards away, thoughtfully positioned so that the tender eardrums of the anticipated throngs of adoring attendees would not burst and bleed onto city property. Ajax Holstein Wannobea, the mayor’s Acting Lieutenant in Waiting, moving across the pavers like a weightless, frantic pinball, leaned discreetly into each city employee, one by one, to whisper an urgent directive while simultaneously smiling broadly in the general direction of the exalted mayor. Within seconds, the Council and staff, known as the "Dutiful Few", moved an arm’s length away from one another with the unintended precision and synchronicity of a scene from an Esther Williams film. Ajax quickly looked up to the mayor for the pat on the back he so needed. Will Mayor Mike recognize his clever effort to make the crowd appear larger? Why, yes. Yes, he will. The mayor nodded weakly toward Ajax with only a slight furrowed brow. Relieved and wildly encouraged, Ajax momentarily touched the side of his chin with his index finger then quickly grabbed the pen attached to his clipboard to make three hard check marks on his important paper for no particular reason.
He flapped the tip and back end of the pen on the clipboard several times as if to conjure thought. Finally he batted his eyes hard three times, straightened his posture then took in a long purposeful breath and slowly let it out. Enabled, the lieutenant once again pinged across the square to where his immediate underling stood alone stationed near the band. He then issued a secret, brief directive to his number two, Aynal Crabnuts, the Undersecretary to the Mayor’s Acting Lieutenant in Waiting. As Ajax entered Aynal's personal space, the young Wannobea wannabe mirrored his mentor's proud posture, extending his chest to the sky, flapping his stiff arms tightly to his sides as his heart began to beat to the rhythm of "The Stars and Stripes". Aynal's teeth sparkled with the dizzying anticipation of this opportunity - a seminal moment surely to be later set in stone - the moment Aynal Crabnuts would prove himself worthy to the Acting Lieutenant in Waiting. Lt. Wannobea leaned into Aynal, his breath thick with Aunt Jemima Syrup, to convey his official order. After a moment, Aynal’s grin faded to a taut pucker as he received his instruction.
Ajax Wannobea briefly touched his index finger to his chin, grabbed the pen to make a heavy checkmark on his paper then abruptly turned away, darting toward the foot of the Mayor's platform. He would investigate a slight fold in the fabric of the massive grey and white celebration banner which displayed the likeness of the mayor's beloved daughter. Aynal made note of the lieutenant's every movement for future reference.
Lieutenant Crabnuts then shifted his gaze from his awesome mentor to the river road behind him. He took a moment to focus on the town’s pride and joy - the fountain upon which the limestone statue of Erskine Emerald Witey I, great grandfather to the current mayor, sat stroking the neck of a goose. A thin, gurgling stream of water flowed from the goose’s open beak into the small reservoir below which, in turn, was pumped back up through the goose’s neck and out the beak hole again.
Aynal’s chest swelled with pride as he peered deeply into the chiseled eyes of the grand patriarch, but he knew he must set his sights beyond it toward the What O'Toole hardware store. He must purchase a carton of bear mace cannisters, a bolt of heavy-duty fish netting, twenty-two gas masks and all the half-inch rope they had in stock. He obediently headed toward his objective, moving as quickly as possible while not appearing hasty. He had learned this maneuver from Lt. Wannobea’s weekly training sessions. Last week, Aynal said to his wife, “One day, one day, dear, I will be Mayor Mike’s Acting Lieutenant in Waiting. Mark my words.” He tenderly kissed her on the forehead to seal the prophesy.
Mayor Erskine Walter Witey V, or "Mikey" as he was called, stood arm in arm with his elegant Lady Edith atop the hastily assembled and unusually tall platform in the town square. Erskina, the anointed four-year-old heiress who had become impatient and surprisingly uncomfortable with all the attention, tried to squeeze in between them as they waited for her ceremony to begin.
Mayor Mike had felt uncharacteristically wistful at the breakfast table of late. In fact, tiny tears of joy would moisten his crustless, white toast on more than one occasion. One day last week, the very emotional, inspired father of little Erskina had used his official City Order Proscription Pad to quickly jot down a directive for his top lieutenant. He confidently ripped it from its gummy binding and jammed it into the pneumatic tube communication system which ran directly through the sewers to the bedrooms and offices of his immediate staff. The lieutenant was to arrange an official citywide extravaganza to honor the emergence of Erskina's first permanent tooth.
Mikey was insistent that the ingrates share his pride in her and be swept into the glow of this mind-blowing phenomenon. In the wee hours, the lieutenant, upon waking to the sucking sound of the pneumatic tube, had instantly pulled himself from his warm bed and, with eyes still closed, grabbed his handy steamer from its cradle to remove the wrinkles from the grey, double-breasted city uniform, which he never removed. The lieutenant must do it right this time.
A gaggle of mostly eel-necked City Council members and their staff stood on the semicircular array of pale beige pavers fourteen feet below the kingly platform, anxiously looking around wondering why the ingrates had not yet arrived. “Oh, God,” Joy Faith Branson, Senior City Council Meeting Minutes Collator, whispered to her underling, “Mayor Mike is not going to like this one iota. Heads will roll, I tell you.” Mrs. Branson lifted one cheek and sniffed to punctuate her remark.
The twelve members of the middle school brass band were cordoned off several yards away, thoughtfully positioned so that the tender eardrums of the anticipated throngs of adoring attendees would not burst and bleed onto city property. Ajax Holstein Wannobea, the mayor’s Acting Lieutenant in Waiting, moving across the pavers like a weightless, frantic pinball, leaned discreetly into each city employee, one by one, to whisper an urgent directive while simultaneously smiling broadly in the general direction of the exalted mayor. Within seconds, the Council and staff, known as the "Dutiful Few", moved an arm’s length away from one another with the unintended precision and synchronicity of a scene from an Esther Williams film. Ajax quickly looked up to the mayor for the pat on the back he so needed. Will Mayor Mike recognize his clever effort to make the crowd appear larger? Why, yes. Yes, he will. The mayor nodded weakly toward Ajax with only a slight furrowed brow. Relieved and wildly encouraged, Ajax momentarily touched the side of his chin with his index finger then quickly grabbed the pen attached to his clipboard to make three hard check marks on his important paper for no particular reason.
He flapped the tip and back end of the pen on the clipboard several times as if to conjure thought. Finally he batted his eyes hard three times, straightened his posture then took in a long purposeful breath and slowly let it out. Enabled, the lieutenant once again pinged across the square to where his immediate underling stood alone stationed near the band. He then issued a secret, brief directive to his number two, Aynal Crabnuts, the Undersecretary to the Mayor’s Acting Lieutenant in Waiting. As Ajax entered Aynal's personal space, the young Wannobea wannabe mirrored his mentor's proud posture, extending his chest to the sky, flapping his stiff arms tightly to his sides as his heart began to beat to the rhythm of "The Stars and Stripes". Aynal's teeth sparkled with the dizzying anticipation of this opportunity - a seminal moment surely to be later set in stone - the moment Aynal Crabnuts would prove himself worthy to the Acting Lieutenant in Waiting. Lt. Wannobea leaned into Aynal, his breath thick with Aunt Jemima Syrup, to convey his official order. After a moment, Aynal’s grin faded to a taut pucker as he received his instruction.
Ajax Wannobea briefly touched his index finger to his chin, grabbed the pen to make a heavy checkmark on his paper then abruptly turned away, darting toward the foot of the Mayor's platform. He would investigate a slight fold in the fabric of the massive grey and white celebration banner which displayed the likeness of the mayor's beloved daughter. Aynal made note of the lieutenant's every movement for future reference.
Lieutenant Crabnuts then shifted his gaze from his awesome mentor to the river road behind him. He took a moment to focus on the town’s pride and joy - the fountain upon which the limestone statue of Erskine Emerald Witey I, great grandfather to the current mayor, sat stroking the neck of a goose. A thin, gurgling stream of water flowed from the goose’s open beak into the small reservoir below which, in turn, was pumped back up through the goose’s neck and out the beak hole again.
Aynal’s chest swelled with pride as he peered deeply into the chiseled eyes of the grand patriarch, but he knew he must set his sights beyond it toward the What O'Toole hardware store. He must purchase a carton of bear mace cannisters, a bolt of heavy-duty fish netting, twenty-two gas masks and all the half-inch rope they had in stock. He obediently headed toward his objective, moving as quickly as possible while not appearing hasty. He had learned this maneuver from Lt. Wannobea’s weekly training sessions. Last week, Aynal said to his wife, “One day, one day, dear, I will be Mayor Mike’s Acting Lieutenant in Waiting. Mark my words.” He tenderly kissed her on the forehead to seal the prophesy.
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