Tomato Rhapsody: A Fable of Love, Lust and Forbidden Fruit - By Adam Schell Page 0,51

slapped his thighs and tugged his ears, overjoyed to see the fool they thought they knew so well and the padre they barely knew at all go mano a mano. Though few villagers would admit such a thing, they held much affection for their fool and often spent days pondering his irreverent point of view.

The only problem when it came to Bobo was that nearly everything about him annoyed someone in some way. Those who thought a man should be broad, strong and hairy were put off by Bobo’s spindly limbs, soft flesh and hairless face. Those who thought a man should be serious were put off by Bobo’s complete disregard for seriousness. Those who thought a man should be straightforward in his speech were put off by Bobo’s circuitous reasoning and roundabout rhyming. Those who thought a man should be industrious were put off by Bobo’s sloth. Those who thought a man should be sober were put off by Bobo’s affection for insobriety. Those who held themselves in high regard were put off at how quickly Bobo laid them low. And those who thought a man should stand and fight were put off by how quickly Bobo would go limp and run. The list of Bobo’s annoying traits varied from person to person, but as long as one wasn’t at the sharp edge of Bobo’s razor wit, almost everyone agreed there was much pleasure to be had by his presence.

After a final slap upon his watery buttocks, Bobo hobbled forward and the crowd parted to reveal the extraordinary Good Padre to him for the very first time. Bobo never was much for churchgoing.

The Good Padre, who had heard much about Bobo but had yet to meet him, decided to get right in on the joke. “Come now, Bobo,” said the Good Padre, “won’t you eat one for a beer?”

A mere arm’s length from the Good Padre, Bobo’s knees turned to pudding and his brain flushed with the abstract thought that all the wine he’d drunk over his lifetime had somehow stained his eyeballs. He put his hands upon the enormous shoulders of the Good Padre to steady himself and confirm the reality of such a being.

The Good Padre’s lips peeled back into a broad smile. “Come now, Bobo,” the Good Padre repeated, “won’t you eat one for a goblet of wine or pitcher of beer?”

“Oh, no,” said Bobo with a slowness most unlike the rapid repartee that normally marked his speech. “Not today and not here.”

“Why not keep your namesake, Bobo, and make a fool once more of this crowd’s fancy?” said the Good Padre as he lifted a tomato from the stand. “Here, I shall eat one first, then you shall follow.”

It was not a particularly large tomato the Good Padre held, but the fact it fit so easily into his mouth and was masticated and swallowed so effortlessly mesmerized Bobo.

“Now, Bobo,” said the Good Padre, “you try, and I’ll be first to fill your mug.”

Though he saw the movement of the Good Padre’s lips, Bobo’s mind was elsewhere, entwined in an internal struggle between vision and thought, thought and vision, and he didn’t register a word said. Goodness knows how long Bobo might have stood there staring had the sloppy barnyard voice of Benito not cracked his stupor. “Listen to the Good Padre, fool, and eat your breakfast.”

It was just enough of a barb to return Bobo’s wits to focus on what he’d been paid to do. “Oh, no,” said Bobo, eyes riveted upon the Good Padre, “Bobo doesn’t care for breakfast.”

“Ha,” mocked Mucca, “both a coward and a fool.”

“Indeed,” said Bobo, turning his eyes to Mucca, “for cowardice art my golden rule. Good and honest cowardice is what sets the fool apart, to wear upon his sleeve what most carry in their heart. For cowardice and suspicion is a good and natural thing, dear cousin. ’Tis why Bobo shan’t eat one, till the priest eat a dozen.”

The crowd released a rather uproarious noise, well pleased with the words and challenge their fool had poised.

“A dozen tomatoes?” mused the Good Padre with a laugh.

“Indeed,” answered Bobo. “Let me make it simple, pointed and plain: there’s more to suspicion than meets the common brain. For all animals, be they cows, bulls, sheep, fowl or pigs, know to avoid certain berries and rotted figs. But what in a beast we accept and abide—suspicion—in a human, we condemn and deride. Even animals do not eat from any hand in which