# 112 Wings
A couple got out of an expensive looking car to exam my artistic creations. Desperate to make a sale, I acted nice to this couple from who the hell knows where.
“Nice stuff you got here, Sonny,” the man said, pointing at my newest kinetic sculpture, a piece that looked like the Mona Lisa waving hello and goodbye.
I watched his eyes travel over the piece. “Are you interested in buying a piece of fine art for your home?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.” He picked up a heavy piece I had made from a bowling ball. “This is all right, but I’m looking for something exquisite. Something that looks so real, no one can tell if it is or isn’t.”
“I have just the thing, but I have to warn you, it’s not cheap.”
He looked around at my collection I had set in front of my 1976 Airstream trailer. The sandy ground made a good base for my sculptures, but it lacked something. I guess what it was lacking is called class. So, I’m sure he thought the price of my art would be low. I showed him a moving sculpture; birds strung on a pole endlessly flying in circular dizzying spheres with kinetic angel wings.
“Nice, but not what I had in mind.” The man turned and walked away.
His wife grabbed him by the arm, “I like it, Harold. Ask him how much.”
Harold looked at me, and I saw the look in his eye and knew he wouldn’t buy it at any price.
“If you like that, I have some much nicer pieces in my studio.” I pointed to the walled-in enclosure that was my open-air workspace behind my house trailer.
Harold looked at his watch. “I think we should get going. We’ve got to log some miles today.”
Oh well, there goes my sale, I thought until my heavenly dog ran by.
“Oh my God,” Mrs. Harold said, “Did you see that?” she pointed to the simple beast, with spikes for teeth, stone for feet, and wings that gave him the appearance of Pegasus.
“That is but one example of the sculptures I have in my yard. Are you sure you don’t want to take a look?” I stared into Harold’s eyes and saw him calculating how much he could resell my dog for before he made an offer. “Before you say a word, I strongly urge you to at least look at what I have for sale in the rear.”
“Yes, Harold, let’s go look,” the Mrs. urged.
“Just a dog blamed minute. How, what is that creature?”
“Borage, that’s what I call him, results from an artistic process that I acquired during my travels in the underworld.”
“You mean you learned how to create things like that from criminals?” Mr. Harold asked.
“Underworld in this instance means underground, and I have connections there. When I was in Greece years ago, I went to what remained after an enormous volcanic explosion that created a caldera surrounded by high, steep cliffs on three sides. Santorini slopes downward to the Aegean Sea. On the fourth side, the lagoon is separated from the sea by another much smaller island called Therasia.
“On the smaller island, I observed steam rising from an opening in a hillside. It turned out to be the entrance to a cave, and I followed a well-worn path downward. It became oppressively hot, so I stripped off my clothes and proceeded down wearing only my shoes and a pair of underpants when I came upon her.” I halted my story here in the hopes they’d now be interested enough to take a look inside my studio.
“Don’t stop there. Tell us what happened. Who’d you meet?” the Mrs. asked.
“Step into my studio, and I’ll continue the tale,” I opened the gate and indicated that they should enter.
Mrs. Harold immediately stepped into my yard and froze at the sight of my lifelike art objects. Mr. Harold followed somewhat reluctant. “Okay, we’re in . . .” He shut his mouth when he saw all the beautiful pieces. After a minute of silence he opened his mouth, “By God, you do excellent work. How do you create objects from stone that move as though they’re alive?”
He watched my statues slowly pacing in a circle around my yard. “As I was saying, deep in the bowels of the Earth I ran into Euryale. A beautiful Greek goddess who wore less than I did. We stared into each other’s eyes and fell in love.”
“Hold on Boy, I know Greek mythology. Euryale was sister to Medusa, the snake lady.”
“You’re 100% right, Harold.”
“So you’re telling us a tall tale then?”
“No, I’m not. I’ll prove I’m telling the truth.” I yelled for my wife. She didn’t respond. “Honey, will you please come out here?” I yelled as loud as I could.
“Be right there sweetheart,” came a sweet feminine voice from inside the trailer.
“That dog of yours. Did you make it, or are you going to tell us it sprang from your wife’s sister’s head?”
“How astute of you to realize she could produce more than a horse after losing her head,” I said and watched the lady’s face become wary.
“This is getting weird honey. Let’s get out of here,” Mrs. Harold said and turned toward the gate just as the rear door to my trailer opened. Both Mr. and Mrs. Harold fixed their eyes on Euryale as she entered the yard. She was nude as usual and when she held her sister’s head up for them to see, both turned into animated stone. They joined the others in my yard walking in a circle.
“You’ve done it again. Now I have to go drive their car into a canyon so no one will know they’re here,” I kissed her on her cheek so she’d know I wasn’t angry.
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