The Archfornicator of Canterbury

31 Bridge to Hospodar

The border between Bulimia and Transvestitia ran right down the middle of the Rio Puta. The river flowed down from Lake Waycanbayck and used to be an excellent spot for catching salmon, up until roughly ten years ago, when a fertiliser factory was built on the Bulimian riverbank a few kilometers upstream from Verlaine. The state of the present-day river was enough to make grown men cry, mainly because of the noxious teargas-like vapours that rose from the sludgy stream and stunk to high heaven.

Verlaine was connected to Hospodar, the Transvestitian border town, by a narrow cantilever bridge. Near the bridge on the Verlaine side, a small shack passed for the border station. It was occupied by two officers of the Royal Bulimian Frontier Guard, who sat idly at their desks. One of them was leafing through an issue of Penthouse they'd confiscated from a Mongolian yak farmer some time ago.

"Do you reckon these Letters to the Editor are true stories."

"Of course they are. Why would they print them if they weren't."'

"Listen to this. I was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar when a handsome dark-haired man in his late thirties came in. He ordered a Martini and a can of whipped cream and before I knew it he was spraying –"

"Shh. We have a customer."

An elderly man with a bowler hat, a monocle and a moustache walked up to the window doubling as a counter. He was carrying a battered brown leather suitcase and an umbrella.

"Good day Sir. Could I see your travel documents please."

The man presented his passport to the border guard.

"What was your business in Bulimia Mr Borge."

"I am a travel agent. I was exploring possibilities to arrange holiday travel from my native Denmark to your beautiful country."

"Are you carrying any antique items Mr Borge."

"Not really. I do have a bottle of fermented yak's milk if that counts."

"Would you step inside Mr Borge. I'd like to take a look at your luggage."

Mr Borge, however, had other plans. He dropped his suitcase and started running across the bridge like he was being chased by rabid dogs, which he was as soon as the border guards got over their surprise.

The Dobermans unleashed by the border guards were closing in fast. Mr Borge looked over his shoulder and saw that the guards were aiming at him with assault rifles. Soon, he heard bullets flying left and right, but miraculously wasn't hit. Transvestitian border guards watched the rapidly escalating incident from the safety of their brand new border station made of concrete and steel. Several bets were made, with most of the guards putting their money on the Dobermans. When Mr Borge got to the middle of the bridge, he leaped on the railing and jumped into the murky depths of the river.

The guards reached the point where the dogs had forced Mr Borge to jump off the bridge and looked down. Below them, the water was as black as time itself.

The Archfornicator of Canterbury by Olli-Pekka Rinta-Koski
is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 Australia License.