Once upon a time there was an Old Man and a See-saw. (No, I haven’t a clue what a hemming weighs; sue me.)
Having said that, I would be derelict in my duties not to add that we’re talking ‘OLD MAN’ in ALL CAPS, and ‘See-Saw‘ in, at the very least, italics. Not your garden-variety geezer+playground equipment.
That having been said, I feel a need to mention the sucker’s name. Santiago. Hope it rings some bells.
The reader is likely wondering by this point: ‘Nu, the see-saw? Also apocryphal?
Yes of course, A squeakingly loud, but otherwise ordinary run-of-the hamster-cage teeter-totter, in a drab but pre-Soviet-inspired Cuban play-lot.
On this tantalizing background, I feel an obligation to add here our Heavy-weight Heroine, Marlene.
Admittedly, we have at this point only a name, and perhaps a clue as to her seminal Quality which will serve to drive this story into the Nobel’s lariats.
And so, allow me to estimate her weight as ‘in the neighborhood of 13 to 15 stone’. A Google search of this term will quickly reward the fastidious reader with the similarly-antiquated equivalent in pounds, of 182-to 210. Quite a nautical feat that, on Batista rations at least.
Obviously, given what I’ve revealed at this point, ‘We have a major anomaly, Houston.’ Santiago, attracted for reasons only hinted at in the final chapters, has, let’s call it a ‘thing’ for the profoundly obese. However, as a proud bearer of the Iberian ‘macho, but kinder, gentler‘, he needs to express his ‘amour’ without undue emphasis on the fetishist aspect of the beast.
And so, dear reader, on the albeit sketchy background we have at this point, let me position our two allegorical characters on a proper stage, where they ‘meet cute’, and all that rot.
Marlene, sea-weed in her comely locks, mounts her half of the see-saw, coyly challenging a fit suitor to lift her into orgasmic bliss.
Having described her goal as ‘orgasmic bliss’, I would be remiss were I not to point out that, prosaically, we’re talking about three and a half feet of vertical elevation, not including the libidinous contribution of the rococo ‘Tru_2_life’® wooden seats. Santago consults Archimedes…
Having mentioned the Greek, I’d be a fool not to throw in that “Give me a rock and I’ll move yer world, girl.” churned through Santiago’s thoughts like a shark in an undertow. But how to finesse his use of a ‘mother’s little helper’, to hide the awful truth of the weight disparity from Marlene’s pubescent eyes?
And so, frantic last-minute Book-reporters, I throw in here a gratuitous Deus ex Machina, a man-made ‘rock’, whose concentration of Uranium and other heavy metals will shortly fuel the Bay of Pigs, not to get ahead of our story…
(At the risk of repeating myself): ‘Having said that’), I ask the reader to revel in the Happy Ending.
Santiago, with his small-but critical-mass ‘found-boulder’ neatly inside a shopping-bag on his lap, lifts the ecstatic Marlene to a place she’d only dreamed about. Santiago’s atomic-age manliness is redeemed, and so what if they both later succumb, arm in arm there on the Havana beach, to an undiagnosed teeth-glow, hair-loss Finality. Fishin’, fission, what’s the big dif?
Having said all that, I feel, like, real shitty. Having written this goddamn shameful Hiroshima horror-show of a 7th-grade assigned reading, I frankly have no idea what to add. Probably, having said that, I should quit here. Having said too much.
For OBL: With thinkers as cogent, original, and useful as she on Xanga, the rest of us can just relax and post our breakfast menus.