Gouda was not an ugly man, in fact, he
was quite handsome in his own
little Glaswegian way. However, after the day was done, when all the
city moved
towards homes and into
arms and nearer goals and dreams, Gouda shuffled miserably to his cold
water flat and spent his nights
brewing kettle after kettle of tea, and waiting for something to happen.
He was
not hoping for anything
in particular; the lottery, say, or a luminous-eyed, large breasted
lover, but
just something that would
make him feel he had begun to live. The kettle was whistling now, and
Gouda rose, almost as if the last
of his will were directed into that movement, he rose wearily to
interrupt its song.
He almost didn't hear the telephone, so absorbed was he in his tea
mission. In
mid stride towards the
stove, he swiveled without hesitation and picked up the phone, as though
he had
been practicing for this
moment for ever.
"Hello?" ventured Gouda.
"Why Gouda," a husky feminine voice responded, "you sound as if
you could use some cheese."
"Pardon?"
"My little Gouda, my own true one....yes, some ricotta would be
de-lic-i-oous! MMMMMMmmmmm. Or perhaps
your tastes run wild, perhaps you would like some Lllimburrrr-ger" the
voice purred convincingly.
"Yes!" cried Gouda, knowing he did not know at all what he was
saying,
"Yes! Cheese! That would be swell ma'am! Please, tell me more!"
"Well, Gouda, what would you like me to tell you? Would you like
me to
say that I've never known such a
cheesey big man in my whole life? That your cheese is the best?",
The voice was becoming exponentially
more sexy.
Gouda hardly knew what to say. He was overwhelmed with feelings
he had
never known, and little patterns
began to appear before his eyes, he felt faint, he grasped the edge of a
nearby
bookshelf.
"Gouda? Are you there?"
"Yes,..." he whispered huskily.
"Gouda, I have to leave you now.."
"No!!!" he burst out desperately.
"I'm afraid I must," she breathed softly, "but I want you to
remember
what I say."
"Yes, anything......" his blood was feverously shooting through
his veins, a small snake of perspiration
moved towards the small of his back. He felt on the verge of something,
almost to a zenith of a foreign
mountain, he knew not where he was or even his name. He simply knew the
voice,
the cheese, it was all to
him now.
"Muenster...." she said quietly.
"Oh, that's right..." he murmured.
"Prrrrr-ovolone" she said it with a faint accent, memories of a
Tuscan hillside flashed through his
mind, though he'd never been, his brain was reeling, intoxicated.
"and......."
"What?" Gouda asked miserably ecstatic.
"and....."
"Oh God, say it!" he screamed.
"MMMMMMMMOZZERRELLA....." no sooner had she finished than the
line went
dead.
Gouda realized he was on the cold linoleum floor and boiling
water was shooting all over the kitchen,
burning his body, even as the screeching kettle and insidious dial tone
burnt his ears. He lay there
for a while. Then he stood up and smashed the Elvis mug.
On his way out, he stopped to dab on some Ralph Lauren.
I scrutinized several unevenly sized and shaped hunks of cheese
while Samuel began toasting English muffins. We had gone to a party at a
guy named Vic's girlfriend's house. I had met Vic a couple times before,
Samuel considered him a friend. It was one thirty in the morning and we
knew a cheese snack would settle our stomachs before bed. We had spent
most of the party in separate rooms and were rehashing the evening.
Suddenly, Samuel said, "I got some weird vibes tonight.
I said, "Yeah I had a negative experience there."
Samuel said, "Really?", worrying that I hadn't had a good time.
I said, "What's up with this cheese?", noticing what appeared to
be white and green mold on the yellow cheese.
Samuel said, "Oh it's supposed to be like that. It's Huntsman, a
layered cheese with sharp and blue cheese."
I looked closer and realized that he was right. As usual, Samuel's
comprehensive knowledge of cheese had a calming effect on me. I told him
what happened as I sliced the cheese.
"About ten thirty, I was sitting on the couch and I started
fading. All the accumulated sleep deprivation caught up to me. Getting up
at four thirty in the morning every day this week. I felt like I was
levitating when I stood still and hallucinating when I rubbed my eyes.
The room was full of people and noise, but I was nodding off. I went
outside and stood on the porch. I closed my eyes and took several deep,
measured breaths of cold air, something I saw Tibetans do when they were
tired or losing focus. I found it helpful on the longest days of my trek.
Anyway, Nemo was there on the porch with his girlfriend. You know who I
mean?"
"Omen backwards."
"What?"
"Omen backwards." Samuel said again. "That's what I said when he
introduced himself. 'Nemo is omen backwards.' Don't make the slices so
thick, they won't melt before the muffins burn."
"So many ways to cut the cheese." I snickered. "As many ways as
there are people."
Samuel's normally dry sense of humor became Mojave-like when
discussing cheese.
"I think Nemo has heard that 'omen' remark a few thousand times
too many in his life." Samuel said, completely ignoring the sophomoric
humor of my remark and redirecting the discussion to his favor.
"Oh yeah," I went on, "So anyway, Nemo suddenly turns toward me
and says, 'I gotta tell you, man, you're bothering me right now.' I said,
'What?' I was so sleepy I thought I must have misunderstood. He said,
'You're too close and behind me.' It was a small porch, but his
touchiness seemed uncalled for. I put my hands up, shrugged him off, and
walked away. I leaned up against a tree, still not awake. Nemo came over
and apologized. I appreciated that, but it was like he didn't mean it.
Like he was defensive, justifying his behavior. Do these slices look
better?"
Samuel nodded his approval.
I continued, "I tried to tell him about my half-way theory. In
Thailand, I would swim every day in the ocean, straight out from shore
and back. I always wanted to return to the beach perfectly tired, but not
exhausted. Every swim I had to make a decision, is this the half-way
point? Is this? And so on. It was always a bit of a gamble. I tried to
explain this, but I was so sleepy, all I could say was, 'I've passed the
half-way point.'"
"Wait a minute," Samuel interrupted, "were you wearing a tweed
coat tonight?"
I said, "Yeah."
"Did anyone do this to you?" Samuel asked excitedly as he brushed
my ribs with the back of his hand.
I was bewildered, Nemo had done this very thing as we stood by
ourselves near the street.
I said, "Nemo patted my coat on my left side here. He said, 'I
don't think...(pat pat)...well maybe you are.' Then he walked away
without any explanation. I kept thinking he felt guilty for his behavior
and I wondered about his spirituality, his upbringing. Why he would feel
guilt, and why would he react so strangely to his guilt."
"He thought you were a cop." Samuel stated, matter-of-factly.
The toaster oven dinged. Samuel spread spaghetti sauce on the
English muffins and put the "perfect" cheese slices on top. He said,
"This light stuff is Gouda and this is goat cheese." He put everything
back in the toaster oven and turned on the broiler.
I said, "You think he was checking me for a gun? I could never be
a cop. That job is so much about confrontation, anger, dominance. Things
I walk away from and come back to later when they cool down. Maybe he
felt my wallet. My wallet is kind of heavy. I've got a stone in there my
father brought back from Venezuela and a knotted string blessed by the
Dalai Lama. Did you know Tibetans eat yak cheese?"
"Yak cheese." He said, "Does the Dalai Lama eat Yak cheese?"
In the seven years of our friendship, Samuel had never asked me a
question about cheese. I said, "He must."
"Hmm...," Samuel muttered, "When I was down in the basement Nemo
came down, approached Vic, and they began speaking rather intently, I
thought, under the circumstances. I wasn't paying that close of
attention, but I saw Nemo pat Vic's chest and I heard the word 'heat' and
"the guy in the tweed coat". It was the second time I had seen Vic and
Nemo speak and both times what struck me was that I had never seen Vic
appear so serious. Is the cheese melted yet?"
"Not yet," I assured him.
"I began concocting this elaborate scenario, that Vic and Nemo
were supposed to do a drug deal, and that Nemo was becoming paranoid that
a cop was there. I remember thinking 'Who is wearing a tweed coat
upstairs? Who could this guy Nemo think is carrying a gun?' If I had had
any idea that they were referring to you, I think I would have burst out
laughing on the spot."
I said, "There was this time earlier by the stereo we had another
run in. I was putting discs in the CD player. Nemo came over and said,
'No more of that top forty. Play some of this.' He held out the Earth,
Wind and Fire. I said, 'I already put it in there.' Then he picked up the
Abba and said, 'Play this next. Winner Takes All is a great song.' I
said, 'Dancing Queen is better.' He said, 'Winner Takes All.' I said,
'Dancing Queen.'"
"Maybe 'Winner Takes All' is drug world code for 'I'm cool.' or
maybe a lot of undercover cops like 'Dancing Queen.' Better take those
out before the cheese burns."
I turned to see the cheese bubbling on top of the spaghetti
sauce-covered English muffins. Samuel detests the smell of burning
cheese, and I know he would not eat if the cheese was burned even a
little bit. His relationship with cheese seems very complicated. I
removed the muffins from the toaster oven and put them on the plates
Samuel was holding.
I said, "I heard Nemo talking about his job. He said he made
'deliveries'. I was thinking UPS or something, but he wouldn't say, like
it was some secret. Vic asked him if there was a lot of lifting like
forty or fifty pounds and Nemo said, 'No, just like three or four
pounds.' Now I think for sure he was a drug dealer. It all adds up."
"It all adds up." Samuel repeated.
We took our cheese pizza muffins out to the living room and
started eating. It was really good. Samuel said, "We'll have to send this
recipe to CheeseNet." I nodded. We ate in assured silence.
A couple of weeks later, we ordered a real pizza to be delivered.
When I opened the door it was Nemo. Pizzas were the kind of deliveries he
made and he was actually a little embarrassed about it. Turns out he was
held up at gun point on a delivery run and was sort of paranoid after
that. I think Samuel felt bad that we had suspected Nemo and Vic of being
drug dealers. First, he gave Nemo a ten dollar tip. Then, when we opened
up the box, and saw that the cheese was burnt crispy black, Samuel ate
four slices without saying a word.
by Tanya Grace
Reyes
The water had not yet begun to boil. Gouda MacLaren eyed the ochre tea
kettle warily and took down his
favorite Elvis mug with shaking hands. Siting at his rusty t.v. tray, he
wondered how many nights of his
life were going to be like this; desperate, fearful, waiting. A glance
at the
clock told him that
tonight would be no different, and he swiveled the faithful mug around on
the surface of the old Monet
print which decorated his tray.
by Jack Monterey
Samuel said, "Here's some cheese." He pulled a bag out of the
cheese drawer in the fridge, tossed it onto the counter and said, "Slice
it up."