A Challenge in the Time of Covid
Rennis and Istan were strolling in the Garden. It was still in riotous colour, although the first hints of the August slump were beginning to make themselves felt. The lawn was roseate with fallen poppy petals and the bells of the petunia were tinged with brown. A distant memory were the over-arching branches of the Solomon’s Seal, and even the herb Robert was sparse on spider stalks.
Coronavirus was in its 19th week, and Rennis who had felt a quiet pride every time he watched the news, was becoming bored with the tragedy now. Istan was in philosophical mood. ‘Nothing to be done,’ he murmured, unconsciously quoting Ireland’s greatest playwright. ‘And what is worse, nothing to do. Even the clapping has stopped.’
Rennis stroked his sable goatee and passed a cautious hand over the landscape of his black and shining scalp. ‘How about this,’ he suggested. ‘A wager, or, if you like, a challenge? We will address the locked down, the furloughed, the depressed and the lonely. And let us see how many each can attract to his side. The winner gets the Garden, to do with as he pleases.’
Istan shuddered; then his eyes lit up. ‘I have a counter suggestion. Let each support the other’s cause, bring his utmost powers of seduction to bear. But how shall we speak?
‘In dreams,’ his colleague said, ‘and in the universal language of today, the social meeja.’
Rennis was sly. If anybody was at home in this medium, it was he. Facile on Facebook and twinkle-toed on Twitter was Rennis. He was master of the rant. While Istan dwelt among puppies and Simon’s Cat and ducklings rescued from drains, Rennis stalked the nightmare meme, the road rage, the abandoned dogs and ducklings drowning in drains.
Rennis chortled: surely half his work was done? Then he groaned aloud as the import of Istan’s words sank in: “Let’s each support the other’s cause.”
And yet the wager was struck. Each would do his utmost to win hearts and minds to the other’s side, and in one week from that day whichever had accrued the most Friends on Facebook and Followers on Twitter should be deemed the victor.
Rennis set to. He gathered tales of great bravery and selfless kindness. He sought out happy dogs in their forever homes and children thriving on home schooling. He scoured the GIF menu for hugs and rainbows. His brow furrowed and his lips twisted with disgust; his fingers ached for the sarcastic comment, the vitriolic retort. Smoke curled from his ears and sparks flew from his night-black eyes; he ground his teeth in pain as he penned yet another optimistic Tweet: “Be positive. Be kind. We are all in this together. #happythoughts #we❤️the NHS #rainbowsandunicorns”
Istan pondered long. He sat at his keyboard and his brow furrowed, his lips twisted with disgust. To pen obscenity and rant was not in his tender nature. How could he bring himself to gloat over tales of bloodshed over loo rolls and self-raising flour? How, without weeping, could he rail against the efforts of a well-meaning prime minister, ally himself with the mindless using BLM to promote terrorism? Alas, the wager was lost before it was begun.
But Istan, though kind hearted, was not stupid. After a sleepless night or two he came up with a plan so ingenious and reprehensible that Rennis himself, had he known of it, would have bowed a grudging respect.
It was simple: all Istan had to do was trawl his adversary’s posts and tweets of yore, re-package them under his own profile and present them as his own.
So it was that, after seven days and seven nights, came the reckoning. Rennis had acquired 504 Facebook friends (though truth to tell he had cheated by ‘friending’ all of his acquaintance) and 2,298 Twitter followers. Istan wept as he presented his results: 1,590 Friends and 42,984 Followers. It was a hollow victory, but at least the Garden was saved.
And thus, gentle reader, we learn how plagiarism will always win out over original thought, and how, given the choice, humankind will always stray to the dark side.
Patricia Feinberg Stoner
A tale of accidental expatriates
Tales of love and laughter in the land of vines
Comments
Post a Comment