Nogaswampen
by Tony R. Lindsay
Hungarian-born,
Gusztau Szolossi, has been in Philadelphia for
three months. But, there’s a problem.
“How’s
it going, Gus?”
“Not so
vine. Vree months and no nogaswampen.”
I’m not
surprised. Look at you. You got all the muscles
of a snail. You would sissify a tulip. American
girls want he-men. They’re crazy about
cowboys and bad-ass bikers.”
“Vever
could vide a bike. Vaybe could vide a horse.”
“Give it
a shot, Gus. Learn to ride a horse and you
might find a cowgirl. Those girls know how to
ride. Know what I mean? A cowgirl can make a man
glad he was ever born.”
Another week
with no nogaswampen and Gus books a five-day
stint at Rip Seaman’s Ranch about an
hour’s drive outside of Dry Gulch, Wyoming.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Howdy,
partner. What’s your name?”
“Call me
Gus.”
“Yo, Gus.
My name’s Rip, and this here’s Thumper.
A mighty fine hunk of horseflesh he is.”
“Vay too
vig. Don’t vant to go var.”
“Yeah,
Thumper is a big boy, and twenty mile is
all you need. It’s rough country. All
you got to remember is ‘Go’ if you want
to go faster and ‘Whoa’ if you want to
go slower. You got it, Gus?”
“Ya, ya,
vot it, Vip.”
Rip gives
Thumper a slap on the rump, “Off with you,
tenderfoot.”
Thumper lunges
forward and Gus looks as if he might throw up.
His eyes bulge. “Voh!”
Now
‘Voh’ sounds a lot like ‘Go’
and Thumper moves up a gear.
“Voh,
gyakorolhasse, voh!” (Whoa, asshole,
whoa.)
Thumper begins
to gallop.
“Feltetelekkel
nemcsak szakembert.” (Hay-burning bastard.)
“Ya voh,
ya voh, ya voh, termeszeben egyszerre
genek.” (Something about a gluepot.)
Thumper
sprints into top gear.
“Korneyelzetredok
termesztesbe figyelmeztettek mengeljenek.”
(A brief impolite reference to questionable
breeding.)
Gus drops the
reins and holds onto the saddle horn with both
hands.
“Bizonytalansagot
ugyarakkor.” (Do-do brain.)
“Termelo
szervezetukon ulselen.” (Unkind words about
Thumper’s mother.)
Thumper races
across terrain that would challenge a mountain
goat.
“Ya voh,
novenyek ennek vagyis engedeesekor.” (it
seems Thumper’s grandmother was a horse
without virtue.)
Thumper
splashes through a shallow creek and charges up a
steep slope.
“Kozolte
Magyar rovined aszamitasok az gagyobb lakeossagi.” (Gus
complains bitterly about his testicular
discomfort and shouts his plans for a slow-motion
surgical procedure that will have Thumper
whinnying in soprano and strutting like a mare.)
Gus hangs on
for his life until Thumper finally turns for the
barn and pulls up in front of a bale of hay.
At last, the
shattered Hungarian with battered balls has both
feet on the ground.
“How did
it go, partner?”
“Figelembevetelere
Hungry. Kotelozi nogaswampen megmondani
hanem nemcsak arra talen valemivel.” (Going
back to Hungry. Plenty nogaswampen, and you
don’t have to ride a dragon’s ass into
Hell to get it.)
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