Arms and the Man © John Ward
Cooder went on a dig wearing an Indiana Jones hat and carrying a bullwhip. He would have strapped a revolver on his hip, too, but they wouldn't let him take it on the plane. So he packed it in his checked baggage. He wanted a plaid suitcase, but the closest he could find on sale at the big box store was checked, red and black, like a checkerboard. When he got to his room and unpacked, the weapon was gone. He called the Transportation Security Administration (TSA) back in the USA and pressed “C” for inquiries about confiscation.
“What was confiscated, sir?” The voice at the other end was androgenous and tinny.
“My gun.” Should he be telling this to a computer?
“How do you know it was confiscated? Maybe you forgot to pack it.”
“It was a new pistol. They took the gun, but left the box in the suitcase. I wouldn't pack an empty box.”
“I thought it was a pistol, sir.”
“It was a pistol. You don't have to call me ‘sir'.”
“Technically, a gun is a smooth bore weapon. Was it an antique pistol, made before rifling was used in handguns?” It knows a lot for something that isn't clearly male or female.
“No, it was a Smith & Wesson Hand Ejector II.”
“Oh, that's the Indiana Jones model. They're very popular. Are you in Greece on an archeology expedition?”
“How do you know I'm in Greece?” He carried the phone to the window and looked out. There was a person across the street, reading a newspaper.
“I entered your name into our database and it gave me your destination. Also, you're calling from a Blackberry and we can use reverse GPS to locate you and track your movements.”
“I didn't know you could do that. It sounds like an invasion of privacy.” He crawled over to the window and peeked out from the corner. The person across the street folded the newspaper and walked away.
“It's allowed under the Patriot Act. There's a history of terrorist activity at your destination and a stolen weapon is involved.”
“Stolen? It wasn't confiscated?”
“No sir, weapons are allowed in checked baggage. I'm going to file a report. Be sure to let us know if you find any arms while you are digging.”
“Arms? You mean weapons?”
“I can't tell you any more than that, but if you ask the right questions, I can shake my head yes or no.”
“That won't work. You're on the telephone.” Aha, caught it in a non sequitor. Also, the voice probably doesn't even have a head.
“All right, then let's play ‘hot and cold'.”
“Are they weapons?”
“Cold.”
“Arms from arm chairs?”
“Cold.”
“Human arms?” This is getting weird.
“Warm.”
“Arms from a naked woman made out of marble?”
“Hot!”
“Venus de Milo's arms?”
“Oh, you're so hot, you're burning. You can't be any hotter.”
“But the Venus de Milo never had any arms.”
“I can't say any more.”
“But, she's in the Louvre Museum in France, not Greece.”
“I can neither confirm nor deny that.”
“Still, she's a national treasure, not a French treasure, and if she's a Greek treasure, she should be called Aphrodite. Venus is Roman.”
The line clicked dead and the GPS tracking system flashed on the display of Cooder's handset. The center of the screen had a happy face and the words, “Have a nice day.”
He decided he would accept the mission. He might even find the Winged Victory's head. He suspected the voice was trying to build a body for itself, piece-by-piece, from missing parts of the art of antiquity.
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