Feast

   Master Gaston first met Mr. Parker sometime after midnight, in front of a Chinese eatery, hydrating a row of morning glories. He had appeared, as Master Gaston’s driver neared Mr. Parker, as a rather out of place Italian fountain upon which some hooligans, on a whim, had fastened some of the most terrible clothing they could assemble on short notice. He was wearing one of those terrible sweaters middle class men had worn in the nineteen eighties, similar to something the American humorist Bill Cosby might wear, and a very, very short jacket over that. One could only guess what sort of vulgarity lay dormant beneath these two layers of clothing, or whether he was wearing anything at all, in fact, because he had seemingly just sort of layered the sweater and Jacket on top of what he may have had on earlier in the year, one could not be sure if there weren’t layers upon layers of further oddities below the sweaters crust. He was wearing a pair of jeans with a myriad of stains upon them, each, Master Gaston would be become sure, with their own history and meaning. Where these jeans ended in rags Mr. Parkers shoes began: they were a pair of socks which he had, rather industriously, duct taped the bottoms of what had been a pair of sandals.

   “Good Sir.” Master Gaston intoned through his car window to Mr. Parker who, after looking around to make sure Gaston did not mean anyone else who happened to be strolling about at this hour, and determining there were no others, approached the sleek black automobile with little apprehension. “Ah-yes, good man, good man.” Gaston beamed his pink rubbery skin stretching into a round smile. “I have a proposition for you my good sir.” He tilted his head at the man and raised his eyebrows. “How would you like to share a table with me at one of my fine restaurants?” Mr. Parker pulled on his beard keeping up the appearance that he was thinking deeply on the subject, his thin pointed nose sniffing by habit.

   “Why I think we ‘ave our selves a deal, mister?…”

   “Gaston, Master Gaston.”

   He laughed with child like mirth as they sped off towards the more favorable side of town, to which Mr. Parker replied with the sort of laughter that only occurs when someone does not entirely get the joke. “You seems like bloke what loves the finer things in life,” Mr. Parker said after the laughter died down, “So why invite a man of so low a standing as m’self to dine with you?” Master Gaston nodded at this, “Excellent question my dear boy,” he pulled out a cigar case with fine trimmings and offered one to Mr. Parker who declined, “Trying to quit,” then went to preparing his own. “Well good sir it is a matter of nobility.” To this Mr. Parker sniffed with confusion. “Well aye’s far from a noblemen sir, far from it.” To this master Gaston nodded knowingly again. “You are of a noble breed though, there is something aesthetically liberating about your life, not tied down to job, nor family, how many a day do you think a working man dreams of what you have and wishes it were his own life to live. How many men do you think wish they could run away and never look back.” Mr. Parker looked at the dark city outside and his nose twitched as if a fly had just landed on it. “Never thought of it that way I s’pose.”

   They were seated immediately at a fine table in the back of the restaurant where no one else was sitting, they had a whole partition to themselves. The food also came quite quickly, quicker and quicker with each successive course. First came the blood sausage glistening in a dark red sauce, it was served with some veal to the side as an appetizer, then a platter piled high with medium steaks which quickly expelled their fluids from the slightest prod with knife or fork, after which came several meat pies each with a beguiling smell and served with a beef ague, then there were the chickens and the turkeys and several other game fowls which Mr. Parker had never heard of before, and finally a pork that had been roasting on a spit slowly all day. Mr. Parker was finishing this meal when he looked over at Master Gaston and realized he had eaten nothing since the beginning of the feast. “Master Gaston, aren’t you ‘ungry?” Master Gaston smiled his round smile again and puffed on his cigar before putting it out with his sausage fingers. “Oh, no-no, I simply prefer my food to be a bit more gamey.”

   Master Gaston and his driver both helped load Mr. Parker into the black vehicle and, with some effort, managed to squeeze him into a seat belt that wasn’t for his protection so much as it was for Master Gaston’s convenience.  He was very hungry after watching Mr. Parker feast on all of that food after all, so it was only right that he not be bothered to combat a struggle before his meal.