September Chatterbox -- PEARS

This months Chatterbox topic is PEARS.  Where does Rachel get these ideas? 

"From me head...same as most people." (quote from the Little House on the Praire - Martha books, but it seems appropriate as a response here)

In any case, as surprised as I was, I still think pears is a good topic.  I am too busy to write anything new on the subject at the moment, so I will use a old scene with pears (from Dungeon).  Enjoy!

 

      The princess huffed angrily and dropped her pear on the ground.

     “Woe, now!” the old man remonstrated.  “Don’t be angry, my lady.  It isn’t good for my digestion.  And the fact that the lad won’t take a bribe doesn’t mean that an old man wouldn’t.  He might even take a bruised one,” the old man hinted.

     Ashamed of her outburst, the princess picked up the dropped pear and crossed the room to the old man’s cell.  “I have an apple, two pears, and an orange,” she told him, offering him his choice.

     The old man picked the dropped pear.  He took a bite, slurping up the juice as he went.  The princess raised an eyebrow, thinking how horrified her mother would have been at the old man’s manners.

     “Don’t want to waste a drop,” the old man explained, catching her expression.

     She flushed, embarrassed that the old man read her face so easily.

     The old man coughed and shifted his weight.  “Now let’s see if I can’t answer some of your questions, my lady,” he said.  He pointed a crooked finger across the room.  “The lad is Jacob.  He’s here on account of his principles.  He just couldn’t look away when an injustice was being done.  He’s the newest arrival, too – been here less than 2 weeks.”

      The old man pointed out another cell.  The princess saw a man with a bushy brown beard standing against a side wall of the cell.  “That’s Abram,” the old man said.  “He doesn’t know why he is here.  They brought him in about 2 months ago, beat him soundly, and locked him up.  Eh, maybe they didn’t like the color of his beard.”

     Finally the old man pointed to the cell to his right.  The princess eyed the man in that cell.  He leaned against the front bars of his cell, watching her.  The princess did not like the look of him at all. 

     “This is Fane,” the old man said.  “The scoundrel tried to rob some lord somewhere.  He’s been here about 6 months…maybe a bit longer.”

     “The Owd Un misrepresents me, my lady,” said Fane with a polite bow, though his eyes mocked her.  “Turn me loose, and I am your man for whatever you need.”

     The princess ignored Fane’s proposition and turned back to face the old man.  “And you?” she queried.

     “I’m known as ‘The Owd Un’ or ‘the old man’,” he said.  “Been here so long, nobody remembers my name.  Nearly fifty years, it’s been.  I don’t know if my wife, Ressie, is living or dead.”  The old man’s eyes clouded with sadness.

     “And why are you here?” the princess asked softly.

     The old man laughed softly.  It was a sad, hollow laugh.  “My tongue wagged too freely,” he answered.  “I was a man of opinions.”  He shook his head.  “I should have kept them to myself.  I might still be with my Ressie if I had kept my mouth shut.”

     The old man picked a seed out of the pear core.  “That was three kings ago, my lady.  The second king might have released me…if he had known I was here.  But that is what happens.  You are thrown in here and forgotten – left to rot until the end of your days.”