The True Story of Pa Q, Part 2

Day 2,471, 05:23 Published in USA USA by Silas Soule

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May you always do for others
And let others do for you

-- BD





THE TRUE STORY OF Pa Q, Part Two of Nine


Part 1


II. A Short Tale of Pa Q's Victories


In addition to the uncertainty about Pa Q's surname, self-image, and place of origin, there's also a lack of clarity about his "background".

That's because the people of Weishaupt, the anarcho-commie e-commune in the Ukraino-Russo borderlands where he mostly hung out, and thought of as something like "home", only made use of his services or treated him as a joke, without ever inquiring into his "background".

Pa Q himself never broached the subject, except when quarrelling, when he might glare and say, "We used to be giants! Who do you think you are, you noob?"



Pa Q had no family. He lived mostly in the former Guardian Angels Temple on the edge of Weisphaupt, a place that had been turned into a storage shed after the anarcho-commie uprising of Day 879, and then later pretty much abandoned.

He had no regular work either, but bopped about from one odd-job to another. If the work lasted for any length of time, he might camp out near the house of his temporary employer, but as soon as he was finished he would leave.

Thus whenever employers had work to be done they would remember Pa Q, but what they remembered was his service and not his "background".

One time an old troll remarked "What a worker this Pa Q is!" Pa Q, the bare-backed scrawny sluggard, was standing before him at the time, and while others could not exactly tell whether the remark was serious or derisive, Pa Q was overjoyed.







In fact, Pa Q had a very high opinion of himself. He looked down on all the inhabitants of Weishaupt and the surrounding borderlands, thinking even the two local celebrities, the Young Socialist hero-worker-scholars from the Quinn and Jo clans, not worth a smile.

Granma Quinn and Mister Jo were held in great respect by the commune members, for in addition to having close ties to the Party leaders, they were both fairly wealthy, and they were the mentor-ancestors of up-and-coming hero-players who had already won numerous prizes, had lots of friends, and always received more than 25 comments on their articles.

Pa Q alone showed these two famous youths nor their ancestor-mentors no exceptional deference and he was often heard to murmur, "My sons may be much greater."




Pa Q had been to the city several times and had even visited other e-countries, so naturally he became even more conceited, even though he had the greatest contempt for both townspeople and foreigners. For example, Weishauptians referred to players who only logged in long enough to do the minimum "two clickers"; but the city-folk called them "three clickers", and whenever he heard this he thought "Ridiculous!".

Likewise, people from Weishaupt all enjoyed eating shallots sliced half-an-inch thick. Whereas people in the nearest city liked to add finely shredded shallots to their dishes. Pa Q would remark, "So wrong! Ridiculous!".

In fact, despite their anarcho-commie pretensions, the Weishaupt villagers were really ignorant rustics who followed their own way, would eat practically anything, and had never once seen how fish gets fried in town.








Pa Q, who according to himself had "once been much better off" and also being "a man of the world" and "a worker", would have been almost the perfect player had it not been for a few unfortunate physical blemishes. The most annoying were some patches on his face where at various uncertain times his old acne scars would redden. Although these were on his own head, Pa Q did not consider them altogether honorable, forbidding any words that sounded, in his mind, anything like it. His forbidden vocabulary kept improving until it included many words like "mark", "bloom", "freckle", "blur", "smudge", "spot", "crack" and even "face".

Whenever one of these taboo words was uttered, whether intentionally or not, Pa Q would fly into a rage, cursing the offender and, if it was a low-level fighter, he would hit them. Curiously enough, it was usually Pa Q who was worsted in those encounters. That happened so often that eventually he contented himself in general by deploying furious glares.



All of this of course made the trolls in Weishaupt even more fond of making jokes at his expense. As soon as they saw him they would pretend to give a start and say things like, "Look! The spring flowers are in bloom!"


Pa Q often racked his brain for a suitable retort but couldn't make himself use any of the taboo words. If the ruffians continued to pester him, they would come to blows. Afterwards Pa Q, having been beaten again, would stand there and mutter to himself "It's as if I were beaten by my own son. What the world is coming to nowadays!... So shameful!" Then he would walk away, satisfied at having won.







Over time, Pa Q improved his repartee. He would accuse his attackers of wanting to "beat a beast" or "beat an insect". "I am an insect!" he would shout, "Now will you let me go?"

They kept beating him anyway. But now he would walk away in triumph thinking, "Haha! I am the Number One Self-Belittler!" and after a while he would subtract "Self-Belittler" and what remained was "Number One".



After employing these cunning devices to get the best of his enemies, Pa Q would make his way cheerfully to the Blooming Fuchsia, the Roaring Donkey, Dirty Dick's or one of the other local taverns, drink a few rounds of revolutionary spirits, joke and quarrel some more, and return cheerfully to his hideaway in the former Guardian Angels Temple, there to fall asleep as soon as his head hit the ground.

If he had any money, then he would gamble while drinking, his money inevitably vanishing into the pockets of the other players.








There is an old proverb: "Misfortune may prove a blessing in disguise."

It was the evening of the Festival of the Overthrow of the Gods and Masters in Weishaupt. Based on the communist customs of the commune, an inspirational musical number was being performed; and close to the stage, according to the anarcho-libertarian side of the commune's customs, were numerous gambling tables.

The soaring arias and rock-steady reggae beat of the eclectic and internationalist musical production could be heard miles away but Pa Q had ears only for the chant of the craps hawker. He staked successfully again and again, kopeks turning into rubles, rubles into euros, euros into shares of disruptive techno start-ups. He was literally on a roll. In his excitement he cried out, "Two shares of Bookalokal odds on 8!"

He never knew who started the fight, nor for what reason.

Curses, blows and footsteps formed a confused medley of sound in his head. By the time he clambered to his feet both the gambling tables and the gamblers had vanished. He felt sore all over, as if he'd been kicked and punched a great deal. Feeling as if something might be amiss he stumbled back to the former Guardian Angels Temple, and by the time he calmed down a bit he realized that his entire pile of rubles, euros and corporate shares had gone. His glittering fortune: gone, all gone.






Pa Q considered the fact that most of the players who ran gambling tables at Weishaupt during the Festival were not natives. Even considering that he had been robbed by a son did not comfort him. This time he really tasted something of the bitterness of defeat.

It took some time, but he changed defeat into victory. Raising his right hand he slapped his own face hard, twice, so that it tingled with pain. After this his heart felt lighter, for it seemed he had slapped someone else, and soon it was just as if he head beaten someone else.


He lay down satisfied that he had gained the victory.


Soon he was asleep.



















XOXOXOXOX,
PQ
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Previous episodes:

I. Four difficulties


Seven more parts to go. Enjoy them all!