A Conversation With Vesutto

originally posted July 20, 2006

"He is not a bad fellow, you know," Vesutto mentioned.
He had been watching me for a time conducting the business of manual labor. Fellows such as him, fellows of importance, wealth, station and such, are not in a hurry to do such work. I had set pieces; props, canvasses and the like, that I wished not to leave behind. I did not abandon the thought of resuming production in another city, perhaps even my own, that of Glorious Ar. When I paused to wipe my brow, Vesutto addressed me.
"I hope you are not cross, Poet."
"Certainly not, fellow," I said. "Clark of Thentis has been immeasurably generous, even to the point of opening his home to me and those in my employ."
"And to your animals, both two and six legged, as well," Vesutto pointed out.
"Indeed," I said as I rolled a canvas, that of the 'New York City at night' setting with its gray buildings and singular moon.
"My chain has improved much in value the months I have kept them boarded at the House of Clark."
"He really had no alternative, you know," he said.
"The material is rather sensitive, some might say provocative."
"As I intended it to be," I agreed, "so I would be an utter cad to blame the fellow for being wary of housing its production."
"Precisely," he said.
"I would accompany you when you set off again toward Venna," I said.
"Your company, and that of those in your employ, and that of your animals, both two and six legged, are, of course, welcome in the caravan of Vesutto," he told me.
I had hoped it would be so. There is safety in numbers when traveling. I did not, however, make the general assumption that he would bear the load of my freight. It was good of him to do so. Of course, I did much to increase his wealth in the past year or so. Still, it was good of him.
"When are you scheduled to depart beautiful Thentis?" I inquired.
"At the beginning of the next hand," he said. "I would like to be in Venna well before Se'Kara"
"There is little chance," I mentioned, "that I would be back in Ar in time for Kajuralia?"
It was some four hands off. The Love Feast, of course, would be celebrated directly after.
"You are a fan of the Holiday of Slaves?" he asked, mirthful.
"Rather, I am a fan of conveniently forgetting it," I said.
I was sitting cross-legged upon the stage, pulling nails free from wood, dismantling one of the desks used in a scene depicting graduate school life, where young men and women of Earth pay large sums of money to be suitably indoctrinated with the dogma of their current oppressors.
"Will you attend the feast at the end of the hand?"
"I shall," he informed me.
"I have been invited to sit at the table of our host," I told him.
"I, too, will share his table," he mentioned.
"I have a favor to ask of him," I said.