Buku The Secret Viking by Martin Myers

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The Secret Viking by Martin Myers

Author:Martin Myers [Myers, Martin]

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: Martin Myers

Published: 2012-12-02T08:00:00+00:00

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The Secret Viking by Martin Myers

HALLOW THERE

“I never dress up for Hallowe’en. I just like to be myself.”

– Count Dracula

 

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The Secret Viking by Martin Myers

 

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The Secret Viking by Martin Myers

Author:Martin Myers [Myers, Martin] , Date: June 6, 2019

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Author:Martin Myers [Myers, Martin]

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: Martin Myers

Published: 2012-12-02T08:00:00+00:00
HALLOW THERE

“I never dress up for Hallowe’en. I just like to be myself.”

– Count Dracula

Gaze, if you will, upon this non-aging and idiosyncratic creature. Does he, or does he not, appear to be a kvetch? Assuredly, a kvetch. Not without reason does it rhyme with wretch. Some days, our enigmatic warrior bold of yester-yester-yesteryear smiles less than he used to. He can, at times, be a dour and dreary fellow, a cramped and cryptic sourpuss, no less, hard to read, hard to figure. Lately, even in repose, he wears a slightly pained air that might well be taken as annoyance. In the bargain, yet not to be discounted, sensitivity to bright light causes him to squint, adding to the moroseness of his mien.

Despite this sometimes humorless manner of his, should our hero find himself in the company of strangers, he can be fast on his feet, quick on the draw, not one to hem and haw, but verbally adroit, ready to exploit his city wittiness, casually firing from the hip lip, flip one-liners to the great delight of his newfound companions. That is not to say he is party to the party prone. He eschews generally the pseudo-sociability of groupfoolery.

Of course, there are occasional exceptions, or perhaps, they are lapses, the most notable of which is his annual Hallowe’en outing in which he has involved himself almost without fail for as long as he can remember, while at the same time acknowledging the absurdity of the ancient tradition. He has, after all, long held traditions to be an incredible bore, and deemed heritage a pain in the past. As far as he is concerned, “Clinging to the past is nothing more than the inability to shed old shit,” surely a comment that is an alliterative inheritance from early Norse alliterative poetry, much of which was of his own making.

No matter whom he purported to be or where he found himself, our long-lived hero, clung tenaciously to the ancient, annual Hallowe’en ritual, which, if attention had been paid, might have much earlier linked our time-extended hero to his distant Viking past. But attention was not paid. Besides, beyond his writing, our wary protagonist’s pleasures were few and Hallowe’en, let it be said, was one of them. It gave the longtime celebrant of this not too significant event a way to stay in touch, if only for one night a year, with his ancient Viking roots.

Year after year, on the 31st of October, the long distance runner would contrive an invitation to a Hallowe’en party of one sort or another where, sans spouse, sans offspring, he would disport himself in Viking garb. This raiment, mind you, was not some ersatz costume rented from some dreary costumer’s collection, but his own carefully preserved gear, which for twelve hundred and fifty years he had taken everywhere with him in a burlap bag tied with a leather thong. Included in this ancient get-up were the mended helmet that started all this extended idiocy, as well

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