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SINGING KUMBAYA

by Michael Priv

December 2010

“Don’t you “don’t worry” me! You don't get anywhere by holding hands and singing Kumbaya, you know!! You gotta fight!” Oscar waved his bony finger at Nancy. Then ferociously to the young Mexicana employee, “How could you imbeciles lose my suitcase! All my underwear and stuff! What is your name?! I want my luggage right now!” Oscar’s irritating falsetto rang through the great emptiness of the hall.

Nancy rolled her eyes ever so patiently and folded her arms in a pious, long-suffering manner. After all, they were in a Catholic country. Catholics understood guilt so well . . . they could’ve even made pretty good Jews some day.

“My name is Rosalinda. I am sorry, Sir, Mister . . . er . . . Rubenstein but your luggage is not lost. We know where it is. It has been mistakenly flown to El Deir, where it is currently being . . . “

“El what?! Where the hell is Eldeer?!” Oscar’s falsetto reverberated and resonated most unpleasantly. Other passengers shuffled away.

“El Deir, Sir. It is in Egypt. Sir, please calm down! We will call your hotel the minute it arrives! Please! It is not lost! Let me explain! Sir! Put that down!”

”Oscar, please!” Nancy pleaded feebly, now weighing her entire body on his raised right arm undoing his fingers locked around a hefty paper weight.

“Muchas gracias! Thank you, mam. You see, Sir, Missis Rubenstein is calm so . . .”

“Oh, no, no, I am not Mrs. Rubenstein!” Nancy smiled sweetly, a bit out of breath. Oscar’s grip on the heavy object could have only been characterized as “iron” but “iron grip” was such a cliché! But . . . the expression being trite as it may, Oscar sure had a strong grip . . . so manly . . . “No, Ms. Rosalinda, we are not married. He is merely porking me.”

“What is “porking”, mam?”

“Never mind THAT, you miserable little . . .” Oscar gave up his fight for the heavy object and picked up the verbal abuse right where he previously left it off, not allowing anything to interject between him and his underwear and stuff, “Don’t you change the subject, young lady!”

“To pork, you know, bang, hump . . . , ” Nancy explained amicably placing the heavy paper weight back on the counter carefully and brushing a stray lock of gray hair died auburn off her eye. “Just fun and helps me get my rocks off, you understand.”

The young woman finally understood as witnessed by a carnal smile that did indeed cross her lips ever so fleetingly.

Oscar kept fuming, “Yeah, this ain’t Mrs. Rubenstein! Mrs. Rubenstein is dead!”

“My condolences, Sir.” The Mexicana employee uttered solemnly to the old man, eyes down, then to Nancy with a wide grin, “Congratulations, madam! He is definitely a . . . how you say it, “a pistolero!” Gr-r-r!”

“I am a WHAT?! I’ll have your job for this, you little cun . . .”

“Oscar! Let’s go, you tiger! Your little chickadee is tired of waiting!” With that Nancy towed completely bewildered but still fuming Mr. Rubenstein by the hand away from the counter.

“What was that nonsense about? I am porking you?! Are you out of your mind, Nans?! Where do you get off?!”

“Well, honey,” Nancy cooed soothingly stroking Oscar’s hand as they walked, “You brought me here to Cancun and . . .”

“Just for companionship! My wife just passed away! How could you?!”

“ . . . and, lets face it, your wallet and medications are in my carry-on bag . . . You are stuck here with no place to go and no underwear—your luggage being shipped to Cairo and all.”

“It is not in Cairo! It is in Ben Gurion!”

“No, dear, Ben Gurion is an airport in Israel. Your luggage is lost in Egypt.”

“It is not lost!!”

“Okay, darling, it is not lost . . . in Egypt . . . and so I do have an idea that we should, you know . . .”

“Tart!”

They walked in silence for some time, two senior citizens, holding hands. Oscar opened the taxi door for Nancy. They settled down, Nancy’s hand on Oscar’s boney knee.

“Nans, just curious. Does your idea include me having an erection?”

“Shhh . . . Oscar, relax! You are so tense! Honey, just do it! I will undress you, rub your entire body with oil . . . slowly . . . and then I will ever so gently and sensuously massage . . .”

“Yeah, massage! Right! Sensuously my ass!”

“Your ass?! Okay, you lover boy, u-u-u, a real pistalero! I would love to massage your ass for a long-long time . . .”

“No. I meant . . . Never mind. It is just that it has been so long. And even prior . . .”

“Shhh!”

“Nans, I really . . .”

“When I say “shhh” I mean “shhh”! Tsidreiter! You don't get anywhere by holding hands and singing Kumbaya, Oscar! You gotta work at it! Do it! You wanna hear what I am going to do after I rub your whole entire body with oil?”

“But . . .”

“Shut up! You wonna hear or not?”

“Yes, Nancy, alright, but we don’t have any oil.” Oscar sighed in mock frustration.

“Sure we do, lover boy! I got just a tad right here, just to get us started, babe.” Nancy pulled a 32-ounce jag of massage oil out of her bottomless bag.

Oscar stared out the window dejectedly for a while, then, hopelessly, “Do you have a porno flick in that bag, too?”

“I said “work at it”, didn’t I! You understand “work”? You have a wide variety of dirty flicks right in your head! Pick one. We’ll just watch yours. Get it started, we are almost at Maya Rivera!”

The phone rang rather early next morning. Who could that be? Oscar awakened pleasantly from his sweet, refreshing slumber. Life was good! He slept on his back, covered by nothing, his arm coiled confidently around Nancy, snuggled comfortably against his side.

“Hello! Who is this?” Oscar asked into the receiver in pleasant baritone.

“Good morning, Sir, this is Rosalinda with Mexicana. Is Mr. Rubenstein there?

“Him speaking. Him-self. This-is-Mis-ter-Ru-ben-stein.” His baritone had a damn nice ring to it.

“Oh! . . . How are you, Sir?”

“Splendid, Rosalinda! A lovely morning indeed! How have you been, little cutie?”

“Excellent, Sir! Mr. Rubenstein, I just wanted to apologize once again and let you know that your luggage, which wasn’t lost, was routed to us here but, I am very sorry, Sir, unfortunately it was accidently loaded on to a wrong plane at El Deir. The good news is that it is not lost AGAIN! I just located it! It is currently at Espoo being . . .”

“Ass what? Ha-ha-ha! You guys are hilarious! Ass what?!”

“Espoo, Sir. It is in Finland and . . . “

“Rosy-honey! Mamele! Mine nashvargele! It is not that important. Its just some underwear and stuff—all made in China. Nothing that a short trip to a Wallmart couldn’t handle. Don’t worry about it! I am sure you can get it back to me. So when you are good and ready, just do it, Rosalinda! You don't get anywhere by holding hands and singing Kumbaya, you know! Just do it!”

Glossary of terms:

Tsidreiter: (Yidish) A foolish or clumsy person.

Memele: (Yidish) A term of endearment for a child.

Nashvargele: (Yidish) Candy, sweets. A term of endearment for a woman.