Adventurers Club
In the gloom the old man had stopped talking. His head nodded forward and I knew he had drifted off to sleep again. I looked around me. We were seated on an island of warm firelight in an old unlit library. A dark sea of mahogany and leather surrounded us. Hanging above us in the still air was a pall of smoke from the old man’s cigar, its scent not quite overpowering the smell of years of dust on the aged books lining the shelves in the darkened corners of the room.
My eyes were drawn back to the old man. His lined face told a long story. A lifetime of heart-breaks and sorrows creased his brow. Times of anger were etched there. Yet the wrinkles round his eyes bespoke of smiles unnumbered. Laughter had made its mark too. He was a handsome man even now. His frame was withered and frail, but he had been tall and strong in his youth. I repositioned myself in my chair and the sudden creak of its leather roused him.
He cleared his throat and asked, “What was I saying, now?”
“You were telling me of the temple in Burma. And the girl,” I answered.
“Ah yes, the girl,” he said quietly and his voice trailed off as his memory recalled scenes from far away and long ago. He chuckled and sipped from a brandy snifter that sat at hand.
“You don’t want to hear that story,” he said, “Let me tell you of a real adventure.”
He was wrong. I did want to hear of the girl. And the temple. And Burma. I grumbled under my breath but not too loudly and settled back into my chair. He took another drink of his brandy and began…
“I remember the time when I rescued Princess Nayploo Sultra, the most beautiful woman in history from a ruthless tribe of bandits. I was a young man then, just twenty-three, dashing and adventurous. I had become separated from my battalion in North Africa doing battle with Rommel and I was wandering the desert dunes. In my search for water I came across an oasis filled with tents. A veritable bandit city stretched before me. Well, I couldn’t just go back out into that desert without water so I waited till nightfall in the shade of a date palm…”
I closed my eyes and dreamt as the old man continued his tale. His words conjured images in my head. I was swept off to the Sahara where I could feel the desert wind on my face and see the moon dancing in the waters of the oasis. I imagined myself sneaking to the chieftain’s tent and doing battle with his guards. And finally, when the old man’s story ended, and he once more dropped off to sleep it was I who rode off on a stolen horse, Princess Nayploo clinging to my back and a horde of howling bandits chasing us across the dunes.
The End
I am Karl Fogsen. Thanks for reading.
