SARGASSO SAILS

CHAPTER 5

BAMBOOZLERS



   A crowd was gathered on the beach as I made my approach to Coco Key. It seemed like they were engaged in some sort of ceremony that was similar to the Ramayana Monkey Dance I had seen performed in Bali. There was a gamelan-like orchestra with keys being struck with mallets and sticks, but their instruments were non-metallic. They sound like marimbas mixed with bamboo drums. Some of the performers were twirling various things in a circular motion over their heads. These wind oscillators had a flute-like timbre. It was unlike anything I had heard before and intensely ethereal. It was my thought right then,that the Summerlands would benefit greatly if the Bamboozlers would give music lessons to the inhabitants of Emerald Isle.
   They were still unaware of my presence as I weighed anchor and jumped into the cursed canoe to paddle to shore. When they finally spotted me, they were more in awe of Sargasso, than of the homo sapien in the birch bark beer can. As I pulled Scarface onto the beach, I became a little disconcerted when the crowd started shouting:
   -Get lost, egg on legs.
   Then I remembered Nelligan's warning about the opposites being true. I introduced myself to their leader, Bunky, who introduced me to his wife, Shahairy.
   -She is beautificle, isn't she? And she has many splendiferous sisters. You should buy a house here and stay for a while. I could take sand dollars as a down payment.
    As I pondered the preposterous, I checked out my hosts. The Bamboozlers were less than four feet tall and all were adorned in grass skirts and sandals. Many wore shirts that were made from some type of bamboo. They were very fine and interwoven into intricated patterns. Their arms and legs were similar to bamboo in that they had circular joints. Their green eyes were quite narrow but sparkled with mischief. What surprised me most was their great preponderance of hair. I thought of Evelyn back at the Tiki-Key. You might say that they looked like miniature versions of the scarecrow from 'The Wizard of Oz', except with an Oriental slant.
   After being told that I smelled like a mollusk, and after repeadedly being called 'Big Knocker Noggin Head', a toast was called for. The hospitality in the Summerlands had been outstanding thus far.
   -BUNKA BUNKA BOO, the cry went up. This was followed by a lot of 'Tuk Tukka Tuks', that again reminded me of Bali. How could two civilizations, so far removed from each other, share the same qualities? Some have said that evolution and synchronicity go hand in hand.
   In spite of the beautiful music they made, their voices sounded like they were singing through a drainpipe. There was a digereedo undertone to their voices. Regardless, I was amazed that I was fluent in the Bamboozle language. I had struggled with languages all of my life, and now I spoke Peliguinese and Bamboozle all in one day. Once I got past this reversed meaning stuff, I was fine.
   As more drinks were procurred, some of the Bamboozlers started falling down. As they did, more Bamboozlers appeared with even stranger looking instruments to take their places. It all seemed like perfectly normal behaviour to them. I just couldn't picture the woodwind section of the New York Philharmonic falling drunkenly off their seats, only to be replaced by an ensemble of zithers and a gang of bottomwhompers.
   Meanwhile, the music grew in scope and rhythm and flowed through a variety of modes and timbres. Contrapuntal sections joined in as more drinks were passed around. The sound intensified with gagglehorns tooting from the treetops and mugthumpers beating in the bush.
   Although mezmerized by their performance, I still listened intensely to Bunky as he explained the working of their society. Bamboo was their main staple from which they made bamboo wine, as well as their clothing and shelters. Bamboo shoots were a food source so long as they didn't use the shoots from the giant bamboo which was poisonous. Young shoots were called 'sun', just like in the Mandarin language.
   When the music finally subsided, Bunky volunteered to take me on a tour of his island. It was a strange and chaotic tour. At first I thought the inhabitants were a bunch of drunken, bamboo scarecrows. As the day wore on, I became convinced of it. They were always staggering and bumping into one another with their 'Tuk Tukka tuks' rattling away. As we wound our way down the paths, we were forever stepping over Bamboozlers strewn along the trails. Yet none seem to take umbrage or seemed to get injured.
   Their gardens were magnificent...mango, papaya, breadfruit...a host of strange looking fruits and vegetables I couldn't identify. Red bougainvillia crept up over their bamboo huts. Some of their dwellings were in the trees, remniscent of Swiss Family Robinson...probably not a good thing considering their state of sobriety. Four or five huts were clustered in small communities scattered around the island. Each had a town square, which was circular, where the Bamboozlers could gather for recreational purposes. Hibiscus and jasmine flourished here. One could also partake of 'Bam', which was what they called their wine, which was dispensed from an immense bamboo jug in the center of these circles...'Bamvats'. I thought this to be an ingenious innovation. Instead of staring at fountains or statues of dead presidents, one could actually refresh themselves within a short stagger of their homes. This was indeed paradise found!

   I couldn't understand why in the hundreds of years of navigation, and now satellite projection, that these islands were still undiscovered. But then again, there are huge tracts of land still uncharted in New Guinea and in the Darien Gap. Exploration of our planet is not a done deal.
   The Bamboozlers were a homogeneous society. There were no sub-species or 'cousins' other than themselves on Coco Key. However, Bunky confided in me that they were in danger of losing part of their island to the Konkers, who claimed that the Bamboozlers had defaulted on some sort of business deal.
   -I was explisific with Oopslop and then he 'welked' on the deal.
   As he rolled around on the ground laughing at his pun, I wondered how anyone could do business with a Bamboozler...everything they say is backwards.
   Once one got past that trait, the Bamboozlers were charming. Who could not be endeared to a society whose main recreation consisted of drinking and making music? By my third cup of Bam, I began to realize that their music was a combination of Harry Partch, Maurice Ravel, and John Philip Sousa. Whole tones were interspersed with microtones...polyrhythms over a primal beat. Only then did I remember leaving the video camera with Mulligan back at the Tiki-Key. Who was going to believe me when I go back through the funnel and land in Kansas?
   Now I found myself following Bunky into the jungle. He had something important to show me. When we arrived at a clearing in the bush, I was astounded to find a tiny art gallery. Paintings by Van Gogh, Miro, Picasso and Dali, dangled from the arms of a gumbo limbo tree...masterpieces, every one. But Bunky did not halt here and urged me to keep up with him. Evidently something more important lay ahead. We descended into a shady glen where there was a small pool fed by a waterfall. Here Bunky stopped, cleared his voice and proceeded to point at a large rock in the middle of the cascade:
   -This is the mother rock. Below her lay the little stones and pebbles that have come from the mother rock. To her, these are as precious as babies.
   I figured Bunky was going on with some Zen trip until he said:
   -This goes to show that beauty is in the eye of the boulder. And then he laughed and laughed and 'Tuk Tukka Tuk'd', and then he too fell down drunk and passed out.
   There was not a Bamboozler left standing, so I took advantage of the waterfall to have a shower. Refreshed, I paddled back to Sargasso in wondrous amazement. How strange can Mangroville be after this?

ON TO CHAPTER 6 "MANGROVILLE"
GET ME OUTTA HERE...I'VE BEEN BAMBOOZLED