Salmonella Men on Planet Porno

mountains occupied by the Gabatis. As I waited for my night rations, I took out a cigarette and lit up. It was already past eight o’clock; dinner should have arrived long ago. I started to wonder if the Platoon Leader had forgotten to order it.

Then I heard my wife’s voice.

“Where are you, honey?”

I got up. “Over here,” I called.

My wife, carrying a basket over her arm, was struggling down the hill towards me.

“What are you doing here?”

She squatted down beside me. “They said you were doing the night shift, so I’ve brought your dinner.”

The Platoon Leader had actually telephoned her.

“That’s good of you. How did you know where to find me? Did you come by train?”

“That’s right.” She laid a plastic sheet on the ground and started to arrange the food from the basket on it. “I thought I’d join you, so I’ve brought enough for both of us. And some wine.”

“That’s grand!”

We started eating on a slope near the foot of the hill.

“It’s nice and cool here, isn’t it. Where’s the fighting now?” she asked.

“Over there. Can you see the gunfire? And there’s a forest burning over there.”

“Really? Isn’t that beautiful. Oh, I can hear screaming. Has someone just died?”

“Probably. Could I have some wine?”

“Here you are, honey. By the way, how did your work go today?”

“Well. Not so bad.” I didn’t tell her I’d nearly been killed. I’m the type who prefers not to take work home.

“Wow. These fish goujons are fantastic,” I said. “And I haven’t had konjak noodles for a long time. Hey! You’ve dropped some pork skin over there.”

“Funny. I didn’t bring any pork skin.”

I picked it up from the ground. It wasn’t pork skin – it was a human ear. The ear of some poor wretch who’d been blown apart by a shell. I quickly hurled it into the distance.

After finishing a whole bottle of wine, I was feeling rather tipsy. I stood up lazily, rifle in hand.

“Where are you going, honey?” asked my wife.

“Time to check the ammo,” I said as I set off towards the rock. “Back in a minute.”

“Mind how you go!”

That’s what she always said when I left the house. But here, there were no cars to run me over, no roadworks or manholes to fall into. There was no danger overhead or under foot. Of course, I had to be careful about the enemy. But I wasn’t worried, as I’d been told the enemy wouldn’t come at night. With that comforting thought in mind, I reached the rock in good spirits. Then something hit me really hard on the back of the head. I saw a dazzling display of fireworks dancing at the back of my eyeballs before I lost consciousness.

When I came to, I found myself tied to one of the ammunition boxes, bound with something that felt like wire. A man was laying fuses to each of the six piles of ammunition, connecting them all to a detonator he’d placed about a hundred yards away. He was obviously a saboteur from the Gabati army. He was planning to blow up all the ammunition, and me with it. I was going to shout out for help. But I stopped myself in time. If I called out now, my wife would come. Then the man would capture her too, and we’d both be blown up together. She didn’t deserve that.

Even so, I didn’t want to die. The man came towards me, so I decided to plead for my life. “Help me! Please! I don’t want to die! I’m a non-combatant. I’m just here to repair rifles. Don’t kill me!!”

“Sorry. I can’t let you go,” said the man. In the moonlight, I could see him clearly now – a goofy-looking, weasel-faced man with glasses. “You won’t suffer. It’ll be over in a split second.”

“No, but really, I’m not a soldier at all. I’m Japanese!” I urinated with such force that my trousers swelled up like a balloon. “I’m a Japanese company employee. I’m just a day soldier!”

“You mean – you’re Japanese too?!” He spoke in Japanese as he came towards me. “I work for a pharmaceuticals company that makes explosives,” he whispered in my ear. Then he grinned and nodded. “But that’s OK. I’m just a day soldier, too.”

Hello, Hello, Hello!

“Could I buy some new clothes, dear?” said my wife. “I’ve had these for two years now.”

“True,” I replied with a frown.

I needed a new suit myself. Being a company man, my clothes should have been more important than my wife’s, from a practical point of view. But if I’d said that, we’d only have ended up having another row. Of course we would. And the result would have been an overwhelming victory for my wife, as always. She’d have pointed out that I didn’t earn enough money. That, even after five years of marriage, we couldn’t afford to have children and were still living in rented accommodation. I would have been denounced for my incompetence and left without a leg to stand on.

Just as I was wondering how to respond, the apartment door opened and a middle-aged man appeared.

“Hello, hello, hello! Here I am, here I am, here I am! Tanaka, Tanaka, Tanaka’s the name!”

The man walked straight into our apartment, came up to the kitchen table where we sat and continued to speak as we looked on in amazement. “New clothes, is it? Out of the question. You mustn’t buy new clothes. Must she, sir? You mustn’t buy new clothes, madam. Just look at your husband’s suit. It’s nearly worn out. Your husband’s clothes are more important than yours are. Aren’t they, madam? But even then, it’s too soon to have a new suit made. You can still use your old one, sir. This is where you must both persevere. You really must. If not, you’ll never save any money. Am I wrong?”

For a while, I gaped open-mouthed at his sparsely moustached face as he continued to speak. My wife looked on wide-eyed, staring up and down at his neatly trimmed hair – parted on one side – and his carefully brushed suit.

After a moment, I turned to my wife. “Come on then,” I said. “Introduce us. Who is he?”

She gave me a confused look. “What? Isn’t he one of your friends?”

“You mean you don’t know him?!” I said, half standing in surprise.

My wife also rose, and turned to the moustache man. “Er… May I ask what you, er, what you…”

“Have no fear, have no fear,” he said loudly, “Tanaka, Tanaka, Tanaka’s the name!”

As I stood there stunned, he took my hand, squeezed it tightly and shook it vigorously. “I see. I see. You didn’t know me. I see.” He sat on a chair and started to introduce himself.

“Tanaka’s the name, Tanaka, Household Economy Consultant, sent to your apartment block by six local banks, Tanaka’s the name!”

“Did you ask for someone to come?” I asked my wife.

“No,” she replied with a shake of her head.

“Tanaka, Tanaka, Tanaka’s the name!!” The moustache man rose and knelt on the chair with an air of urgency. “With respect, madam, with respect, you must have ticked the box on the questionnaire from your bank, asking if you needed a free Household Economy Consultant?”

“Oh… yes,” my wife replied vaguely. “Well, I thought, if it’s free…”

“Tanaka, Tanaka, Tanaka’s the name!!” repeated the moustache man, shaking my wife’s hand triumphantly. “Here I am. Here I am!” He suddenly knotted his eyebrows. “Madam. I cannot agree with you buying clothes in your current financial straits. Your clothes are perfectly good. Of course, I understand what you mean. You’ve been wearing the same clothes for so many years, they don’t look good, they’re out of fashion. But you’d have nothing to gain by buying new ones, madam. After all, you’re still young. You’re beautiful. You could wear whatever you liked. God gives young people health and beauty to encourage frugality. Go and buy your clothes then. And you won’t be able to make this month’s saving towards your home. Or would you rather have just one meal a day this month? Could you do that? Could you?”

“You’re right. Of course, you’re right,” said my wife, hanging her head low in dejection. “I can do without new clothes.”