Country Boy (Thank God I'm a)

Phyllis tries to grab his cock, but Edgar explains that he is happy as he is: and that he plays the violin whenever he can, but in the sense that he fucks and licks Daisy's pussy at all hours.

He points out the various parts of the song to her, explaining that they describe what he thinks: "I'm sorry, I am a poor, almost illiterate ignorant, and I don't know how to express..."

"...the philosophy of your lifestyle. But wouldn't you enjoy living in a big city, meeting nymphomaniac actresses and models in high heels?"

"What? Weird words! No. I say I cannot express how happy Daisy and I are. But I try to explain with a song: Well I got me a fine wife, I got me an ol' fiddle when the sun's comin' up I got cakes on the griddle [it's my wifey who makes 'em, I just cook dinner] And life ain't nothin' but a funny, funny riddle... Thank God I'm a country boy!"

Phyllis no longer holds back in exasperation. "Damn, IN GOLD WE TRUST, you stupid sapper, cash buys everything, money doesn't give happiness but it makes life more comfortable... But wouldn't you want something more for yourself? A job that gives you satisfaction, a prestigious career?"

"Well life on the farm is kinda laid back, ain't much an old country boy like me can't hack! It's early to rise, early in the sack... I thank God I'm a country boy! Well, a simple kinda life never did me any harm: a raisin' me a family and workin' on the farm. My days are all filled with an easy country charm: thank God I'm a country boy!"

"So your criteria are laziness and the ease of avoiding any challenge?"

"Well, no. Early to rise means that the cock rises as soon as the wifey Daisy takes the initiative to stroke it: and early in the sack is a very polite way of saying that she and I roll in the straw and make love five or six times a day! Or, somebody may say, some salami hit her in her sack."

"Ka-Boom! Who the fuck do you want me to believe you, hillbilly? A fat cow with swollen tits, like your wife! I can't believe it... I think you may call it a lucky month if she lets you fuck her once in four weeks! A married friend of mine, to prevent her husband from taking unsolicited sexual initiatives, takes advantage of any pretext to quarrel: she scolds him, pokes him, nags him, so at night they don't even talk to each other, and she can sleep without having to have sex with him."

"She must be a sad and lonely woman."

"But no! She is a strong, independent woman!"

"But then why doesn't she make love to her husband? Is she sick?"

"You don't understand anything, mountain man. It's not like there is only vaginal penetration in life! There's TV, novels, lovers... Art!"

"Oh, sure, art. I love Art: very humbly, I am a bit of an artist myself, because I play music on the violin. If I could, I would practice the violin all day long. You know... When each work in the farm is all done and the sun's settlin' low, I pull out my fiddle and I rosin up the bow. The kids are asleep so I keep it kinda low... Thank God I'm a country boy! I'd play "Sally Goodin" all day if I could, but the Lord and my wife wouldn't take it very well. So I fiddle when I can and I work when I should... Thank God I'm a country boy! And you know who taught me how to play the fiddle? My old dad. Oh, yeah! Well, my fiddle was my daddy's 'til the day he will die (that's why I can't sell it to you, the fiddle is only here on loan) And he took me by the hand and held me close to his side. Said, 'Live a good life, play my fiddle with pride, and thank God, you're a country boy. Well, my daddy taught me young how to hunt and how to whittle, he also taught me how to work to play a tune on the fiddle, he taught me how to love and how to give just a little... And thank God I'm a country boy".

"Huh? I always thought that was a metaphor..."

"A WHAT?"

"Never mind. You see, I've known those words for years. I had always interpreted the idea that he, the composer, wanted to MASTURBATE all day long: and that the explicit words would be "I pull out my cock, and I rosin up the frenulum" as in, I turn it red by dint of rub it. And the father teaching his son "how to love", honestly, I thought he took you to a paid prostitute, to whom he would pay just a little. And he "took your hand"... and asked you to "play his fiddle with PRIDE", gee, more allusive than that! And the fact that masturbation is viewed negatively by both your lord and your wife (why would they dislike fiddle music? Nonsense!)."

Edgar shook his head. "You must be a very sad, lonely, and perverse woman, to interpret simple and pure words in such a deviant and mischievous way.

My father played the violin. It is a fact. Period.

My father taught me to play the violin. I was there, I remember. He never took his dick out of his trousers or anything like that. He taught me the technique of the fingerboard and the bow. Like all the violinists in the world.

I would like to play all day long. But I would also like to eat ham all day. And above all, I would like to make love to my wife all day long. It is clear that my wife does not want me to play the violin many hours, because those are hours taken away from making love to her!"

"Bah! My married friends do everything they can to send their husbands out of the house: often they nag them, forcing them to work long hours at the office and come back after dinner, so they are tired and don't bother them while they watch romantic series on TV."

"But why would a married woman watch romance on TV? I understand old maids like you, who are almost thirty and not married! But if a friend of yours has a husband at home, she should 'do' romance, not 'watch' romance! Nor... what's that other verb you said?"

"Reading books?"

"There! That one. I can never remember it, because I look at mountains and lakes but I never read anything at all."

But Phyllis insisted on imposing her perverse interpretation.

"You see, these verbs... 'to hunt', 'to whittle', 'to fiddle'... are all double entendres with sexual allusions. When a stranger in a club says to me "I'd like to fiddle with your clitoris", it's not like he's rubbing a wooden fiddle on it! Even the mention of making little noise because the kids are asleep... to me, it sounded like a scene from "American Beauty" with Kevin Spacey and Annette Bening, when he masturbates in the shower."

"Kevin and Annette? I don't know them. Have they lived in this valley for many years?"

"But no! I mean: you don't masturbate?"

"First of all, these are not things a Good Boy can confess to an ugly, unknown spinster. Secondly, my wifey demands to make love five or six times a day. We are trying to build a family, you know? I plan to have seven children, like in that recent play where there are seven brothers with names following the first letters of the alphabet. I hope that way, I will be able to learn at least the first seven letters!"

"No, I can't believe it. A healthy, strong boy like you, with shoulders as broad as this wardrobe, and this chest that looks like a pool table... and you never masturbate? It doesn't make sense. Drop your trousers, I'll show you how it's done!" And she began to unbutton the buttons of the shirt she was wearing.

Naked, she tried to grab hold of Edgar's cock, which pulled away in disgust.

"Eh no, Miss Spinster, that jewel is reserved for my wife, it's the family jewels!"

Miss Phyllis suddenly remembered that the first target of the day was not that filthy farmer's sweaty cock, but the Stradivarius Fiddle.

Changing tactics completely, Phyllis said in a diplomatic voice: "But wouldn't you like to give your wife a nice diamond? I notice you have a very thin wedding ring... which is understandable because you are a beggar. But think how her eyes would sparkle if you gave her a diamond... diamonds are a girl's best friend!"

"Well... I wouldn't trade my life for diamonds or jewels, I never was one of them money-hungry fools. I'd rather have my fiddle and my farmin' tools... Yeah, you city folk drivin' in a black limousine [crashing into the first tree around a bend], A lotta sad people thinkin' that's a mighty keen... Well, spinster, let me tell ya now exactly what I mean: I thank God I'm a country boy, yeah!"

Phyllis comments loudly: "I give up: this one doesn't understand a damn thing. Of course, that's all I needed: a hillbilly quoting Plato's Dialogues to me, with Socrates declaring that Love is the child of Desire and Poverty... curse all itinerant libraries and rural schoolmasters... I guess you'll be telling me the moral fable concerning the Shirt of the Happiest Man before long..."

Phyllis plays the economic superiority card: "But don't you realize that you are poor? What can you give that poor wife, since you have no money? Couldn't you work harder?"

"Here in the valley, no man works more. Everyone works less."

"But indeed, the money I can give you would make you the happiest man in the valley! I had a dream of becoming rich and famous... instead, I find myself a spinster without a husband, who can't even buy a Stradivarius from a beggar."

"I'm sorry your dream didn't come true. But if you are unmarried, you can join the hunt on Sally Hawkins Day: ugly girls can chase the bachelors. I am excluded because I am married."

"I AM NOT A SPINSTER! I am free because I don't want ties!" But as she told this lie, her nose breathed in the smell of cakes on the grill. The itch made her eye water.

Interpreting the tears as a Desperate Housewife-to-be crying, Edgar tried to console her.

"So you speak to me of sadness, and the coming of the winter: fear that is within you now it seems to never end. And the dreams that have escaped you, and the hope that you've forgotten..."

"But at least fuck me!" cried the city manager, taking off her shirt. She stood up, naked, showing him her tits and shaved pussy.

Edgar turned his gaze away. Out of good manners, he repressed the first impulse, which was to run away. 'Firstly, I am married and would never cheat on my wife. Secondly, madam, you are old, and not a tenth as beautiful as Daisy. Perhaps we could remain friends if you would dress."

"Friendzoned by a shoeless hillbilly? ME! Ah, not really, dear. You're too muscular and I need you too much... I need you to screw me all over!"

"Ah? You want me to lend you a screwdriver to fix something?"

"Oh but it's a craze in this valley, you use a screwdriver for any problem? Where do you think we'll get to like this?"

Edgar looked at her as one looks at a wayward child. "All problems in Life, fall into two categories: those that can be solved with a screwdriver, step by step, one step at a time; and those that we can't solve, like World Peace or Hunger in Africa. You tell me that you need me now, and, if I understand, you want to be my friend, right? And you wonder where we're going: where's the reason? But it's you cannot accept it is here we must begin to seek the wisdom of the children and the graceful way of flowers in the wind. Because the children and the flowers are our sisters and our brothers: their laughter and their loveliness could clear a cloudy day! Like the music of the mountains and the colors of the rainbow, they're a promise of the future and a blessing for today. You see, Phyllis, life is old there, older than the trees!"

Phyllis looked at him with eyes injected with contempt. "You peasants understand nothing... NOTHING! Our cities are falling apart, the whole economy is falling apart, and the climate is changing irreversibly, but you know nothing! You don't even know that the Twin Towers have fallen! The world is involved in a Clash of Civilizations, even though I don't believe in anything, it's a threat to everyone!"

Edgar shrugged. If something happened in the valley, he was the first to know, and if it happened far from the valley, he would never know. Was he stupid? Maybe so. But at least he was not hysterical and paranoid like that woman who was crying and screaming with rage in his log cabin.

"Though the cities start to crumble and the towers fall around us, the sun is slowly fading and it's colder than the sea? It is written: they shall lead us from the desert to the mountains, our mountains here. By the hand and by the heart they will comfort you and me. In their innocence and trust, they will teach us to be free. And that song that I am singing is a prayer to nonbelievers, like you: come and stand beside us, together with Daisy and the villagers, we can find a better way".

"A better way?" the old woman did not listen: but as the hurried inhabitants of big cities often do, she grasped the last words.

Edgar said to her, "Don't you think you might marry a nice guy like me someday?"

The greedy Phyllis thought that perhaps playing the Victim's Wildcard might work with an inexperienced simpleton. In the most pained and saddened voice she could fake, Phyllis sighed: "I didn't think it could happen again: I'm just too old and set in my ways.

I was convinced I would always be lonely all of the rest of my days, poor me!

Maybe I give up on romance in my longing, to give up the pain... I just didn't believe I would ever love again."

"But you must not give up hope: there are many bachelors here in the country, and the Sally Hawkins Race offers a chance even to old, ugly women like you!"

She pretended not to have heard: to get sex, and Stradivarius, she was willing to swallow her pride, swallow insults, and swallow anything else, solid or liquid.

"I was like one who had shut myself in: closed the windows, locked all the doors. Afraid of the dark, and even the beat of my heart... yet knowing there had to be more! Though it sounds like a great contradiction [a hillbilly like you may understand such a long word? Whatever...] it's the easiest thing to explain: you see, I was afraid I might never love again."

"Don't mope, old lady! Your putty is hairless, and your boobs are weak, but we're sure to find someone blind or very short-sighted who won't mind the outward appearance: as Grandma used to say, 'it's important how a woman looks on the inside', and then Grandma would always add 'soaked wet, I hope', although I never understood whether she was talking about the woman or the Thanksgiving turkey."

"A blind man! Sure, you're right. What does it take for a blind woman to see that there's more there than just meets the eye? What are the ways that the magic comes in that can turn a song into a sigh? Sometimes I think that I'm dreaming...or maybe, I'm going insane... Maybe I believe sometime I will fall in love again... Here I am standing beside you! Oh, life is such a wonderful game... Wouldn't you like to be the lucky man who takes this woman and gets her laid again?"

The spinster begins to unbutton her shirt and rubbing her flat tits against Edgar's bare chest. But he looks completely devoid of desire for her. The only desire he shows is the desire to get away or escape.

Phyllis is deeply offended. Being called an 'old spinster' does not bother her: she was the world queen of drunken dissing and insults and had heard much sharper ones.

But the idea that an ignorant oaf could reject her enormous and unparalleled experience in the sexual sphere offends her.

She abandoned diplomacy and began to rail angrily.

"You don't understand! I am far more experienced in sexual activities, far more than all of you put together! You remind me of that joke about Germans at a conference of sexologists. A German professor starts the lecture by saying "We Germans know all the possible sexual positions for a heterosexual couple". From the audience, one shouts "Stick it up your arse!". "Oh! So now we know 50% more, thank you very much!". Tell me the truth, isn't it boring, always having vanilla sex with your peasant girl here? How many positions do you know, two? Woman on top and woman on bottom? Oh, wait, here on the farm you must have seen how cattle do it on all fours, right, so you know a total of three positions! Four, counting the German professor's! HA! I know all five hundred positions of the Kamasutra of India!"

"My wife is friends with the daughter of an Indian chief: Princess Minihahaskirt of the Cherokee neighboring tribe. When they were eighteen, they attended a camp, and Princess Minihahaskir taught them the traditional postures of the native civilization. Now, I can't count past the number twelve, however, the natives say there are more than three hundred positions... counting also rope tying techniques, blindfolding, handcuffs, and a bunch of other tricks that can be done with the tools of a rural farm: a bit of rope, a leather saddle, carved and polished oak stakes... reins for the donkeys, leashes, cattle whips, riding crop... here on the farm we have everything, even an empty barn with any tools always at the ready. And there's no problem making too much noise because the nearest house is a thirty-minute walk away.

Oh, and I almost forgot: that trick that the princess taught specifically to Daisy because she has very sweet little feet... that's my favorite among her tricks!

But usually, we just make love most simply and spontaneously, as it happens, without planning anything: just a husband's cock and a wife's pussy, if you can call it that. Even the princess said it's always the best way, to be spontaneous.... "

"HA! How ignorant: you are confusing India with Indians!"

"I said Natives: Indians live in Asia."

"I can't believe it! Corrected by an illiterate, and just as I'm about to teach him the whole Kamasutra. My grandmother was right... never give pearls to swine...".

Infuriated, Phyllis leaves the house, slamming the door! She screams:

"For a moment there, I was under the illusion that you wanted to have a threesome with that big-boobed 21-year-old wife of yours! But no! You have to lecture me! And I have to swallow a lecture on the LIFE of a hillbilly, with no shoes and no diploma: me, Cruella Phyllis, who has two degrees and a Master's degree in Business Administration! But enough of this nonsense! To hell with the Stradivarius! I just want to go back to the city!"

"Are you going to your friends?"

"I have no friends! I have money, a career, and success!"

"That sounds like a very sad life."

"Grr! This snow bothers me, anyway. And there's no receptive field for mobile phones here!".

"Around here there are a lot of fields....".

"Enough! I'm leaving! I'll walk until I find a taxi!".

###

Fast and furious, she took her clothes from the rope where they were hanging to dry. As an elegant demonstration of all good manners received in a metropolis, she threw the shirt the country boy had lent her to sleep in the warmth into the mud.

Without saying goodbye (or thank you), she exited the enclosure and left.

Conflicting thoughts overlap in Phyllis' mind. Anger, sadness, information buried in memory.

Aesop: The country mouse and the city mouse. Tale as old as time. See also "The Happy Man's Shirt", a fable from ancient times that had fascinated Italo Calvino, and V. Propp.

###

From the window, Edgar tries to convince her to stay:

"You have no home to return to! Stay here in the village! We'll find someone patient enough to marry you!

Poor ugly spinster! Sad and lonely.

At least, when I travel, I know I can go home, where my wife is waiting for me (every day, except today, strangely enough).

Besides, you can't leave now: there's a storm in the valley, the clouds are approaching, and the afternoon will be heavy on your shoulders. What if there is a truck on the four-lane, a mile or more away? The whistle of its wheels only makes it colder'.

But the spinster was too far away, or else she didn't feel like listening to an illiterate lout.

###

Left alone, Edgar talked to himself, thinking back over the road he had traveled in the last ten days. He had gone with a tractor to help a cousin build a barn and it had weighed heavily on him not to be with his lawful wife.