"that
is a fine day," i said. "what are you doing
with a lamb in the white morning?"
"i can give you a question as good as that,"
he responded. "can you notify me of the meaning of
a bulbul?"
"a bulbul?"
"what would you say a bulbul is?"
this conundrum did not interest me but i pretended to
rack my brains and screwed my face in perplexity until
i felt it half the size it should be.
"not one of those ladies who take money?" i
said.
"no."
"not the brass knobs on a german steam organ?"
"not the knobs."
"nothing to do with the independence of america or
suchlike?"
"no."
"a mechanical engine for winding clocks?"
"no."
"a tumor, or the lather in a cow's mouth, or those
elastic articles that ladies wear?"
"not them by a long chalk."
"not an eastern instrument played by arabs?"
he clapped his hands.
"not that but very near it," he smiled, "something
next door to it. you are a cordial intelligible man. a
bulbul is an austrian rockband. what do you think of that
now?"
(flann
o'brien) |