When he was a young man, Edgar had lived in England. Through very little hard work and a very lot
of luck, he had amassed a small wealth during his youth. Unfortunately, a small wealth only lasts a
short time with poor planning. Down on
his luck, Edgar took what little of his wealth remained and transferred it, and
himself, to Bombay. The transition had
been more than jarring at first. Though
many people spoke English, they had thick accents. Lazy as he was, Edgar could hardly be
bothered to decipher what they were saying.
Eventually, however, he learned that a small wealth could go a long way
here. He got himself an Indian home and
an Indian wife and grew fat on rice, curries, and chicken.
Now, at the age of sixty, the only thing he enjoyed more
than a good meal was a good smoke. He
had taken to sitting out on his back patio early in the mornings, with no one
but the birds in the trees and himself, and smoking quietly from his pipe. Some mornings, his wife would come out and
yell at him for it. Other mornings, she
would leave him in peace and do her own morning routine. This morning though, he had not seen her since
he had climbed out of bed. He was
thankful for this. She was always
yelling at him to lose weight, to stop smoking, to do something. To him, the sun shined
a little bit brighter with her absence from his morning. Usually, he threw pebbles at the birds when
they started chirping, but this morning he took pleasure in their song. He sat outside for an hour before his wife
came to find him.
“There you are! Are
you smoking again?” She walked over to
him and tried to take the pipe from his round hands. Edgar glared at her for ruining his good
morning and pulled back harder on the pipe.
Like tug-o-war, the two fought with the pipe. Edgar, smiling and thinking he was going to
win, gave one last large tug on the pipe.
The pipe, however, flew from his hands and out onto the grass. The couple looked at each other with their
lips pulled tight. Edgar knew that his
wife would yell if he went to retrieve the pipe, but he did so anyway. Before he could, however, two snipes flew
down from the tree and hopped around the pipe curiously.
"Shoo!” he yelled at them.
One bird flew off immediately.
The other, however, looked at him curiously.
“Shoo, I said!” he yelled again. The remaining snipe flapped its wings
anxiously, snatched the pipe in its beak, and dashed away.
Edgar looked at the place his pipe had been and then looked
at the bird in the distance. His wife,
who was standing behind him now, cackled with joy.
“Even nature agrees with me!
I told you that was for the birds!”
Edgar puffed out his chest and pushed past his wife as he
entered the house.
 |
Illustration of the Fat Man of Bombay
Source: NonsenseLit |
Author's Note:
Rhyme:
There was a fat man of Bombay
Who was smoking one sunshiny day,
When a bird, called a snipe,
Flew away with his pipe,
Which vexed the fat man of Bombay.
Reading through the nursery rhymes, I knew immediately that
I wanted to choose a story that I could have fun with. As soon as I read the nursery rhyme, I
instantly pictured a grumpy, lazy man who complained a lot about a place that
has been good to him. I figured that by adding a character that he found
to be a nag, it would really play up the grumpiness. I also wanted him to
come off as petulant for no real reason. I didn't want this to be a story
about a jolly old man who gets something taken from him. Instead, I aimed
at making this a story about getting what is coming to you, without it being
some big event. I think one of the best
things about using a nursery rhyme as a prompt for a story is that it allows
for a lot of wiggle room when it comes to actually writing a story. Another good thing about nursery rhymes, and
this one is particular, is that it could be interpreted in so many different
ways.
Book: The Nursery Rhyme Book
Author:Unknown
Year:1897
