From: learnd@lafcol.lafayette.edu (Dave Learn)
Newsgroups: alt.prose
Subject: Godot Has Arrived
Keywords: Based on _Waiting for Godot_
Date: 17 Aug 92 17:46:14 GMT
Distribution: na
Organization: Lehigh University


     Gogo offered the remaining half-carrot at arm's length to his              
friend.  Didi, after all, had given it to him only a few minutes                
earlier, and it would be impolite to eat his last carrot without                
offering to return him some of it.                                              
     "Like to finish it?" he offered, trying to sound sincere in his            
generosity.  In truth, he was starving and would love to finish the             
delectable morsel.  He presented it, desperately hoping that Didi would         
not take it.  Didi reached out his hand eagerly, to accept the proffered        
carrot.  Gogo felt a stab of disappointment in his heart, but it was            
Didi's last carrot, and Didi hadn't had to give it to him.  Reluctantly,        
he extended it to his friend.                                                   
     A sharp cry cut through his speechless despair.  Gogo's insides            
leaped at the startling shout and he automatically recoiled, jumping            
like an irritated hornet.  The carrot rolled from fingertips, planting          
itself in the dirt to regrow its lost members.  Didi and Gogo eyed one          
another excitedly.  Was this Godot?  Could Godot finally be coming,             
after thousands and millions of evenings?  Had Godot finally arrived?  A        
sudden fear overcame them, and they ran to hide before Godot saw them.          
     Halfway to their sanctuary, Gogo stopped short and looked uneasily         
around.  Was Godot here yet?  Could he see Godot when he arrived?  His          
eyes flew over the barren hill, but although his ears perceived Godot's         
steady progress, he was not in sight yet.  His eyes caught on an orange         
treasure, half buried in the dirt, like a pirate's wealth from time             
immemorial.  He reached out his hand and grabbed it.  A carrot!  That           
was even better than treasure, even if someone had eaten half of it             
already.  He stuffed it into his pocket and scurried after Didi again to        
hide.                                                                           
     As he fled, another forgotten treasure called him.  Somebody had           
left a pair of boots here!  He smiled at his good fortune.  His own             
boots were too tight, so he could easily benefit from a new pair.  Maybe        
the boots had been too tight for their owner, too?  He would take off           
his own boots, and then                                                         
. . . Where were his boots?  Someone had taken his boots.  How long had         
he been missing them?  Maybe he never had a pair of boots, in which case        
he was doubly lucky to find this pair.  As Godot drew closer, he hastily        
seized the boots and ran to Didi.  The two of them grovelled in the mud,        
wishing they had some better place to hide from Godot, wanting even the         
mountains to fall on them.                                                      
     Gogo shivered with anticipatory delight and trembled with fear as          
he heard Godot's steady approach.  What would Godot say, now that he had        
finally come?  Would he commend them for diligently waiting for so many         
years?  Or would he chide them for hidden wrongs, crimes they had               
committed?  Perhaps Godot had not come to reward, but to condemn.  He           
grabbed Didi, longing for the reassurance of companionship as they              
wallowed in the mud.                                                            
     At last he dared to raise his eyes to behold the mighty Godot.  His        
jaw dropped--Godot looked nothing like he had expected.  Godot was a            
dull-eyed man, a burly figure, somewhat unkempt.  He was hunched over           
from bearing heavy burdens all his life.  In his arms was an enormous           
bundle of belongings, just compact enough that he didn't drop them, yet         
unwieldy enough for Gogo to wonder that he didn't.  A long rope, tied           
around his neck, reached back to another man's hands.  Aha!  So this            
wasn't Godot.  Perhaps he was Godot's son.  The other figure, more              
lively, aristocratic, carrying a whip--that was Godot.                          
     "On!" Godot cracked, to the sound of a whip.  His slave, ready to          
drop from exhaustion, trudged wearily on, never complaining.  Gogo              
giggled nervously at Godot's abusive treatment of his son.  A part of           
him saw a black amusement in a father's treating his son like a slave;          
another part closely sympathized with the unfortunate son as he                 
remembered his own mistreatment at the hands of those men every evening         
at the same time of the morning, when they would beat him.                      
     Godot's son plodded past, shuffling his boots through the muck.  If        
he noticed the two pitiful derelicts in the mud, he gave no indication.         
For a brief moment, Gogo wondered if he could still see.  He turned his         
attention back from Godot's son to locate Godot himself.  He drew in a          
sharp, sudden breath as he saw a pair of shiny new boots walking toward         
him.  He began to cry tears of joy--the long wait was over!  At last,           
Godot had come, and their redemption from their beggarly lives was at           
hand.                                                                           
     "Back!" Godot cried, giving the rope a sharp tug.  Gogo snickered          
to himself as he heard Godot's son fall over backwards, scattering his          
immense cargo across the ground.  He imagined the figure, falling over          
backwards, his cumbersome load flying through the air like a scattered          
flock of gulls.  At once he felt shamed by Didi's brooding presence.  He        
silently remonstrated himself for humoring himself at another's expense         
and swore to do better.  The two stood up from the mud where they               
wallowed, and turned to Godot's son, half-meaning to assist him, yet            
conscious that Godot might disapprove of such behavior.                         
     Didi took a step toward the fallen man, meaning to help.  Before he        
could move any closer, Gogo grabbed him by the sleeve.                          
     "Let me go!" Didi commanded, wanting to help the fallen man.               
     "Stay where you are!" Gogo warned him.  Didn't he fear Godot?  They        
couldn't displease him now that he was here, or he might leave them             
behind.  If Godot was angry with his son--and he had treated him like a         
slave--it would be best not to interfere.                                       
     "Be careful!  He's wicked," Godot's arresting voice sounded, full          
of authority and wisdom.  Gogo felt such reverence for this man, and            
applauded himself for correctly understanding the situation between             
Godot and his son.  Godot continued, "with strangers."                          
     Expectantly, Gogo turned to Didi, "Is that him?"  He hoped it was--        
Godot had to have come, they had waited so long.  Surely his friend             
Didi, who knew so much, would confirm his beliefs.                              
     Didi looked blankly at him. "Who?"                                         
     The blank look on Didi's face caught him completely off-guard,             
making him forget for an instant who they were waiting for.  What was           
his name?  "Er . . ."                                                           
     Didi smiled wanly at his friend's naivete.  "Godot?" he asked              
gently.                                                                         
     "Yes," Gogo answered impatiently, that was the name.  Didn't Didi          
believe?                                                                        
     "I present myself," Godot announced, "Pozzo."                              
     Didi turned back to Gogo.  "Not at all," he declared, unperturbed.         
     Gogo was puzzled.  This wasn't Godot?  "He said Godot," he replied         
weakly, attempting to convince himself that the new arrival actually was        
Godot.                                                                          
     Didi shook his head.  "Not at all!"                                        
     Bewildered, Gogo timidly turned to Godozzo, or whatever his name           
was.  "You're not Mr. Godot, Sir?"                                              
     "I am Pozzo!" the man shouted at the wilting Gogo, "Pozzo!"  He            
paused for effect, waiting for the two mud-coated hobos to recognize his        
name.  When no response was forthcoming, he asked them in a dumfounded          
voice, "Does that name mean nothing to you?  Does that name mean nothing        
to you?"                                                                        
     Gogo's heart sank deep to within his stomach.  It was not Godot who        
had arrived, but Pozzo, a false Godot.  He had waited so long, so               
patiently, for Godot to arrive, and time after time, he either failed to        
appear, or somebody else appeared who he thought was Godot.  Or was this        
the first night he had ever waited here, under this tree, for Godot to          
arrive?  So many questions, with no answers.                                    
     When would Godot come?


Dave Learn, Knight of the Wolves         "What an extraordinary thing to
dl20@lafayacs.bitnet                      do--and you only a stutterer."
Newsgroups: alt.prose