Posts Tagged ‘Mr. Singh’

Everything Explained

90 Comments »

December 11th, 2010 Posted 8:58 am

“Please explain America to me,” says Mr. Singh.

We’re at his pawn shop, but this time – a real first – we’re not pawning Bernie’s grandfather’s watch, our most valuable possession. In fact, we’re not pawning anything. Instead we’re searching for a bauble, whatever that is, for Suzie. Lamb curry’s cooking somewhere out back, making it real hard to concentrate.

“Explain America?” Bernie says.

“Do not get me wrong, Bernie,” says Mr. Singh. So much fun, listening to how he talks. “Coming here was the best move of my life. But sometimes it’s a bit confusing. For example, is Mr. Clinton back to being the president again?”

“Huh?” says Bernie.

“What is the explanation for this press conference yesterday?” says Mr. Singh. “Did not Mr. Obama turn over the reins?”

Bernie laughs, claps Mr. Singh on the back. Mr. Singh’s a soft little guy, lurches a bit. “Here’s the thing,” Bernie says. “There are no reins, so just enjoy the ride.”

“What a joker you are, Bernie! Here is a ruby ring for a very attractive price.”

Note from Spence: the blog may be experiencing some sort of technical difficulty at this time. We’ll try to fix it ASAP.

Share

Christmas Shopping

99 Comments »

December 10th, 2010 Posted 9:40 am

We’re Christmas shopping, which is how come there’s no post today. Bernie wants to get something for Suzie. Something appropriate he tells me. “Sometimes I think I have trouble with the whole appropriate concept,” Bernie says. Bernie and I are alike in some ways.

“Maybe Mr. Singh has a nice bauble, a bracelet, or ring, or one of those neck things.” Mr. Singh the pawn shop dude? “Easy, big guy.”

Mr. Singh: From Thereby Hangs A Tail

“Bernie! Chet!” said Mr. Singh. “How is our beautiful timepiece today?”

Bernie handed over his grandfather’s watch. His grandfather once owned a big ranch where Mesquite Road and our whole neighborhood was now, but lost everything, possibly because of a drinking problem, although the drinking problem might have come from some other story Bernie had told me, a story about another relative. But not Bernie’s father. Bernie never talked about his father, who’d been dead for a long time. Bernie’s mother was still around. I’d met her once: a piece of work. She lived somewhere far away with a new husband, or an even newer one. She called Bernie Kiddo! What was up with that? But I still shouldn’t have done what I did, a story perhaps for another time.

Mr. Singh held the watch in both hands, admiring it. “Do you know that only a dozen of these were made?” he said. “How I would love to take this on Antiques Roadshow.” Mr. Singh had a strange way of talking, almost like music. I could listen to him all day. “Did you ever find out how it came into his possession?” he said.

“No,” said Bernie.

“Thereby hangs a tale, I’m sure,” said Mr. Singh.

A tail? Was Mr. Singh saying Bernie’s grandfather’s watch had a tail? Fun to listen to, Mr. Singh, but hard to understand. We left, a big wad of cash in Bernie’s pocket and a bite or two of curried goat kebab in my mouth. I like ethnic food. So does Bernie. There are picky eaters out there, but not us.

Share

Mr. Singh: From Thereby Hangs A Tail

16 Comments »

March 2nd, 2010 Posted 8:40 am

Last night we watched this movie called The Pawnbroker. It didn’t remind me of Mr. Singh at all. Also I didn’t understand it one bit, and afterward Bernie seemed depressed. So here’s Mr. Singh.

“Bernie! Chet!” said Mr. Singh. “How is our beautiful timepiece today?”

Bernie handed over his grandfather’s watch. His grandfather once owned a big ranch where Mesquite Road and our whole neighborhood was now, but lost everything, possibly because of a drinking problem, although the drinking problem might have come from some other story Bernie had told me, a story about another relative. But not Bernie’s father. Bernie never talked about his father, who’d been dead for a long time. Bernie’s mother was still around. I’d met her once: a piece of work. She lived somewhere far away with a new husband, or an even newer one. She called Bernie Kiddo! What was up with that? But I still shouldn’t have done what I did, a story perhaps for another time.

Mr. Singh held the watch in both hands, admiring it. “Do you know that only a dozen of these were made?” he said. “How I would love to take this on Antiques Roadshow.” Mr. Singh had a strange way of talking, almost like music. I could listen to him all day. “Did you ever find out how it came into his possession?” he said.

“No,” said Bernie.

“Thereby hangs a tale, I’m sure,” said Mr. Singh.

A tail? Was Mr. Singh saying Bernie’s grandfather’s watch had a tail? Fun to listen to, Mr. Singh, but hard to understand. We left, a big wad of cash in Bernie’s pocket and a bite or two of curried goat kebab in my mouth. I like ethnic food. So does Bernie. There are picky eaters out there, but not us.

Share

Pawnbroker, Ukulele, Us (From Thereby Hangs A Tail)

18 Comments »

January 28th, 2010 Posted 8:59 am

SpencerQuinn-TwitterChat

“What a beautiful instrument,” said Mr. Singh. He turned it over in his hands. “Genuine Hawaiian koa, highly flamed, Sitka spruce top braces, bone nut. Do you play?”

“A bit.”

A bit? Bernie was a master!

“Would a brief selection be possible? Anything at all.”

Of course it was possible. How about “Waltz Across Texas?” “Parachute Woman?” “Ghost Riders in the Sky?” And there was always “Surfin’ U.S.A,” guaranteed to get them up and dancing. Suddenly I was in the mood to see Mr. Singh dance. I don’t exactly dance, myself, but when dancing starts up I’m no wallflower, either, kind of confusing, the wallflower part, because I’ve often seen flowers – even flowers growing by a wall – dancing in the breeze.

We learned so much about balls yesterday!  Have to go back to it in the future, whenever that is.

Share

The Books



powered by wordpress | site by bakermedia