D and the Goat
How to describe the Goat’s voice? Feeble. Whiny. Shaky. Quite reminiscent of Hans Moleman.
Two Mondays in a row with no water. No shower. No bathroom works of art till getting to campus. Cramping, clinching, not stopping for chit-chat nor looking anybody in the eye.
Oh. Luck. No students. All three stalls free. The preferred stall closest to the far wall (only in a pinch, and I was pinching) sprayed, splattered, unflushed mess. Took the middle one.
Just after the bomb dropped, heard footsteps. Fine. Nothing unusual. Water running, face splash, voice from the man’s face in the mirror is the Goat’s, Eeee eee. The-ey we-re dri-i-iving car-ar-ars.
What the fuck? That’s twice in a week I’ve heard the Goat come out of my friend and colleague during his seemingly alone moments. The other time was while he was crossing the street. I was already standing on the other side. Lo-oo-k ou-out. Bo-oth wa-ays. Be-ee-ee care-areful. When he got to the other side and we started to chat, his face was blank when I mentioned the Goat.
Huh? he asked, not conscious of what had just come out of his mouth?
Is the Goat taking over? This early into the semester and he has already introduced his teaching aid and hand-puppet to his level 4 classes. But when the goat is ungloved, is he resting? It seems not.
Some weeks before over beers in his clubhouse/band practice space after spinning some loud rock’n roll records, he, D, shared the Christmas special he did- a spoof on the famous Bing Crosby/David Bowie Peace On Earth/Little Drummer Boy duet from the seventies. In D’s version the Crosby part was played by man while the Bowie part was played by goat. He had made the video when we were all still on lockdown and teaching virtually. I wondered how that went over with students and if any had nightmares. It could be deemed good depending on personal persuasion. D is indeed a talented musician and quite apt in video production and editing. But damn if that goat ain’t creepy.
So there in the stall, suppressing laughter and nearly choking on my own fumes but keeping my presence unannounced, I hear the water turn on and off, paper towels extracted, the wadded ball hitting the bottom of an empty waste basket, and the voice of the goat give way to the man walking from the sink to the threshold of the door back outside onto the green campus and sunny Monday morning, Ye-ah-ah tha-aa-ats ri-ii-ight. And then the goat is gone with the clearing of his throat and the pronouncement as one foot touches pavement outside: Clean and fucking mean! Yeah! Let’s go!
WHO IS CAPTAIN B?
Captain B. Seafarer. Lover of shore leave. Collector of heads. Disseminator of tales. Twitter: @NPeligeiro
Captain B illustration by Raddy
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