                                  T H E

                               Z E P H Y R

                      __     M A G A Z I N E
                     {__]++++++++++++++++++++++++++[]
                     Issue #32                12-1-86

                A weekly electronic magazine for users of
                            THE ZEPHYR II BBS
                        (Mesa, AZ - 602-894-6526)
                    owned and operated by T. H. Smith

                        Editor - Gene B. Williams

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                                (c) 1986

    THIS ISSUE:

       Isn't vacation wonderful?
       Two issues in a row from other users!!! I'm gonna get spoiled
    - or at very least I'll get some work of my own done so I can pay
    for Christmas. (Lessee, Santy. I want a Porsh, and a camcorder,
    and an AT or two, and . . . that cute blond next in line . . .
    and . . . .)
       Well, enough of that. What counts is that John Arbon is back
    with yet another story. This time you're going to get it just as
    he sent it to me. No editing except for format.
         He calls it . . .

                                THE WISH

                              by John Arbon

        As he stepped out of the bar he tripped over nothing and
    fell.  He didn't feel any pain as the gravel bit into his knees,
    the alcohol had deadened his nerves and his mind.  He collected
    himself, got his legs working and stumbled down the road.  He
    didn't care where he was going, he just went remembering.
        "Honey, I'm home," he'd said one day about four months ago.
    There was no answer, no note, and nobody but himself.  Supper
    wasn't on the table.  He thought it must have been some type of
    unimportant emergency that had taken his wife away from her
    responsibilities, so he waited.  He threw his coat over a chair,
    loosened his tie and sat down to watch the evening news, eating a
    TV dinner.  The news passed, and he suffered through the sit-coms
    until eleven thirty.  He stood and turned off the TV and went
    upstairs to his room, only to discover that everything his wife
    had owned was gone.  He ran downstairs to his son's room.  His
    son's clothing and toys were gone too.  The only thing he found
    that indicated they had even been there was a child's storybook
    about a genie and a fisherman.
        Two days later he received a subpoena.  It demanded that he
    appear in court a week from that day, his wife was divorcing him.
    It stated that the reasons why she wanted the divorce.  The top
    one read, "Infidelity".
        "Infidelity," he mumbled as he walked, "there was no infidel
    ity, no unfaithfulness." He paused, thought for a moment, and
    went on, "Sometimes I had to stay at the office until early
    morning.  But, I had a good reason.  We were working on a new
    product and had to meet a deadline.  That's not infidelity is
    it?" His mouth ran down and he remembered again.

        He'd had a dream, a nightmare.

        He awakened, showered and dressed, eaten a normal breakfast,
    and gotten into the car.  As he drove to the court building, he
    took note that the terrain was black and white.
        He found himself in the courtroom.  It was full of spectators
    interested in his case.  The courtroom stretched as far as the
    eye could see and they were filling it.  It seemed the whole city
    was there.
        His wife was sitting at a table opposite his, but his son was
    nowhere to be seen, He turned and saw the judge's pulpit, it was
    massive; it looked as if it was purposefully constructed to be
    intimidating.
        The crier bellowed, "All rise!" Everyone rose and towered
    above him, even though he was standing also.  The judge walked in
    and sat at the pulpit.  His face was fat and the wig on his head
    was greasy and tangled.  His eyes looked as if they were going to
    pop out of his head as he slowly looked around the room.  They
    came to rest on the defendant.  Fat lips opened and the voice
    filled the room, "You want a divorce?"
        He was barely able to choke out, "No," he was shaking so
    badly.  The flesh turned toward his wife and repeated the
    question.  She towered above her soon-to-be ex-husband, and
    pointed to him, "Yes, your honor, I want to divorce this!"
        "This," the soon-to-be thought, "is human and loves you!"
        The judge spoke again, "You have your divorce.  Now for the
    child." A cage was dragged in, his son was in it.
        "What the Hell's going on here!" the-now-ex-husband yelled.
        The judge's head swiveled, his eyes bulging to the bursting
    point, and his face a distinct shade of purple.  "You will be
    quiet, or I will hold you in contempt of court!" Spittle dribbled
    from his lower lip as he spat out the last word.  He wiped it off
    with the back of his hand.  No one seemed to mind but the-now-ex,
    and he had shriveled up and pushed himself as far back into the
    chair as possible at the force of those words.
        "Now," the judge continued, "what are you?" The question was
    directed toward the-now-ex.  The seconds it took him to answer
    seemed like and eternity, "What do you mean?"
        The judge leaned as far forward as his huge gut would allow,
    his obese lips opened and the-now-ex felt as though he was about
    to be sucked in.  But, instead of that, the putrid breath of the
    judge assailed him along with the explanation, "I mean are you
    male or female?"
        "Male," the-no-ex managed to cough out.
        "Very well, the boy goes to you," the judge said turning to
    the wife.  She started to laugh, and as she so, she took hold of
    the rope and started to drag away the cage.
        "NO!" the-now-ex screamed.  In desperation he started running
    toward the cage, but was blocked by the spectators, they towered
    above him.
        "No!  No!"
        They just started to laugh.
        To the judge he screamed, "Stop her, damn you!  Stop her!"
        Then the judge laughed, cruel and harsh.  It filled the room,
    it filled the empty spaces left by the spectators' laughter, and
    it ran like tar against his legs as he tried to catch his rapidly
    disappearing son.  He cried as he realized that he had lost.
    But, he could not stop.
        It was here that he woke up sweaty and shaking.
        The actual court proceedings were too painful for him to
    remember, but he recalled a statement made by his now-ex-wife,
    "Yes, I am now engaged to marry a man who can take care of me and
    my son."
        He cringed as the memory mocked him, "...am now engaged..."
    She didn't waste any time, he though.  "...a man who can take
    care of me..." I did a good job!  But, not good enough, not when
    perfection was demanded!  "...and my son." I loved him and he
    loved me!  But, NO!  The court awarded custody to her!  In
    frustration he yelled, "Why!?  What did I do to deserve this?"
    Only the echo answered back, slapping his face with his own
    question, causing memories to flow again.
        Depression set in and he started drinking.  Not heavily at
    first, but gradually wending his way to alcoholism.  He became a
    drunk, ever tanked.  He could no longer think straight, and that
    affected his job.
        A secretary came up to him and said, "The boss would like to
    see you."
        "Ok, I'll be there," he answered.
        She left, he waited a moment then walked over to the office
    and knocked on the door.
        "Come in."
        He opened the door and stepped through.
        The boss wasn't one for small talk, so he said, "I'm going to
    have to lay you off."
        "Why?  You know I've just been divorced and..."
        He was interrupted, "Wait, I'm not finished.  You have three
    months to straighten out.  Now that's a long time, and you won't
    have to live off of unemployment.  We will pay you half of your
    monthly income for these three months.  At he end of them, you
    can come back, if you've straightened out, otherwise we will have
    to replace you.
        "Please understand me, I only did this for your own good and
    the company's. But, we can't have a man as important as you be
    drunk all the time!  We can't even have you drunk some of the
    time!  The company has customers to serve and people to please,
    having our employees tanked really puts out a bad image.  If the
    others had their way you wouldn't have a second chance.  As of
    now you would be fired.
        "Now you can finish this day out if you'd like, but as of
    tomorrow we won't expect you back for three months.  I will take
    on your responsibilities while you're gone.  I can only expect
    the best results from you.  You've still got a chance, don't
    waste it!"
        That was all; the now-laid-off got up and walked out.
        After that his life was a waste.  He got up in the afternoon,
    had some dry cereal, and went back to sleep.  Then when evening
    came around, he'd turn on the big screen TV and watch all the
    late night movies, drinking.  He lost track of time, and two and
    a half months passed in this manner.
        He was walking on the beach now.  It was deserted this time
    of year, besides it wasn't a very popular place anyway.  The moon
    was full and it illuminated the waves that washed away his
    footprints.  He was walking backwards watching them disappear
    when his foot hit something hard and he fell over backwards,
    landing on his backside in the soft sand.
        He pulled the bottle that had tripped him out of the sand.
    It was narrow at the neck and slowly curved outward to a wide
    base.  There was a cork in the top.  Out of curiosity he pulled
    it out.  A faint mist floated up, then there was nothing, even
    when he tipped it upside down.  He wondered at the mist, but
    dismissed it as water vapor of a fine powder from the cork.
        He threw the bottle out into the surf, and looked for a place
    to sit.  He found a rock to lean against, got comfortable, and
    closed his eyes.  He was tired.  The sand was so soft and the
    surf so soothing that he quickly drifted off.
        "Pardon me, but I owe you something."
        The voice was deep.  Our man woke with a start and turned to
    see another man standing beside him, only he had no face.  Or at
    least he could not make out any details, the facial features
    where blurred and undefined.  It became worse as he tried to
    focus on a particular feature, tried to peer behind the blur, yet
    there was something hauntingly familiar.
        "You freed me from the bottle," the other man explained.
        "Me?" the liberator asked.
        "Yes.  Do you remember the bottle you opened?  Well, I've
    been in there for nearly...Oh, heck!  Well, let's put it this
    way.  I was around when one of your relatives, distant relatives,
    was crossing a desert on camel back nearly two thousand years
    ago!  "I apologize for not showing myself earlier, but have you
    ever tried to form after two thousand years?  It's not as easy as
    pulling a rabbit out of a hat!  Now that's something I can do."
    As he finished a black hat appeared in his hand.  With his other
    hand he pulled out a squirming rabbit, which ran off down the
    beach when it hit the ground with a soft thud.
        The rescuer's wide eyes followed the rabbit for a few
    moments, "How did you do that?"
        "It's quite easy, really.  It's just one of those tricks that
    are taught to beginners, to wet their appetite, so to speak."
        "You're saying you're a magician.  Right?"
        "You could call me that if you'd like.  But, I prefer genie."
        The liberator thought, Either I am terribly drunk and this
    person is a hallucination or I'm having another bad dream.  I
    don't need this!
        "Alright," he said surrendering to this ridiculous situation,
    "you said that you owed me something.  What is it?"
        "I'll grant you a wish," the genie said seriously.
        "Just like the story of the genie and the fisherman.  You're
    crazy!  Go away."
        "You are the fisherman."
        "Me?!"
        "You are fishing for an answer."
        "Ok, so I'm fishing for an answer!  What about it?" he asked
    sarcastically.
        "Drinking won't solve your problems."
        "OH, this is RICH!  I can't believe it!  Don't tell me, but
    you are going to solve all my problems.  Right?  You are going to
    call down all the solutions and hand them to me on a golden
    platter and say, 'There you go.  The answers to your problems are
    there before you.' You are too incredible."
        The genie started walking toward the sea, "Have you noticed
    what a nice night it is?  It's been so long since I've seen the
    moon, the sea and the stars..." his voice faded into the roar of
    the surf as he walked.
        "Wait!" The rescuer stood and ran after him.
        The genie stopped walking.  "What?"
        "If you're a genie, and I have a wish, then it's within your
    power to grant that wish, right?"
        "Yep."
        "All right then.  We'll see if you're really a genie or
    wizard or what ever!" He scrunched up his eyes and said, "I wish
    I had my son and wife back, and that she loved me for who I am."
    He opened his eyes expectantly, "Well?"
        The genie regarded him with sad eyes and said, "I'm sorry, I
    can't grant that wish."
        "AAAaaaahahahahaha!  You're a FAKE!  A FRAUD!  A PHONEY!" He
    was literally dancing on the sand in elation, "You claim to be a
    magician..."
        "Genie."
        Undaunted the liberator continued, "...and offer to grant me
    a wish!  I make that wish, and you tell me you CAN'T GRANT IT!
    Now tell me who you REALLY are." He looked at the genie smugly, a
    slight grin was tugging at the corners of his mouth.
        The genie laid down on the sand and looked up into the night
    sky.  "Do you see those stars?"
        Caught off guard the liberator looked up, "Which ones?"
        "Those," the genie explained pointing in a general direction,
    "the ones in the sky."
        Looking up again the liberator said, "Yeah.  What about
    them?"
        "There are laws that govern them.  How they move, how they
    burn and how they effect the other stars."
        "So."
        "So, there are laws that govern us.  The reason I can't grant
    you your wish is because I can't change the past, no one can.
    You see, the past is already set, the present is setting the
    future for the past, and the future is unset. I can only work
    with the present and the future.  "Sheesh!  Now I'm sounding like
    my tutor.  And I swore I'd never quote him.  If you want to meet
    an old guy, you ought to meet him!  He's at least twice my age."
        "I still think you're a fake, or at least a figment of my
    imagination."
        The genie laughed softly, "You can think what you like, but
    it won't change what I really am."
        "What are you?"
        "I am what you want me to be."
        "It seems the more I talk to you the less I know about you."
    Then changing the subject, "Do I still have my wish, or is it
    lost."
        "You'd be surprised at how much you really know about me.
    And yes, you still have your wish."
        "I wish that I would meet a beautiful woman, fall in love and
    get married and live a happy life." He opened his eyes and said,
    "There!  That dealt with the future, and you said that you can
    deal with the future.  So how about it?"
        "You're asking for a fairy tale romance."
        "Yeah, I guess I am."
        "Do you want a fairy tale romance?"
        "HOLY...I can't believe you!  I JUST WISHED FOR ONE!"
        "But, is that what you really want?  Is that the answer you
    are looking for?"
        "Uh...uh..." he couldn't answer that question.  He didn't
    know what he wanted.  And this is what I get for becoming a
    boozer, he thought.  Oh, I HATE this!

        "Alright then, here is my wish." He did not close his eyes as
    he had before.  Instead he looked intently into the blurry eyes
    of the genie and said, "I wish you'd stop playing games with me
    and give me the answer!"
        The genie said simply, "You are the only one who can answer
    the questions you have posed.  But, I can tell you this, 'The
    answers to your problems are there before you.' You only have to
    accept them.
        No!  No no no no no no no...the liberator thought as he sank
    to the sand, the roar of the surf rolling over him.
        Silence.
        He was still lying in the beach when the warm sun woke him.
    He had a terrible headache, and as he stood he nearly fainted.
    He sat down quickly, head between his hands as he tried to stop
    the spinning world.  He tried it again, gradually.  This time it
    worked.
        "Drinking isn't worth this," he mumbled to himself.  He
    paused for a moment trying to locate himself.  The beach, that's
    where he was.
        "How'd I get here?" he asked no one.  It didn't matter, he
    just had to get home.  As he started walking in that general
    direction, his foot hit something. He bent down to brush the sand
    away and was startled to see the bottle he had thrown into the
    sea.
         There was a cork in the bottle.

    Until Next Time

       Christmas is coming up FAST! And along with it comes the
    horrible sense of indecision and lack of ideas on what to get
    for that special someone.
       That will be next time*'s topic. And your own ideas and input
    will be most appreciated. To keep it a surprise, send me your
    ideas and etc. in private E-mail. Be sure to let me know if you
    want credit for the idea, or if you'd prefer to keep your name
    out of it.
       There's not much time left. I'm figuring on putting up the
    next issue in no more than 10 days from now (Dec. 1st) and
    possibly sooner. So send your ideas, schemes, etc. ASAP!

       See ya then!!!
       Meanwhile, spread the word. Zephyr is here and alive. The number
    is 894-6526.

Zephyr Magazine is © Gene Williams. All rights reserved.