Charles Pendelton

	Charles Pendelton
	© 2008 Marty Langdon

Chapter 40

                         The Spanish room

An hour later, peace and quiet had been restored to the town. I walked gracefully
into the living room, where I began to look around at all there was to see, while the
Spanish decor made me feel like I was standing in another country. Silently, I gazed
at the toreador in the painting on the wall and found him wearing the typical
Andalusian hat worn by bullfighters, the montera. Dressed in the traditional suit
of lights, he proudly displayed his red cape to entice the bull. As the bull prepared
to charge, he seemed to be kicking up some of the dirt with his hind legs.

From there, it was all a guessing game to try and determine the winner.

A foot away hung a medieval battle mace displayed on a 40-degree angle.
Who would invent such a terrible weapon to use against his fellow man?

               Regardless of its history, it was a perfect accompaniment to the room.

Three feet away was another painting on soft black felt paper. This one depicted a
picador on horseback, charging with one of his many spangled lances. The bull had
three in his neck already, where blood spurted out in thin streams dotting the ground.
Nothing would be able to stop that haematic flow. Yet, in all his pain and suffering,
he still seemed to look as ferocious and dangerous as he could have possibly been.

On the adjacent wall, above the television set, was a vintage shield with fencing swords
that crossed together. And on both sides of that were two Medieval torch wall scones that
appeared equally as dangerous due to the spikes that came jutting up. Inside were the
remains of two candles. To me it appeared as though the novelty had worn off many
years ago, and the candles, which had both burned out, were now simply forgotten.

The borders around the room were adjoined in constituent angles to where the overlap
of half-timbered wood protruded from the wall's facade. The wood itself was unique,
for it was almost black, and gave off an appearance that termites had crawled through
it centuries ago. This was the art of illusion through etch and stain.

In between its peripherals was a form of stucco, while the ceiling
had been discolored by the nicotine of countless cigarettes.

Overall, the rustic look gave it an unmatched charm that was pleasing to the senses
because it showcased the artistry of a bygone age that no other home I’ve seen could
surpass. The aesthetic appeal of the antiquated architecture combined with the
whimsical aspect that the figurines and knickknacks presented to both the occupants
and visitors was quite impressive, to say the least.

                                                               Pg 268
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Indeed, it was John’s father who fancied the Spanish Renaissance revival period,
and John’s mother who collected all the tchotchkes.

As I stared at the collection of hobo clowns and Frankoma ware in the curio cabinet
that John's mother had collected over the years, I realized there was an unending
amount of things in this world for people to collect and become absorbed in.

                What a wonderful retreat, I thought, to be here now that the
                madness had ended and all was made well in our little town.

A few minutes later, I got up and went into the bathroom. The one with no bathtub or
shower stall in it. The room that should rightly be called a lavatory. After washing my
hands with Irish Spring soap, I returned to the dark burgundy tufted couch that in all
honesty, was a bit too stiff and began to stare intently at the curio cabinet.

There’s nothing to see anymore.

No one to be anymore…

Just me - on a chair - in a room.

As John was scouring through the refrigerator like he was searching for a lost docket,
I began to contemplate my existence. Sometimes neither society nor psychiatrists can
help remedy the ailment that confounds us. Sometimes we need to open that forbidden
door and step gently into the threshold of the great beyond. To alter the consciousness of
the mind is to look deep within our own psyche in a meager attempt to uncover and extract
the equation that can ultimately unlock the mystery of what lies deep within ourselves.

Through the use of psychedelic substances (and or) derivatives of a chemical compound,
the unattainable can become a reality but should only be contemplated as a last resort.

John turned on the television, and together we walked into the kitchen. I could tell
he was not listening to that burbling nonsense being dispersed into the air via sound
waves from electrical signals, so the man in the box spoke only to himself. I sat down
in a rather comfortable sponge chair until John proceeded to enter the kitchen.

When John returned to the living room, he began scrolling through the channels.
Some private eye movie was already in progress, and since we missed the beginning,
I had no interest in the film whatsoever. As far as I was concerned, I would have
much rather gone to sleep, so I closed my weary eyes and imagined myself being
a private eye in the early 1940s… A Detective by the name of John Sloan.

Pg 269
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This review was posted on May/13/23
Reviewed by aamnaaaa

This review was posted on Jun/12/23
Reviewed by yashodha_95
YS

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                                                         This review was posted on Jun/15/23

                                                kanchanninawe's review

                     The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 40 - The Spanish Room

Reader's Report by kanchan
KC

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This review was posted on Jul/7/23
Hajranoor's review

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This review was posted on Aug/3/23
Reviewed by tawhida

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                                          This review was posted on Aug/15/23

                                           iqrabashir871 's review

The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 40 - The Spanish Room

                                              Reader's Report by Iqra

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This review was posted on Aug/18/23

WWWWii
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This review was posted on Oct/7/23
Reviewed by labia_1903

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This review was posted on Oct/30/23
Reviewed by suma303755

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This review was posted on Nov/14/23
Reviewed by alits29's

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This review was posted on Jan/26/24
Reviewed by pazkou

This review was posted on Feb/29/24
Reviewed by hinaspatel

This review was posted on May/30/23
Reviewed by mariya

This review was posted on July/5/23
LL

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This review was posted on Jul/17/24
Reviewed by sababaloch292

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                                                           This review was posted on Jul/27/24
                                                                 Tayyaba17's review
                                            The Embryo Man: Chapter 40 - The Spanish Room
                                                                 Reader's Report by Tayyaba

TY

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Saleha Zainab - Sep 5 - Chapter 40

SZ
The room is almost a character itself, described as an art piece. The attention to detail –
from the toreador painting to the faux-timber wood – turns the room into a living gallery,
presenting each object as both aesthetic and symbolic. The protagonist muses on the
collection habits of John’s parents, particularly his mother’s tchotchkes, which become
symbols of people’s obsession with finding meaning through objects. Also, the he room’s
decoration strongly evokes the Spanish Renaissance, filled with items reminiscent of
bullfighting and medieval weaponry. The protagonist’s reaction to these objects blends
admiration for their craftsmanship with discomfort, particularly with violent items like the
battle mace and the depiction of the bullfight.

The protagonist appreciates the room’s artistry, but this admiration is tinged with sadness
and detachment. The worn-out candles and nicotine-stained ceiling symbolize neglect,
decay, and the passage of time—a reminder of the inevitable fading of all things.

“No one to be anymore… Just me - on a chair - in a room,” evokes existential loneliness.

The room, with its decorative charm, offers a temporary distraction, but ultimately,
the protagonist remains fixated on the mystery of his own existence.
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This review was posted on Oct/24/24
Reviewed by sampriktaada813

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PG 268) Death duel by Michel Bohbot - http://tinyurl.com/n3n6jsa

PG 268) Bull fighter by Sherman LaMont Sudbury - http://tinyurl.com/km7r2zg

PG 269) Pop goes the weasel by Chris Mars - http://www.chrismarspublishing.com/