LatinosUSA

Only eight members attended our Writers’ Group gathering on August 8^th. The two absentees gave notice that they preferred to watch cricket. At least their regrets were timely enough for us to invite two alternates. We decided we’d discuss the future involvement of our frequent absentees over lunch at the Eight Bells pub, once the meeting was over.

Both alternates read to us once before on different occasions, after which neither returned (we thought perhaps our talents had overwhelmed them somewhat). Charles Simmons was an octogenarian and retired lawyer who wrote crime stories. Matilda Mumford was recently divorced after eighteen years of what she believed was a happy marriage. She wrote a piece about a despicable man we all assumed was her ex. Her words were so comically severe that none of the male members of the group felt endangered. Later, when in the pub, we would discuss whether her piece had been a stab at humour.

Floris, one of our founding members, started the day’s session by handing each of us a couple of sheets bearing the latest chapter of her murder mystery novel. She then read dramatically how her heroine was murdered by a man who owned a giant octopus. The man manipulated a situation wherein the creature strangled his new wife, who, he mistakenly believed, was worth more than eight million dollars.

I was unsure whether to laugh or critique her piece as the announced murder mystery.

Matilda shouted, “Bastard!”

Geoff wondered aloud, “How could such a scenario come about, and why wasn’t the octopus mentioned earlier in the story?”

Charles agreed. “How did the octopus leave his pool and be somehow drawn to the woman?”

“Do giant octopi actually exist?” asked Antonia. “I’d love to see one.”

Floris became flustered. “Look, it’s fiction, okay. If you’ll allow your imagination to roam, you’ll discover all things are possible.”

“Yes,” said Jennifer. “I can imagine a man with eight arms. That could be a lot of fun.”

“Nonsense,” Matilda mumbled. “All men are shit.”

“Not true,” Jackson said with a sting in his voice. “Most of us are decent. You were just unlucky, Matilda. What do you say, Peter?”

“Keep me out of it,” I said. “A man saying most men are decent probably won’t persuade most women. I do think the octopus strangling a woman is too strange. There must be other ways the murderer can achieve his aim.”

“In the embrace of an eight-armed stud?” Jennifer ventured with a grin.