The Gold Nugget – Stephen Myer

The piano man nodded as we entered. He chomped on a stogie, his foot keeping time to a minor lament. I gleaned from his doleful expression that gratuities hadn’t amounted to a finger’s worth of rotgut. Brother walked ahead to find us a table, so I tossed the gold nugget into the tip bucket—in truth, to be rid of it. The rock clanged against the metal and a small misshapen angel appeared from behind the piano. Her eyes sat wide apart—her nose thin and curved like a beak. A tattered millefleur frock hung loose off her bony shoulders as her arms swayed in a sullen stride. She pecked at the nugget and deposited it back in my hand. In a show of delight, she cackled a triad of gallinaceous harmony, then bobbed her head and strutted back behind the piano. The piano man smiled and said ’twas best I keep the nugget, for his daughter Chordacluck was a savant who knew where such things must reside.

The establishment was nigh empty except for a company of gamblers hunched over a round table covered in green baize that about matched their sickly complexions. They sat hawkeyed and tense, cards pressed against lips. Some extended their pock-marked noses over those cards like fleshy scythes, guarding their documents from the wandering eyes of other prodigals in the game. Paltry piles of specie sat in front of each—except the dealer, whose considerable spoils lent a suspicious air to the ceremony.

“Beer,” called Little Brother.

The waiter eyed me. “How old are ye?” he asked.

Little Brother declared, “He’s older than me and likely smarter than you.”

The waiter took our order, then returned with steaks and cool draughts, advising us to knock them back before the suds turned to chalk in the gritty air of Edgers City.

“You truly believe Pa found that nugget at some rainbow’s end?”

“Damnit, Marcus. It’s understood and settled.”

The card game ended and the glum gamblers headed for the door—all except three, who lingered and stared at their meager remains.

“Hey, boys,” I called.

“Eat your grub,” said Little Brother, chewing his steak with conviction. “We didn’t come here to make friends.”

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  1. Michael says:

    Well written fable. Thoughtful ideas about man search for things of lesser value that hide more important issues. Do we suffer little deaths while searching for the unattainable? What should we be doing instead? What is living all about? Thoroughly enjoyable and thoughtful read.

  2. Paula keane says:

    Beautifully written

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