Once again, after her latest awful stunt, Edna high in the sky, mounted on her broom, erupted in an unrestrained burst of evil giggles.
- I am a genius, she cried the most cunning, the most wicked witch in all of Europe.
(This is the continent to which Gaul, Zytalia, Belgium and many other countries belong).
-What am I saying? Only of Europe? I am the worst there is in the whole world. Get out of your evil, Meg, no matter what you do, you'll never catch me. What do I see, a new victim?
Edna didn't say those last words by accident. At that very moment she had just discerned a very troubled, leathery gentleman who, holding a newspaper by his side, namely, the Fensington News, was heading briskly towards one of the very fine restaurants in Lendunu, the Golden Duck. He was Mr. Ed Wilson and he ate every lunchtime at this restaurant which he loved very much.
This gentleman was a bachelor, with an important position in some bank, and he lived in an old but comfortable house in North Fensington, a fairly populous district in Happy Hill, with an old and almost deaf housekeeper who sometimes took the trouble, since the fat gentleman had no cook in his employ, to cook for him. What she tried to prepare for him was usually very simple and crude, and anybody could make it in a tolerable way, but Mrs. Morris - that was the housekeeper's name - managed to burn it or leave it uncooked, so that it became a real feat for anybody to eat it. Still, Mr. Wilson would never have thought of employing a cook, for, frankly, though it is not nice to speak of a decent gentleman in that way, he was insufferable, full of oddities and whims, and the only one who could put up with him was Mrs. Morris, chiefly because he had half-hated them, and did not understand much of what he said to her even the few times she managed to hear any of it. There was, therefore, a good reason why he had remained a bachelor.
Anyway, the fact that Mr. Wilson was an obnoxious fellow is not the point, so I'll move on to something more relevant. Which is what I'm getting at. I don't need to particularly emphasise how great it was for this gourmet but usually unsatisfactory when it came to food gentleman to walk into his favourite restaurant to enjoy an exquisite meal accompanied by an excellent wine. Then he would light his cigar and smoke it with satisfaction while reading his newspaper.
But fate had other plans that Mr. Wilson very little suspected. For that day he was watched from above by an old magpie, who, unfortunately for him, was endowed with remarkable magical powers. Edna, determined to make this meal sour for him, flipped through her magic book once more and pointed a finger at him, then recited a magic rhyme and began circling the restaurant, waiting to see what effect her magic would have.
Unsuspecting all this, Mr. Wilson entered the restaurant and sat down at his usual table, looking around anxiously. He did not like to wait at all. The maitre d', knowing his peculiarities, approached him at once, and with much of the chatter customary to head waiters of this kind, gave him the menu, recommending some dishes .
- I will start with the mushroom soup and for the main course I will have the caramelized duck.
- Certainly, sir, and you will allow me to observe that you have made an excellent choice," complimented the maitre d'.
- Yes, yes well, did the fat gentleman with some rudeness, I hope you will serve it with those round sweet potatoes again.
- But of course, sir, hastened to reassure him, the man, who, as tall as he was, reminded him a little of an lamp post. And what are you going to drink?
- A Marlowe, you know.
- And for dessert?
- I'll decide later. As always.
- Anything else? Asked with fake politeness the head waiter, who couldn't wait to get rid of the unpleasant customer.
- No, thats all. But make it quick, because I'm hungry.
- The Metre, light and brisk, took the list and walked away. Soon a waiter arrived with the soup and some side dishes.
As soon as Mr. Wilson saw it he began to clap his hands eagerly like a little child.
- Fetch, fetch, fetch, he did, full of haste.
The waiter laid the plate before him and wished him bon appétit.
- Bon apetit Messier.
- Yes, yes, yes! But now go away and let me eat.
As soon as the waiter finally left him alone, the plump man triumphantly picked up the black pepper and began to pour it with gusto into the soup, then picked up the spoon and prepared to dip it into the plate, to suck the first spoonful with relish. Before he could do so, however, a loud "Apsoowu" resounded in his ears, and from the plate sprang a gust of soup-drops that covered him whole, while at the same time. Excuse me I have a cold
W-W-Who... Who spoke?
What are you, some kind of ghost?
Here, in the dish you brainiac. Growled the strange voice
- In the dish?" repeated the man, in awe, looking anxiously at the soup.
- Something strange like a thick mouth was floating in his food and two eyes were staring at him in anger.
- But it's you....
- The soup. Don't look so surprised!!!
-That's impossible, Ed muttered, trembling all over.
- To talk ? That's what you meant, didn't you; Exclaimed the soup full of anger . Soups don't talk. Do they, fat boy? You people torment us, eat us, gobble as, and we cannot even complain. Well, you're in trouble now, because I'm a litteral chatterbox . Now you're gonna get a sour meal.
- But I..., the unhappy man tried to appologise.
- Well; continued the soup mercilessly, won't you eat me? Go ahead, don't be shy. Take the spoon and start. Just be careful: if you eat me once, I'll eat you twice. Once I'm in your stomach, I'll start biting, chewing, swallowing, until there's nothing left of you.
- AAAAAAAAAA! Filled with horror, Mr. Wilson let out a terrible scream and pushed his plate away. Immediately the maitre d' ran to him to see what had happened to him.
- Is the gentleman all right?" he asked anxiously. 'There is something wrong with the food.
- The soup TALKS!" cried Mr. Wilson, almost in tears. SHE THREATENED ME. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?! SHE THREATENED ME, ME!
- I would ask you to lower your tone of voice, the head waiter said irritated. This is a decent restauraunt and we can't have everyone yelling like that.
- But are you listening to what I'm saying? whined Mr. Wilson, the soup says it's going to eat me.
The man who resembled a lechy man deigned to take a look at the soup, but it didn't seem to have anything unusual about it. You see, Edna's spell was particularly sadistic and only worked when no one but the victim was around to cause him even more confusion.
- 'I don't see anything, sir,' said Metre, smiling. 'Are you sure the soup has spoken to you? Did you laugh?
- 'Lying is what that awful water-soup does,' growled Mr. Wilson, furiously. She's cunning and she's doing it because she hates me.
- Maybe you're not feeling well. Shall I send for someone?" said the head waiter, in the sweet tone adopted by adults when conversing with someone who is not in his right mind.
Mr. Wilson, as if he suspected that what he was saying was in serious danger of leading him straight to the strait-jacketed madhouse, decided to show that he was not running anything. He took his white handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and wiped his sweaty forehead with small sharp strokes.
- Perhaps you are right, he said, trying to sound calm and reasonable, perhaps I was laughing. In any case, I'm not in the mood for soup. Get her out of my way and bring me the main course.
- Certainly, sir. said Metre and clapped his hands, gesturing to a waiter standing a little further away. Soon the caramelized duck with sweet round chips sat on his plate smelling mischievously. The dry caramelized skin looked delicious, and Mr. Wilson with drooling saliva took the knife and fork in his hands and plunged it greedily into the tender flesh of the fowl to cut the first piece.
- 'Goodness,' he muttered as he cut, 'if I manage to get something in my mouth today, I promise I'll never moan about Mrs Morris's food again.
But false hopes! No sooner had the knife sunk into the delicious meat than a loud "quack" sounded from the plate. Mr. Wilson bit his lips loudly to keep from crying out. 'I can't hear very well,' he whispered. It's my nerves. I've been so tired lately I've been overloaded at the bank. It's not possible for a duck to squeak.
- Yes, replied a small honeyed voice, squeaked I heard it too.
- What was that? 'Who spoke?' said Mr. Wilson, really half-mad now.
- I did, the voice came again, and a potato in the plate sprouting little legs stood upright and stretched to look good. Mr. Wilson rolled his eyes and tears began to flow from his eyes.
- 'Don't cry, Ed,' said the little potato in a comforting tone, 'Ed Wilson is your name, isn't it? I heard it said in the kitchen when they were cooking me, 'Here comes that fat-skinned Ed Wilson prowling around again.
- How?" said Ed, still crying.
- 'Don't cry, Ed,' said the potato again, 'I won't mind if you eat me. We all get hungry sometime. There! Stick the fork in me and I won't make a sound. You'll see. I'll be good and kind. Just try to chew me quickly, so it won't hurt.
- Yes, whimpered the fat man shedding hot tears, so you say now, but when you get to my stomach you'll start eating me from the inside. Goodness gracious a bite I'm asking to eat.
- Eat me I say, insisted the little potato after all that's why they cooked me. Once I was a happy raw potato so small and innocent but now that I've been cooked I have nothing left but to be eaten. If you don't eat me, they'll throw me out.
- Yes, yes, yes, yes, eat her! She's so annoying that we can't wait to get away from her, there were many other identical voices through the plate and the other potatoes got up and started singing and dancing around the duck.
Don't hesitate any more, fat man, the potato eater!
Take her and give her a snack!
Here she is, there she is
Look how crispy and delicious
Eat the first bite
To get to the belly
Mr. Wilson was so hungry and desperate that he began to seriously consider eating the potato.
- Come on, said the potato with a sad face. Since nobody likes me anyway. You can see it yourself, the other potatoes snub me. My life will be much better in your belly. Oh, please! Please, please, please, please! Please with whipped cream on top! Please with whipped cream and syrup! Please with whipped cream syrup and ground almonds!!!!
- Well well well, made exhausted from hunger and everything else Ed, I'll eat you. Just stop begging. I'm so hungry all the time.
- Oh, thank you, Ed. You're a little bundle of joy. Go on, then! The fat man, now distracted, took the fork and picked it up, ready to stick it in the potato.
-Ah, ah, said she, don't put it in too sharply, for I'm afraid it will hurt. Don't be too barbarous! Think how you would feel with a lolly stuck in your ribs.
- 'You don't make it easy for me,' said Mr Wilson, disgusted.
- Well sorry, I won't speak again, said the potato.
The fat man took a deep breath and lifted the fork, muttering over and over the phrase 'It's all a delusion, it's all a delusion'. With drool running down his face and tears streaming down his cheeks he reached out to stick the fork into the potato, but before he could do so, she let out a shuddering cry of "AAAAH!!!"
- "What are you doing?" said Mr. Wilson. I didn't even touch you.
- Yes, I know, I'm sorry, I was just scared, she continued.
- Losing all control the chubby man quickly stuck the fork into the potato ignoring her cries and brought it to his mouth. But at the last moment, from the end of the fork, came a heartbreaking "OHHI!!!!" that once again made Mr. Wilson freeze and stay with his mouth wide open and the potato between his teeth that were waiting ready to close at any moment.
- 'Just a moment,' begged the whimpering potato, 'just a moment I ask you, cold-blooded executioner, to say a little prayer. I cannot let this futile world of pity weigh me down. God of the vegetables, of the sugary, of the starchy now that I am leaving life, to be in the dark belly of the fat man, I ask you to forgive me. Ever since I was buried in the ground, I've tried to be with the people I love.
- "Just a moment," begged the crying potato, "just a second, cold-blooded executioner, to say a little prayer. I cannot let this futile world of pity weigh me down. God of the vegetables, of the sugary, of the starchy now that I am leaving life, to be in the dark belly of the fat man, I ask you to forgive me. Ever since I was buried in the ground, I have tried to be a good and kind potato, to do no fruit, vegetable, carbohydrate and starchy thing justice. I don't know if I succeeded, but I hope I didn't make a serious mistake. But since you wanted me to find such an ending I can only believe that I erred somewhere. I know I've been a chatterbox, I know I've tried too hard to befriend the other potatoes since I was in the field, later in the grocer's crate and more recently in the pot. I'm sorry I've been so good, I'm sorry I haven't wronged anyone, I'm sorry the fat man is a glutton and thinks with his belly, I'm sorry for everything. Come on, Ed, let's get this over with and, as we said, chew fast.
That's it! The fat man's nerves, already stretched like strings, were completely snapped. Uttering a terrible cry, he threw the fork from his hands, rose from the chair, and, without paying the bill, fled. You should have been on one side to see how he staggered out on the pavement, how he continued to run until he came to the traffic light, how he ran a red light, causing cars to brake sharply so that they ran into each other, and how he arrived, with the restaurant waiters chasing him, to pay the bill, mad in every sense of the word, at home.
Mrs. Morris, when she saw him in this state, could not understand what was the matter with him, partly because she was deaf and could not hear what he said to her, and partly because, as we have said, he was in a fine state. But even if she had heard him and had her wits about her, she certainly wouldn't have believed him. Who in his right mind could have imagined that a wicked witch had cursed poor Ed in such an unspeakable way.
At any rate, during the time following that episode Mr. Wilson stubbornly refused to eat a single mouthful of the food she cooked for him, and even looked at the water his housekeeper brought him to keep from dying of thirst in disbelief. He began to slim down at an incredible rate, so much so that he became a shadow of his old self. One can say it was a real miracle that he survived.
In the end he was taken to the hospital and force-fed. Edna's spell had long since ceased to work. So the food never came back to life but Mr. Wilson never regained his old weight and remained forever thin.
Anyway, the hag was having a ball. When she saw poor Ed come out of the restaurant that day in a frenzy with the waiters running after him she screamed with excitement. As if that wasn't enough, the familiar goblins made their appearance on the roof of the restaurant and started singing again.
Look at this mess
The fat man's misery
And we once again
We're laughing our heads off
Look at the fat man run
He's gonna cry he can't stand it
The food is eating him up
And he's got no consolation.
Another thing people didn't want. Soon this little song was on every mouth, although most people were completely unaware of the incident with Mr. Wilson and of course he was a complete stranger to them. Everyone was amused by the eater of the song even though they didn't know him and laughed at him.