“Sure was a lot of activity around here yesterday Big Guy.  What was going on?” asked Pavo Rotti, swinging on his trapeze while I changed the paper on the floor of his cage.

“My soul mate was baking a carrot cake and putting together a pot of chicken soup,” I said as I slid out the old speckled sheet.

Pavo winced.  I could see the feathers on his neck rise in indignation.  He hates the thought of any bird being connected to a meal.  “What was the festive occasion?” he asked, beady eyes crossed, looking down his beak at me from his lofty position.

“I guess you missed the obit Pavo. Old man Evermore next door was out jogging for his health and died after getting run over by a truckload of Party-Potties. He was being waked at home.”

“Waked? After death. Wow! I’ve read about some of your new medical advances Big Guy, but I didn’t know they could resurrect the dead. Is this something new?”

“Only done once before as far as I know Pavo, a couple thousand years ago. But I believe you’re thinking of something else. Old Evermore has gone to the great beyond and we were having a celebration in his memory. It’s called a wake, – a time and place for friends to recall the life and times of the dear departed.”

“So that’s why there was such a crowd on our front lawn.  But wait a minute!  Didn’t I see a Party-Pottie truck in the driveway?  Why were they here?

“I asked them to come by.  Delivered a half dozen Party-Potties for the guests.  Otherwise they’d have been running through the house, overloading our septic tank.”

‘What does Party-Potties’ motto mean? “We keep the crowd moving.”

“Well Pavo, they do sports events, like golf and tennis and things like parades, weddings and political rallies.  If the crowds at these affairs didn’t have Party-Potties available, they’d spend all their time milling around in front of the doors of the ladies and men’s rooms.   So the Party-Potties’ motto is proper.

“Tell me more about Mr. Evermore.  Wasn’t he your age Big Guy?”

I know that Pavo thinks of me as some sort of demigod and I hate to question his opinion so I always tell him the truth. “Much older Pavo. Ninety two. A good age.”

He looked at me suspiciously but didn’t challenge me. “That’s pretty far beyond expectations isn’t it?”

“Not according to Mr. Evermore. He intended to make it past the second century mark – unless he got caught by a jealous husband first.”

“He sure didn’t look his age Big Guy. How did he manage to last so long?”

“A bit of smoke and mirrors helped. Did you see all his hair? Some was a transplant, some was a weave. And the color was courtesy of Just for Men. And that flawless skin? A bit of dermabrasion and Preparation-H works wonders.”

“But it was his deep blue eyes that I noticed first Big Guy.”

“Those were corneal transplants behind colored contacts. But you only saw them when he took off his photochromatic aviators.”

“And I remember his body Big Guy. Slim and trim. Hate to say it but he made you look like a bag of onions.”

“Another illusion Pavo. Judicious liposuction and hours in the gym. And the skin color was courtesy of copious amounts of number fifteen sun block while running marathons in his Nikes. And that’s just the outside Pavo.”

“You mean there’s more?”

“You didn’t know about his alcohol problem. He loved to celebrate life but quit after cirrhosis set in. Started again after his liver transplant.”

“So he was a jolly good fellow again, right Big Guy?”

“Until they found out his arteries were clogged like a city expressway. A quadruple bypass rearranged his piping  redirected the traffic and took care of that little issue.”

“Sounds like he had a good plumber B. G.”

The best Pavo, but there’s more. After years of pounding pavements his joints gave out. But titanium knee and hip replacements extended his jogging. However, there was one unfortunate side effect. It cut down on his travels. He kept getting turned back at airport metal detectors.”

“That must have been a dilemma for someone so active.”

“That’s when he began writing his memoirs in longhand and typing them out on his antique Smith-Corona. But he’s lived so long, the book got a bit long. In no time at all he suffered from carpal tunnel syndrome. They put some plates and screws in his wrists to relieve the distress.”

“Couldn’t anything stop him?”

“Almost nothing. But he spent so much time straining his brain that he had an aneurysm. They cut a hole in his skull to relieve the pressure. That was covered by a metal plate too.”

“Wow!  Sounds like a walking erector set.”

“Right Pavo. That took care of his cosmetics and infra structure. But there was still something missing. He craved immortality.”

“But I guess the Party-Pottie truck took care of that.”

“No Pavo. He achieved it through his progeny.”

“Wow! Where did he get the energy?”

“Switzerland. Sheep glands plus Viagra. Gave him unlimited sexual prowess. But it also had positive benefits for his mental state.”

“I didn’t know the two ends were connected Big Guy?”

“He kept his mind active preparing his estate and fighting palimony suits.”

“But you’re telling me that he achieved true immortality.”

“Not in the way he anticipated.”

“Where did they bury him?”

“They didn’t. They took him to the medical examiner’s lab where they removed his good parts and sent them to the organ bank. The metal went to a scrap yard for recycling. The rest was cremated and his ashes taken to the landfill where they went into the compost heap. Next year he’ll help your garden grow.”

“A true ecologist of the twenty first century Big Guy.”

“And beyond Pavo.”


About D. B. Guy

ex-traveler, ex-Navy vet, ex-depression baby, long time retiree, current lounge chair occupant, husband, grandfather, computer novice-junkie, man-about-town(ret.), jolly good fellow
This entry was posted in My Pal Pavo. Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Immortality

  1. Anya says:

    Dear Mr. Big Guy,

    ЗДРАВСТВУЙТ! (HOW DO YOU DO!) Меня зовут Анйа, (My name is Anya).
    Possibly Pavo has told to you of me. I do not say English very well so please excuse the mistakes I make.

    You may know that I live with Mrs. Frugalli. She is very kind to me. She has been ever so morose lately and I did not know why until I read of Mr. Evermore’s passing in his obituary in the newspaper on the bottom of my cage. Mrs. Frugalli is bereft. She and Mr. Evermore were such close friends. He visited her often and always brought both of us nice gifts. He gave me special seed treats. Mrs. Frugalli misses him terribly as their trysts meant the world to her.

    I come to you hoping you will talk to Mrs. Frugalli on my behalf. I know full well she has only my best interests at heart. However, perhaps you can persuade her to let me out of my cage a little more frequently so I can continue my liaisons with Pavo on a regular basis. As the whole world knows, our species of parakeet is well known as the Love Birds.

    I do not know if you speak Russian. In my language the words, “I Love You!” sound in English like “Yellow Blue Bus!” Please say to Pavo “Yellow Blue Bus” for me. He will understand perfectly.

    Спасибо! (Thank you!)

    Most sincerely,

    До свидапиц. (Goodbye.)

    Aийа (Anya)

    • D. B. Guy says:

      My Dear Анйа: My name is Mr. Big Guy. I apologize that I can only speak English.

      I knew that Mrs. Frugalli and Mr. Evermore were close friends. Everyone in the neighborhood knew what was going on even though they only met in the darkness of night. I will try to talk to Mrs. Frugalli on Pavo’s behalf but Mrs. Big Guy is not sure of her intentions now that Mr. Evermore is no longer with us and that has caused me to be cautious.

      You will be pleased to know that when I said “Yellow Blue Bus” to Pavo, he knew immediately where the words came from. So if I can get Mrs. Frugalli to stop yelling at him when he flies through your backyard I’m sure he will respond to you in person.

      I look forward to the day when you two can get together and sing. Pavo thinks you and he should try out for American Idol but I think your unique talents would not be appreciated there.

      Спасибо Анйа! (Thank you Anya!)!

  2. Mrs. Penelope (Penny) Frugalli says:

    Dear Mr. Big Guy,

    I am afraid you may have misinterpreted my letter to you from Anya. I was only writing at her behest. I want you to know that Mr. Evermore’s and my relationship was absolutely beyond reproach. I do hope you and Mrs. Big Guy do not listen to malicious neighborhood gossip. He always conducted himself as the perfect gentlemen and I’m sure you know I am a LADY, dedicated to the memory of the late Mr. Frugalli.

    Anya’s has demonstrated a remarkable singing voice whenever I put YouTube music on the computer. She sings right along with the finest operatic divas. Also I am aware of your Pavo’s outstanding vocal abilities when he comes to my backyard to serenade Anya. It ocurred to me that with your cooperation, Anya and Pavo could form a duo and go on “American Idol”.

    I know you are a worldly man and could take care of the connections necessary to make the arrangements. Of course, they would have to have an agent, a publicist, groomers and other people to handle their careers. I would like to volunteer my services to take care of the business end. I always carefully conducted Mr. Frugalli’s and our personal finances with exceeding accuracy.

    I am sure Anya and Pavo would be amenable to singing together. We could come to an agreement for them to work together on their repertoire – in separate cages of course. I hope to hear from you soon about this proposed project.


    Mrs. Penelope (Penny) Frugalli

    • D. B. Guy says:

      I apologize if my reply to Anya seemed to be too judgmental. I wasn’t aware that you were sending the note on her behalf although I now question my lack of perception in not questioning how a bird of her petite frame might press letters on a keyboard. I know that Pavo can do it because he has gained a bit of weight since his arrival here and he is pretty hard headed when it comes to pecking at the keyboard.

      I spoke to Pavo about your idea of him singing with Anya and he was thrilled. But when I mentioned American Idol, his mood darkened. He says he considers himself to be a professional and too many of the talents on American Idol leave him with his neck feathers at rigid attention. And he said that since neither he nor Anya are true Americans it would probably never happen. Just as an aside, I think he doesn’t want to appear in public where his residency status might become an issue. I think you understand.

      But he is still open to the idea of a duet with Anya. And when I suggested he might look at an alternate like America’s Got Talent, I think he’s still considering it but only if Anya would agree. By the way, he has sung duets with others in the neighborhood and still holds out the possibility that he may have other options. Meanwhile, I’ll see what I can find out about other audition possibilities.

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