theless produce a good deal of pain and embarrassment. Our trials and tribulations are endless... but I digress once again. Perhaps you can begin to understand the difficulties that face us as we endeavor to redeem the sins of mankind. Iam roused from my reverie as six urchins come from out of the alleys. I see that it is mischief that has brought them here. A long string of firecrackers is detonated only millimeters from my exposed left ear and, if this is not bad enough, they gleefully thrust bouquets of dried roses into my face—for the purpose of tearing the flesh of my cheeks and forehead with the terrible little thorns that cover the stems. I scream and try to threaten them but they only laugh at me and Increase the loathsome thrashing of the dangerous flowers. I don’t know if I can make it to the top of the hill. I would like to throw off this odious cross and kill these damned children, their parents, and everyone else who has come here to mock me and my fellow laborers! I wonder if this is what Jesus felt as He headed to His own crucifixion? But I know I will not harm these children or anyone else today; that would disqualify me and I have not endured so much to have it end this way. They will not have that satisfaction from me. No sooner have I finished this thought than I hear the most startling hoarse cries, followed by a very unpleasant thudding sound. It would seem that a great misfortune has suddenly overtaken fellow Cheese Penitent Polterheinz. I can only surmise that his knees gave out and he is in the process of being crushed into the ground by an unforgiving burden of sanctified cheese. Could it be that God is trying to indicate something by this? No sooner has Polterheinz fallen than the crowd roars and descends upon him like a swarm of fire ants devouring a baby bird that has just fallen from its nest—it is almost too terrible to watch. For some reason, though, I find this to be immensely hilarious and fight hard to suppress a fit of uncontrollable laughter that emanates from deep within my belly. This causes a long jet of mucus to shoot out from each one of my nostrils. The people surrounding me think this is due to the strain of bearing my cross, which is all the funnier. And, so, the name of my dear friend Polterheinz can be added to the long list of those who have fallen before reaching the soil of Mount Gelt- baum. As brutal as the scene had been, the people of Koblentz were only following the rules of the pageant, which state that a fallen bearer of any Sacred Carved Cheese Cross must have his misery ended as quickly and as painfully as possible. “There, but for the grace of God, go I.” Still, I wish there was less violence throughout these proceedings — even though it is good for one’s almighty soul. It is only Krausthocker and myself who remain; if nothing else, our little race has just become a bit more interesting. Becoming aware of my bearings, I notice that I am at the end of Pommelstrasse; this means that only a single kilometer now separates me from my goal! Though it is not a great distance, it is the most difficult stretch to complete. The incessant vile language and the dirty tricks are greater now than at any other time of the competition; my tolerance for physical and mental pain will receive its most strenuous testing here. Looking on the bright side, I am heartened by the very real possibility that I may actually attain my most cherished goal. I am on my guard as the noise from those people closest to me gets increasingly loud and excited; I have come to fear the worst from them and they have never let me down in this regard. I am afraid because I hear their shouts behind me and I am unable to observe anything that is not occurring to my immediate left, due to the manner in which my head is twisted by the terrible burden of my gigantic cross. And then, suddenly, I see what has agitated these peasants: Krausthocker presently appears beside me! Somehow he has managed to gather his forces and gain valuable yardage—to the point where my lead is being seriously threatened. It is to my distinct advantage that I am now able to observe him. And I am quite shocked by what I see: his robe is spattered with blood and excrement and there are large rips and gashes all over It. His face is red and swollen to the size of a prize-winning pumpkin; he does not look at all well. Could it be that I possibly appear this grotesque myself? Lord; please say it is not so. The Satanic crowd that surrounds him is taunting, pushing, poking, and trying to make him fall down. His beautiful, colossal cross wobbles ever so slightly with each small blow he receives. You see, there is a slight give to each one of these crosses, since they are made only of the concentrated cheese. As I’ve mentioned before, it is truly a miracle that these wonderful objects have never once broken apart on their long, arduous journeys through the severe roadways of Koblentz. My religion has long ago convinced me that the most incredible things are possible through faith and so it is. But I must stop this foolish blather—I am not like this under normal conditions. I cannot continue to let my mind wander or it will be the end of my chances to win the blessed soil of Mount Gelt- baum! See here; Krausthocker is rapidly bringing up the rear and I will Clinton St. Quarterly—Spring, 1989 15
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