[Brag]

The Trucial Scouts grabbed Balz and tossed him on the dusty street. Swiftly, they drove four stakes to the ground, tied ropes to Balz’s wrists and feet. Then they pulled the ropes tight.
“Hey, hey, yey,” Balz shouted, “I’m tall enough as it is.”
HajiBaba Jimbuna took out his whistle and stopped pedestrian, donkey and camel traffic.
“Now we will squeeze nothing out of this infidel,” the leader of the Trucial Scouts dismounted from his camel. “We will stretch him until he tells us nothing because he knows nothing. The Sultan of Oman will be pleased to hear we found out nothing from this nothing knowing infidel.”
Satisfied traffic had stopped, Baba Jimbuna turned to Balz. “Hurry and tell them nothing or they’ll kill you.”
“Pull,” The Trucial Scouts commander ordered.
“Waaaaaaaa,” Balz yelled
“That wasn’t nothing,” the Scouts commander said. “Tell us nothing—Now!”
Baba Jimbuna blew his whistle again. “Don’t crowd, keep moving, there is nothing to see here,” He told the mob gathering to watch the confession of nothing.
The doors of the warehouse swung open and four donkey carts loaded with tall oil jars rolled into the street. “Keep moving, keep moving.” Jimbuna directed traffic. “Stop, red light.” The Sheriff shouted when the donkey carts reached the area where Balz was.
“Taraaaaaa! Singing as one, their wide grins revealing shinny teeth, Ali Baba’s forty thieves popped out of the jars, swinging scimitars.
The Trucial Scouts unsheathed their sabers. “Allah, akhbaaar,” Trucial Scouts and thieves yelled and attacked each other.
Steel against steel clanked under the noonday sun.
Jimbuna cut Balz, loose.
Balz got up and dusted himself. “Nice sword fight,” he said, appreciating the fine swordsmanship displayed by all. When he was in school In Shanghai he had taken saber fencing taught by a Russian former officer of the Preobrazhensky Guards Regiment. Balz remembered this great master of the blade with fondness. He wished he had a plush chair to watch the fight in comfort.
The Scouts shouted louder as the line of forty thieves began to break.
“This looks bad,” Jimbuna said.
“The thieves’ technique is not very good and the scimitars are too short.” Balz commented while readjusting his tea cozy. “Our chaps are doomed.”
Slowly, the forty thieves retreated toward the warehouse. Their line would break at any moment. “If you took bets, I’d bet on the Scouts.”
“Too late, I only accept bets before the start of a sporting event. I was giving three to four odds you would tell them nothing during questioning.”
“You do book?”
“Too bad our chaps are loosing. I’d love to grab those Scout camels. We could have races on Saturdays.” Jimbuna sighed.
“Time for me to save the situation.”
“Too late,” Jimbuna said. “Those guys will receive the green banana. It’s time to show support and reverence for the Sultan of Oman.”
“We’re in Muscat.”
“The Sultan of Oman is a British stooge and wants grab Muscat.”
“You mean the Scouts are allies of the Brits?”
Baba Jimbuna nodded. “Ever since the Brits took Zanzibar they’ve been plotting to occupy Muscat.”
“That’s outrageous, we can’t permit the colonial lackeys to win.” Balz took a deep breath. It was now or never. “Observe and admire me.” Balz ran toward the fight. He took the saber off the hand of a fallen Scout and jumped in the middle of the fray.
Using the Russian figure eight movements, he engaged two scouts. His saber flashed left-right slices, his blade could hardly be seen. Within a few seconds the parries of the Scouts became confused. Balz thrust, kicked one Scout clear, parried and skewered the second one. “Allah Akhbar,” he yelled to hearten the thieves. He took on two more Scouts, still using the number eight techique. “Viva Balz,” he shouted as he stabbed the pair almost simultaneously. The Scouts line began to break. Balz dispatched two more without opposition. “Hoorrah!” he shouted smelling blood and victory.
“Viva Balz,” the thieves shouted as the Scouts turned and ran pursued by the thieves.
Balz stopped, picked up a kafie off the ground and with it wiped his saber clean. He then assumed a heroic posture. “That was a good battle over nothing.”
“Yes,” Jimbuna answered. “We’ll bury the bodies in the desert so that history will remember the Battle Over Nothing to have taken place on a place of nothing.”

The villagers of Sur celebrated the battle against the Omanis by dancing and drinking tamarind juice imported from the land of Sind, pmegranate juice from their gardens and eating lots of lamb with rice. Balz showed them how to twirl and shout Viva Balz.

Two weeks later, a messenger boy arrived at Balz’s house, which was camouflaged as a hoochie-woochie dance studio. “Oh venerable Balz, the froo-froos are ready.”
“Very good,” Balz said. “Have the fundis parade the froo-froos. I will wait for them at the harbor.”

Since the froo-froo was a secret technological advance, Balz took precautions against Omani or British spies. To make tracking difficult, he put on bear claw slippers on his feet and wore a chicken tea cozy instead of his usual duck one that got Birdnard so excited. This was also a solemn occasion so he put on a black swallowtail coat over his dishdash robe.

In a few minutes, he was at Jimbuna’s store. “Hey, Haji Babajimbuna, my froo-froos are ready. You still owe me a ride on the magic carpet and you still haven’t told me about the seven pillars of wisdom.”
“Tomorrow,” Jimbuna answered.
“What’s wrong with today?”
“Today is not yet tomorrow.”
“Then why tomorrow?”
“Because we must wait. Want to buy some coffee?”
“Wait for what?”
“For tomorrow.”
Balz sighed. “All right, but make sure that tomorrow doesn’t turn into today so you can tell me tomorrow.” Balz headed for the harbor where his ship was already floating. “Stand by to receive the froo-froo,” he told Omar the shipbuilder.
Drumming resounded in town. Soon, the brass smiths and most inhabitants of Sur marched into the harbor. Four apprentices carried two five meter long brass tubes that looked like Alpenhorns.
Balz took one and said, “Observe.” He blew into the tube and produced a froo sound. He took the other, blew into it and got another froo sound. “Froo-froo,” He said to the crowd.
Omar scratched his head. “What do we do with them?”
“We install them vertically on each side of the ship so they can slide in and out of the water.”
“Are you going to serenade fish with froo-froo?”
“I’m going to listen for ships, We can turn the froo-froo and obtain the direction from where the ship is before seeing it.” Balz assumed a heroic pose. “Feel free to admire me and my technological expertise. Soon I will be known as the father of froo-froo.”
Babajimbuna rubbed his chin. “As father of the froo-froo, tomorrow, even if it turns into today, you will go on a magic carpet to the holy man who will explain the seven pillars of wisdom.
“At last,” Balz exclaimed, “I will master the seven pillars of wisdom.”


Next week: The Seven Pillars of wisdom