Continuation

It was not three days later, completely exhausted from the back-country mule rides and rickety riverboat crossings that we arrived at the home of Mr. Pelagius. His home, though humble was outfitted with the finest in modern communications, even the famed two-way-pictora-phone, of recent design by RCA/Victrola. I had only seen such a thing at a party thrown by King Seamus of Iceland a few months prior. At the time, he proclaimed it only one of seven to be in exsistence. Considering the price, and the power requirements of this fantastick system, I was not surprised that Seamus had one, being the gear-hound he was. I mourned his death at the hands of the visiting HuTu missionaries that summer….Damn my memory….where was I…oh yes. Mr Pelagius’ two-way-pictora-phone
To find such a device in an outland hacienda, seemingly powered by no more than a half dry water-wheel and four servants pushing some odd wicker contrivance up and down a nearby hill, I could scarcely imagine it. Mr Pelagius himself was a pleasant enough fellow, with an odd aspect to his stride, owing as he claimed to a bit of the gout, but perhaps more likely to polio in my estimation, although no Portuguese man would ever admit to the polio…some sort of religious conviction, or perhaps just a misguided concept of machismo. Well, Mr Pelagius was unwilling to show us his collected evidence of the plot by this proto-neo-fascite group until after we had rested up, had a pleasant meal of melon consommé and bacon grisé and of course consumed a few bottles of local Rioja Viejisto wine. Thankfully Ernest and I learned to universally praise the Portuguese hospitality, regardless of quality, as it was only after we had nearly drowned ourselves in the mediocre wine that we were informed that the grapes were in fact grown on his vines- some vestigal vineyard-passé -passed down from his grandfather’s time. As I have alluded, the wine itself was a bit weak in character, a bit thin in the legs and with a certain unpleasant aspect of brine to its nose that we found unpleasant, but our prudence paid off, as our host was most pleased that we “enjoyed” his labors.
The evidence itself of the plot was secondary it seemed to Mr Pelagius’ real motive, which was perhaps to get some time with Hemmingway and myself, seemingly due to an article we had co-authored in the Saturday Evening Post regarding the rise of the Cola barons in Atlanta. We were able to slough off his requests for further details on the business practices of those syrup magnates, and return his focus to the collected data we sought. Our fury at the possibility of the Generallisimo coming back to power, even as some form of corpse leader was clearly shewn in our eyes, and Mr Pelagius led us to his inner sanctum, and left us to review his archives and recorded picto phone conversations with other owners of said systems around the our sainted orb.