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about filial piety.
The time came when the gods and heroes gave up the hopeless quest and made their way back to
Valhalla. Imagine their outrage when they finally came home much the worse for wear and saw that
their great feasting hall had been turned into a Victorian mansion.
Odin stormed through the door, calling for his wife Frigga in a tone which boded ill for domestic
tranquility. But he didn't get far before he was confronted by a huge wolf, fangs bared.
"You're ruining the carpet!" snarled the wolf, who was as all the gods and heroes immediately
recognized none other than the great monster Garm.
"You're supposed to be guarding the Hel-Gate!" roared Thor.
A look of satisfaction came upon Garm's horrid visage. "Got a better gig," he said smugly. Then, eyeing
Odin's wolves, who were yipping at him fiercely, Garm announced that he was in the mood for raw
poodle. Freke and Gere immediately shrank back, wagging their pom-poms furiously.
"Out of my way!" bellowed Odin, who made to push past the great wolf. But Garm seized his leg in his
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maw and brought the Allfather down.
"I said," growled the wolf around Odin's leg, "you're ruining the carpet."
"What carpet?" demanded Odin, vainly trying to pry the great jaws loose. "There's no carpet in
Valhalla!"
"There is now!" came a shrill voice. Looking up, Odin beheld his wife Frigga. Her appearance made him
goggle. She was wearing an elaborate gown, with high heeled shoes and and her hair
"What'd you do to yourhair?What happened to the braids? Why are you wearing shoes?" With a
particular air of complaint: "And where are your breastplates?"
Frigga ignored the questions, gazing down at her husband with a look of immense disfavor.
"I suppose we'll have to go through this unpleasantness," she snapped. Then, making an imperious
gesture:
"Oh, let him go, Garm!"
The wolf obeyed. But no sooner had Odin scrambled to his feet, swearing sulphurously and promising
great mayhem upon the person of his spouse, than Frigga drew forth a tiny bell and tinkled it vigorously.
A moment later, a giant stepped into the foyer. (And that was another thing the gods and heroes were
outraged about who ever heard of a foyer in Valhalla?)
"Thrym!" cried Frey.
"King of the Frost Giants!" exclaimed Heimdall.
"Why are you wearing that ridiculous outfit?" demanded Thor.
Thrym gazed down at his formal suit. "I'm the butler," he replied complacently. "And if you don't mind, I
prefer to be called James."
Frigga clapped her hands briskly. "James, see these gentlemen intothe parlor, if you will. But I insist
that they remove those muddy boots before they ruin the entire carpet."
The scene which ensued was most undignified, for the gods and heroes of Valhalla objected strenuously
to the removal of their boots. After Thor began hammering Thrym (James, rather) with his rubber mallet,
the butler felt it necessary to call for assistance. Moments later the foyer was flooded with fire and frost
giants who proceeded to forcibly remove the boots of the gods and heroes of Valhalla. Not too gently,
either, for the giants were much aggrieved at the damage inflicted upon their nice new footmen's uniforms.
* * *
And so it was that the gods and heroes of Valhalla were ushered into the parlor which was located
where the feasting hall used to be. "What's a 'parlor,' anyway?" groused Tyr.
"And will you look at that?" demanded Heimdall. "It's a whatisit, anyway?"
"It's called a piano, sir," sniffed James.
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Even at that moment the fire giant sitting at the piano brought a dazzling mazurka to a close. The
audience, which consisted of goddesses, dwarves and giants dressed in evening wear, burst into
applause. An enormous serpent which encircled the entire room hissed its mighty approval.
"Watch it, Odin!" murmured Heimdall. "That's the Midgard Serpent."
But Odin's concern over the presence of the great reptile was immediately overridden by Thor's bellow.
"Surtur, get your filthy paws off my wife!"
The thunder god's fury was understandable, for the pianist who was actually Surtur, the King of the
Fire Giants, although the gods and heroes hadn't immediately recognized him because he was wearing a
tuxedo and the flames which formed his hair were shaped into long flowing locks was stroking the back
of the goddess who was leaning over him. She, for her part, was cooing admiration of his musical artistry.
"And why aren't you wearing your breastplates?"roared Thor at his wife.
Sif looked up and glared at him.
"I'm not your wife, you loudmouth! I got a divorce three weeks ago!"
Thor's eyes bugged out. He gabbled incoherently. Sif giggled.
"Look at him!" she exclaimed, She gazed around the room. "Can anycivilized personblame me?" The
murmurs of the assembled giants, dwarves and goddesses indicated their profound agreement with her
sentiments. Sif ran her fingers through Surtur's flaming hair, which is the kind of thing goddesses can get
away with, but is not recommended for mortals.
"Surtur is so much more genteel," she said. Then, laughing gaily: "And much more passionate! You won't
ever findhimcomplaining that I'm not wearing those stinking breastplates."
"It's my artist's soul," murmured Surtur.
Thor lost his temper completely at that point and set upon the King of the Fire Giants. But the affair went
badly, for Surtur insisted upon a proper duel and before you knew it the two opponents were facing each
other across the room, Thor hurling his rubber mallet and Surtur firing one unerring shot after another
right between Thor's eyes with his dueling pistol.
No harm came to the thunder god, of course. It's one of the advantages of being immortal. But it
certainly made him look foolish.
Then all the gods and heroes felt even more foolish when it occurred to one of them (Rolf Gunuldsen,
called the Bigfoot, who was accounted the fiercest berserk of his district because he slew well, never
mind) that since the bullets weren't actually hurting Thor, even though he looked like a jackass, that it was
a mystery how a knife in the back had done in Loki who was, after all, also immortal.
No sooner did Rolf utter these words than the gods and heroes of Valhalla heard a snicker behind them.
Turning, they beheld Loki himself, entering the parlor with a beautiful giantess on his arm.
"I was wondering when you saps would finally figure it out," sneered the god of discord and strife. He
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advanced to the center of the room, scratching his back.
"Still itches," he grumbled.
"Try wearing breastplates!" laughed Frigga. "You want to talk aboutitching?"
Loki smiled sympathetically. Then, with a laugh:
"And will you look at these idiots? They find me with a knife in my back, which isn't the kind of thing
which would do any real harm at all to an immortal deity, and the cretins not only jump to the conclusion
that I've been murdered but that the culprit was none other than God Almighty Himself."
Loki bestowed a great sneer upon the assembled gods and heroes of Valhalla. "Let me explain
something to you, dimwits. When God Almighty decides to do somebody in, He does not repeat,not
stab them in the back with a knife." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]