The Mane Chance – Part 2

I know you’ve all been pining for an update about Ernest and Mabel, the two marble lions that my husband Jay bought in a mad moment in Vietnam. (Click here to read that post if you missed it.)

When last seen, they were standing among a forest of other white marble flora and fauna (not forgetting the odd Venus or cherub) in the showroom of the marble factory in Da Nang. We took it on faith that they would indeed be sent to us via freighter. And in December, we finally got word that they were in…Los Angeles.

But, said the man, we’ll be trucking them over to you as soon as we can. It was the day before we left for the Panama Canal and Peru that the call came through…from Arizona.

They’re here, said the man. In Arizona, we asked. “

No that’s just my cell phone. They’re in Boston, and we can deliver them soon.”

“Not today then?” asked Jay hopefully.

“No, but we can do it next week,” said the man. Luckily we had Fred and Bertie still at home before they returned to their respective studies. Jay briefed them on where the lions should go and we left for points south.

It wasn’t long before we started receiving irritated emails from Fred (and he insists I quote these word for word, because he’s not impressed by my (occasional) lapses into poetic license. (I don’t know what he means.)

“Firstly, the lions. No one has contacted us about them yet. Either on the home phone or one of our cell phones. I thought they were supposed to have done so by now. We have no means for contacting these people, so if you do, maybe you could pass it along to us.”

I suggested he leave it for a couple of days. A couple of days later:

“The freight people… want to bring the lions in on a tractor-trailer. Which Bertie and I are both skeptical about. We don’t think the vehicle will be able to safely get down the driveway and back out again without hitting trees, rocks or some other obstacle. If I remember correctly the cab is 12′ and the trailer is 48′.” (And Fred always remembers correctly…)

A day later:

“The lions are evidently in two separate crates on a single skid. The skid weighs a total of 800 lbs. We assume the crates are about 400 lbs each. Making them probably unmovable by us. The person I spoke with today suggested we could meet them somewhere and they could put them in our truck. I’m not really sure, so I thought I’d see what you thought.”

I suggested the freight people might have a fork lift on the back of the truck. Jay suggested they back down the quarter mile distance from the main road to our house (with a bend in the road).

All the suggestions failed, and eventually Fred threw up his hands in disgust (figuratively, Fred).  We arrived home from our travels to find a message waiting for us from the freight man. He was about to charge us for storing the lions, since we hadn’t arranged for delivery. Jay soon sorted him out.

And the lions arrived. When I first saw them, they were standing in their wooden cage listing drunkenly to one side exactly where the snowplough would hit them. (Luckily snow has been rather thin on the ground, literally, this winter.) Jay had phoned our snow-ploughing guy, Matt, who was looking for work, since there wasn’t any ploughing to do, and Matt was due to arrive within hours to unpack and place the lions where we wanted them.

Jay paced around the outside of the house, trying to decide where to put them. Finally he called me outside to see what I thought.

“What about here?” he asked, pointing to the spot where they were already standing. I wondered whether to let them be run over by the snow plough. But I knew they meant a lot to Jay, so I hinted that perhaps they should be closer to the house.

“There,” said Jay, pointing to the path closer to the house.

“I think they might block the path unless we turn them sideways. How about on the porch?” I suggested. “Then they’d be out of the rain.” (As if that would do them any damage…)

We agreed on the porch, and Matt and his team of three muscly guys managed to get them there. Here’s the picture to prove it.

The lions tamed…

by the lion-tamer

There is one thing, though. Jay decided we should name the lions something other than Ernest and Mabel. That was fine with me. I’d only been joking about the names.

“How about Leo and Lucy?” he suggested. “Or Lenny and Louise?”

I was looking at the lions as he said this and a sudden thought occurred to me. You’ve probably spotted it already. Both our lions are boys. I pointed this out.

“Never mind,” I said. “I’m sure two gay lions would be great for our Chi.”

They still don’t have names.

The Mane Chance

And it kept on raining as we drove to Hoi An. Our tour company had suggested we fly there, but I’d heard that the views along the three hour drive were stunning, so we kept our guide and driver, and set off. We were enjoying splashing through the mildly flooded roads, trying not to drown the poor intrepid souls on mopeds and bikes. Soon however, we began to see small landslides of the brilliant red earth that is characteristic of this part of Vietnam. Then we came across a truck that had just failed to slide off the road down a steep ravine, but whose cargo had not been so lucky.
“So, said the guide, “I think we take the tunnel through the mountain, instead of the pass.” Since it was still pouring, we agreed, eventually arriving at Danang – until now just a name from the war called the American War here. Along China Beach, the new Hyatt Danang was opening that very day. Behind high fences that kept the beach out of our site, a Korean construction firm had temporarily suspended work due to the weather. “It will be a hotel and golf course,” said Nyan. Jay perked up at that. He perked down at the next remark.
“They have moved all the bodies,” said the guide, with a fair amount of savoir faire, I thought.
“The what?” said Jay.
“This was a cemetery,” said Nyan, cheerfully, “and the government paid the people to move their ancestors’ bones somewhere else, so the Koreans could build a golf course. We call it the ghost course,” he said, showing off his excellent grasp of the nuances of English.
Seeing Jay’s crestfallen expression, Nyan suggested we stop at a marble factory. I was imagining somewhere where they made the little glass marbles the kids love to play with. It turned out to be an enormous warehouse with Brobdinagian Buddha’s, gigantic modern sculptures and vast menageries of marble animals. I had been contemplating purchasing a modest Buddha to take home, with the thought that it might help me meditate. The first one I saw came up to my shoulder and I felt as though it might try to terrify me into meditating, so I wandered inside to look for something smaller.
I had lost sight of the Chief Shopper for a while, when he suddenly reappeared and, grabbing me by the elbow, said “It’s time we were leaving, darling.” I was astounded. We’d only been there for what seemed like an hour and a half, and I’d decided the nice Buddha’s were too expensive or too heavy. But I was delighted that Jay was showing signs of being sensible. Honestly, I’d thought he might try to buy a couple of Chinese style dogs for the mantelpiece, or some oversize splashing fish for the garden (to compensate for his lack of fishing success). And here we were, leaving.
“Sir, sir, I give for you $2,700 dollar,” piped up a delicate voice from behind my husband. He grinned and winked at me. Turning , he countered with $1,500.
“What are you haggling over?” I hissed at him.
The sales girl was moaning quietly, as Jay led me outside to the marble bestiary lined up in neat rows, interspersed with the occasional woodland nymph, or (remarkably similar) Virgin Mary.
“What do you think of these?” He pointed. Words failed me, as they so often do around Jay. He was pointing at two large lions of threatening aspect.
“Oh, I don’t think we want those,” I said at last.
“Very good, darling,” said Jay. The he continued, in a voice designed for the shop assistant to hear, “My wife doesn’t want these, so I’m afraid…”
“I give for you $2,300 dollar,” said the assistant, doing some rapid calculations on the back of a sales brochure.
“Sorry, no,” said Jay
By this time I was seriously worried. I knew Jay when he got into haggling mode. This was not going to be pretty.
“We don’t have anywhere to put them,” I said, but I was talking to myself.
“How ‘bout Vietnamese lucky number $2000.” She was practically in tears.
“$1800,” countered Jay. The shop assistant scribbled madly.
“Okay.” Her lower lip was trembling. “ $1800.”
“Done,” said Jay. “Shipping included, and a Buddha for my wife.”
I knew there was no point in remonstrating. The shop assistant was smiling as she walked Jay over to a marble table and chairs to sign the paperwork.
I went off to find a small Buddha. I found one, with a nice face and a slightly pained expression, lying down and taking a break. A reclining Buddha. I felt an immediate sympathy with him. Probably his wife had just bought two stone lions.