"Go," said the enchantress, "and see ye the one known as Clint. But be

warned, his medicine is potent; few have entered his cave, and even less

have returned. So take with you this talisman."



She plucked it from her ample chest and thrust into his sweaty palm a

tiny upright mexican bean. He pocketed it and crawled across the mountains

for twenty eight days. When his labours were finished he fumbled for the

bean but could find it no more. He crawled back another twenty seven and a

half days to where he'd come from and saw the enchantress standing bemused

by a series of petrol pumps.



"You forgot the bean, didn't you," said the enchantress.



But he was unable to speak, his tounge swollen and parched with his

labours over the crucifying desert had grown so pulpy in his mouth it was

as if he had two sausages and a severe dental case and couldn't speak at

all.



"Seek ye the one known as Clint, but be warned; few have entered his cave,

and even fewer returned. Take you this talisman, one small mexican bean,

and remember: go."



For twenty eight days he crossed the desert. His eyes glistening with

the parched waters of love, his mouth snarling for the occasional plant and

jack rabbit that danced into the uterine thing of his part. Nobody could

stop him now.



"See ye the one known as, Leo? Jeff? Dennis?"



For twenty seven days he crawled back across the desert. His tounge so

swollen with pain he could barely lick the occaisional spike from the

cactus to deeply needed nutrition from way below the ground. Eventually he

crawled over the ridge, and there standing on the petrol pumps was the

enchantress.



"Forgot his name didn't you?"



He was unable to speak.