The Bohemian Embassy
When people think of misspent youth, they conjure up images of beach bums, drifters and pool cues—but certainly don’t imagine interminable nights and days spent in the stacks at the university library.
But, this was my youth—spent in quest of the holy grail of academia—the attainment of a tenured position as a professor of Victorian Literature.
Well now at Thirty-nine, I had it, and it meant damn all. I was incredibly lonely and bored, and being successful didn’t offset my despair.
I was sitting in the faculty lounge with Daniel Flowers, our writer in residence, and he was patiently listening to the latest instalment of my serialized angst
“You’re going through a rough patch now, Scott, with the house, the storm and all the mess,” he commiserated, “but it’ll pass and things will get better.”
“Ah yes,” said I cynically, “the ice storm of the century and my Rosedale manse destroyed—it’ll take a month to restore the power, patch the roof and rebuild the conservatory. Two huge oaks came down on that poor house.”
“The wind began to switch and the house began to pitch,” he smiled.
“Go ahead—make all the jokes you want, Daniel, but you’re not the one who’s homeless for a month.”
His expression turned serious, “Listen Scott—I’m going to be in San Francisco for that writers conference—why not stay at my flat? It’s not as elegant as your Rosedale manor, but it’s quaint and livable.”
I was tempted to take him up on his offer, but our unlikely friendship had already produced several misadventures—so, I wasn’t sure if occupying his flat was a good idea, but frankly, I had few options.
Thus, on the Saturday, when Daniel left, I moved into his flat on the second floor of The Bohemian Consulate—at least, that’s what the brass plaque at the front door said.
Daniel’s landlord introduced himself as Antoine Bastard, the chargé d'affaires and official ambassador of Bohemia, a small state located somewhere in the vicinity of Hungary.
Antoine had unruly black hair and a wild look in his eyes, but struck me as harmless, albeit delusional. I resolved the best plan was to dodge him the next month and stay clear of his prolonged diatribes on the state of Bohemia.
One madman to avoid—it should be easy—little did I know.
