Chug-A-Lug [FICTOID]

The tiny narrow gauge train chug-chug-chugged its way up the gnarly sloping sides of Japan’s Mount Yama, the smaller, less famous cousin to Mount Fuji.

It carried 150,000 liters of Usuiyou whiskey, rotgut no self-respecting son of Nippon would ever swill down, fuel for consumption for Mt. Yama.

“Whiskey!  I want whiskey!” Mt. Yama demanded.

Actually, Mt. Yama didn’t demand it, the ancient leather-faced nun who tended the temple shrine on the crater lip did, but since she spoke for the ancient, inebriated god-mountain it was the same as if he said it.

The engineer bowed stiffly and formally, then unlimbered hoses and began pumping cheap whiskey into Mt. Yama’s smoldering crater.

“Hey!  Wait!” the nun said, sticking a mop bucket into the brown stream, filling it up, then lifting it to her lips to guzzle several swallows before wiping her mouth clean with the back of her hand.

Mt. Yama must be a god, the head engineer thought.  Otherwise, this pickled old bat should keel over dead!

The nun refilled her mop bucket and sat down on the edge of the temple shrine’s rear courtyard, bare feet dangling over the rim, watching Mt. Yama belch flames and fumes as the cheap whiskey splashed over the red-hot lava.

It took only a few minutes for the engineers to empty all three tank cars then prepare for their return trip down the mountain.  The head engineer bowed and presented an invoice for the nun to sign.  He only came up the mountain to supply whiskey, he had no idea how she found food or kept the temple shrine in repair.

Must be acolytes making a pilgrimage up here, he decided, bowing again after she splashed her signature on the invoice.

Hopping aboard the train, the head engineer tooted the horn and began chug-chug-chugging down the mountain.

The old nun waved at them then turned to Mt. Yama, lifting her mop bucket of whiskey in salute.  “We make quite a pair,” she said.

“That we do,” rumbled the volcano although there was no one else there to hear it.

© Buzz Dixon