***Disclaimer: I do not own The Mummy or any of its characters. They belong
to Stephen Sommers, Universal Pictures, and other people. I do, however,
own the character of Jadviga Szabó and parts of the plot.***
*************
The next morning, I was almost sure that I had been mistaken. I always called Benjamin "Benjamin". Never Beni. Never.
O'Connell looked absolutely whacked at breakfast.
"Say, Rick, how was your first night with Beni?"
"Don't ask me, Jad. Just don't ask me."
"Did he snore?"
"No, he didn't snore. He didn't sleep at all, for he was talking all night long!"
"Oh dear. . ." Poor Rick.
"Hey, O'Connell!" a shrill voice shouted.
"Oh no," Rick groaned, "Please say, that he isn't coming over to us right now!"
I looked over to Beni, who was already on his way to our table.
"Sorry, Rick, he does."
"Fine! Would you mind me shooting him?"
I didn't reply, for the answer was clear.
"Hey Rick," Beni said as he arrived at our table, "How did you sleep last night? I didn't snore or something, did I?"
Rick grumbled something in answer. And Beni kept talking.
"Boy, I'm so hungry! Hey Rick, if you don't want to eat that, give it to me, please."
Rick looked like he was going to explode any second now. I had to do something.
"Do you want to eat it, Beni, or sell it?" I said, trying to defuse the situation.
Beni smiled. "Maybe both." O'Connell picked at his food, trying not to listen to Beni.
"Hey Rick, how about a little training today? I could do with some practice, you know."
Rick tried to stay calm. "Beni I don't want to practice today."
"Well, I could help you cleaning your guns, then."
"No, thank you."
"And how about. . ."
"LISTEN GABOR!!! I NEITHER WANT TO GO TRAINING WITH YOU, NOR WORK WITH YOU, NOR ANYTHING ELSE! IF YOU HAVEN'T NOTICED, YET: I DON'T LIKE YOU! NOBODY DOES! NOW BEAT IT!"
There was deathly silence in the whole canteen-tent. I had never seen Rick freak out like that before, so I was shocked as well. He stood up.
"What are you looking at!?" he shouted at the staring legionnaires, and left.
I turned to look at Beni, expecting him to be scared stiff. But he wasn't. He was crying. He didn't sob, but tears were running down his cheeks. Somehow I felt terribly sorry for him. . .
*************
The next morning, I was almost sure that I had been mistaken. I always called Benjamin "Benjamin". Never Beni. Never.
O'Connell looked absolutely whacked at breakfast.
"Say, Rick, how was your first night with Beni?"
"Don't ask me, Jad. Just don't ask me."
"Did he snore?"
"No, he didn't snore. He didn't sleep at all, for he was talking all night long!"
"Oh dear. . ." Poor Rick.
"Hey, O'Connell!" a shrill voice shouted.
"Oh no," Rick groaned, "Please say, that he isn't coming over to us right now!"
I looked over to Beni, who was already on his way to our table.
"Sorry, Rick, he does."
"Fine! Would you mind me shooting him?"
I didn't reply, for the answer was clear.
"Hey Rick," Beni said as he arrived at our table, "How did you sleep last night? I didn't snore or something, did I?"
Rick grumbled something in answer. And Beni kept talking.
"Boy, I'm so hungry! Hey Rick, if you don't want to eat that, give it to me, please."
Rick looked like he was going to explode any second now. I had to do something.
"Do you want to eat it, Beni, or sell it?" I said, trying to defuse the situation.
Beni smiled. "Maybe both." O'Connell picked at his food, trying not to listen to Beni.
"Hey Rick, how about a little training today? I could do with some practice, you know."
Rick tried to stay calm. "Beni I don't want to practice today."
"Well, I could help you cleaning your guns, then."
"No, thank you."
"And how about. . ."
"LISTEN GABOR!!! I NEITHER WANT TO GO TRAINING WITH YOU, NOR WORK WITH YOU, NOR ANYTHING ELSE! IF YOU HAVEN'T NOTICED, YET: I DON'T LIKE YOU! NOBODY DOES! NOW BEAT IT!"
There was deathly silence in the whole canteen-tent. I had never seen Rick freak out like that before, so I was shocked as well. He stood up.
"What are you looking at!?" he shouted at the staring legionnaires, and left.
I turned to look at Beni, expecting him to be scared stiff. But he wasn't. He was crying. He didn't sob, but tears were running down his cheeks. Somehow I felt terribly sorry for him. . .