seville mcnabb

Professor Jonathan

Seville McNabb

A Fictional, Lyrical Short Story Of A Man Who Tried To Find Some Meaning In His Life.  This Would Be An Interesting Madrigal, Or A Movie Short, With, Perhaps The Music Of Claude Debussy, “Le Mer,” Or “Claire De Lune.”

By Izzy Ess Of Happiness

Professor Jonathan Seville McNabb retired at sixty-two.  Divorced three times, unhappy with his work and social life, he lived alone with his two Calicos in his old hundred year old house on Canberra Road in Fonthill, Ontario, in Canada.  His house was at the highest point in the Niagara Peninsula atop an ancient sand dune that remained when glaciers, that once covered Great Lakes Basin, retracted and left the long escarpment that extended from Blue Mountain in the province of Ontario, to Mohawk precipices all across the State of New York, USA.  The drop of some two hundred feet, or more, is what runs across Niagara River and is the wonder of Niagara Falls.  Professor Jonathan had taught Biology, in Ste. Catharine’s, Brock University built atop the high escarpment overlooking Port Dalhousie and the shore of Lake Ontario.  On clear days, from his third floor attic, he, and his two calicos, could spot the cities of Toronto, Hamilton, Niagara Falls and old Port Colbourne, on the shores of Lake Ontario, Niagara River and Lake Erie.

He could also spot the hundred, or so, naked women who attended daily the huge nudist colony within the property just north of his big house.  The Association of Nude Feminists, the ANF, had purchased this large property in 1965.  Their policies and tendencies included hatred of all men and furthermore admitted only single women to their group who felt that men were not so necessary for society, in general.  None of the women ever wanted sex with a man, or impregnation by a man.  They felt that their survival as a group would be with modern artificial medical insemination, allowing only female babies to survive.  McNabb was really into watching naked women playing volleyball who displayed those bouncing body parts that he adored.  It turned him on.  Self-flagellation was his answer as he watched the small and larger breasts and buttocks bouncing up and down, joyful women’s faces and those squeals of sheer delight when points were won.  Apparently, no woman ever looked up to his attic windows or, if they did, they didn’t care enough to make complaints.  McNabb was cautious and he didn’t move, ensuring there were never lights to light him up and make him easier to spot.

Professor Jonathan had other interests.  He’d theorized for many years that life had started here on earth in the early years of Earth’s conversion from a mass of gas to solid rock and lots of water.  Reading many papers on the theories of conditions, which would have been in place, he learned what would have favoured molecules to form nucleic acids, basic building blocks of DNA and RNA.  Most certainly one needed oxygen and hydrogen, as well as nitrogen, some sulfur and some carbon, all available in massive quantities from the earth, the water and the air, as the gasses cooled.  Much energy was necessary for the fusion of the atoms to make molecules.  Most theorists suggested that it was the lightning, though some favoured other possibilities, including solar energy, directly from the sun, before there was protective ozone in the stratosphere, or from some natural unstable elements, plutonium or strontium or C¹⁴.  Most theorized there were, at one stage, large amounts of quite acidic “organic soup,” with all the elements of DNA and RNA awaiting energy to “come alive.”

Professor Jonathan did purchase chemicals and made acidic soups for his amusement.  He had a large and muddy pond in his backyard to which he added chemicals to make acidic soup, while hoping for some storms to come.  His house already had a lightning rod with wires from it directly into his back yard.  He bared the grounding wires inside the soup of his experimental pond.  He watched expectantly as lightning did repeatedly light up his pond.  Disappointed after months of trying, he gave up and settled back to watching naked women playing volleyball next door.  He collected his own semen and just dumped it in his pond.  And then he died while watching bouncing body parts of his nude neighbours.  His last Will and Testament bequeathed his calicos, his house and all his property to the naked women of the ANF.

The women all were pleasantly surprised.  They realized they owned a largish property which now included two big houses and two back yards.  They enlarged the late Professor’s muddy pond creating a nice wading pool, heated by the sunshine in summertime.  It became a favourite place for cooling off, especially after active games of volleyball.  In the sunshine, it was nice to lie within the nice warm mud because it had a soothing benefit for all their naked bodies, like the mud baths of the European Spas.

Mysteriously, it did seem, all the women of the ANF were found to be quite pregnant.  In a way, it was the culmination of Professor Jonathan’s experiments.  The acidic composition of the muddy water was ideal, apparently, for supporting active sperm, which swam deep into the unsuspecting honeypots, resulting in mass impregnation, eh?  The erstwhile childless old Professor was now the father of some hundred children, split approximately 50-50, boys and girls.  Not one of the quite happy mothers wanted to get rid of their cute cuddly charming boys, as they had planned as part of joining ANF.  And, following intense discussion, they did change their name to ANP, Association of the Naked People, eh?  The spirit of Professor Jonathan Seville McNabb was beaming with the pride of having done a very special something with his life, at last.

THE END

[and the

beginning,

eh?]

© izzy sommers, md

Welland, Canada

January 7, 2014