The Father of Teeth

Text for today: Carnassials clxxxiii-ccxvii

On the contrary, by this time the Father of Teeth was far along the soft black road, which glistened and bubbled for miles both ahead and behind. During the day the sun blazed above, and the enamel of its rays scraped the skin of the Father of Teeth to a shade of brown not unlike his own best-decayed dental stumps. He thirsted and perspired most horribly, and was attempting to blunt the pangs of appetite by chewing small lumps of lukewarm tarmac, when at last a small settlement came shimmering into view.

It turned out, on closer acquaintance, to be more a gathering than a settlement, for it consisted only of a dozen figures squatting listlessly beneath less than a dozen hideously flowered parasols. They were all dressed alike in blinding white, which covered them from head to foot, including their mouths and noses; their hands and feet were sealed in hefty gloves and boots, and their eyes were shaded by dark glasses in which the Father of Teeth could see only the gnawing reflection of his own curiosity.

A sound like the munching of autumn leaves brought his attention to a new figure, which had raised itself from torpor and was cautiously approaching. Instead of white, this personage was clad in silver foil, which rustled importantly as he walked; and as the figure drew close the Father of Teeth observed that the frames of his dark glasses were emblazoned with a brand name of previously worldwide prestige.

"How comes it, impious stranger," demanded this apparition, "that rather than worshipping in the true fashion you expose to the sun god's life-giving rays your indecent eyes and epidermis?"
"I take it, then," said the Father of Teeth, "that the true fashion of worship means lounging around in that get-up of yours, in order to avoid being blessed too directly?"
"Our idleness at this time is commanded by the sun god, for if we move about too much he strikes us down in a manner most uncomfortable," replied the silvery personage; "our clothing is dictated merely by the rules of decency, which forbid the mysteries of skin cancer to all but a few, who are chosen by the god himself when in the wisdom of his mercy he causes their suits to wear out."
"And this silver suit of yours," said the Father of Teeth; "it ranks you among the few, I suppose?"
"Alas, no," was the reply; "the silver suit is a mark of heavy and onerous burden of responsibility, for those who wear it have renounced the spiritual privileges of dermatological carcinoma in order to assume the duties of earthly leadership. Yet we too are chosen for our task, as the sun god ensures that we are born only to females of a certain chosen family; and we must bear our worldly burden for longer than those of less dutiful ancestry, because the silver suit never wears out."
"Indeed," said the Father of Teeth, who had taken a stray fold between his mandibles in order to try the metal's potential as dental filling. "In that case you can look forward to being the first of your line to attain spiritual release, as this tinfoil has just split open quite close to where I tested it."

This observation so perturbed the silver suit's occupant that he there and then removed every vestment and vestige of his sacred calling, and sat cross-legged on the tarmac to await the sun god's guidance. In three hours he began to sizzle, and the Father of Teeth, who had no objection to a roast now and then, turned him over carefully and pronged him with a fork.