Musashi Sez:
Ibrahim’s wyf, Zaina, mai Moroccn fren, led me to the phon an verree kindlee held it up to mai eer fer me.
“Allo?” I sed in mai bestest French. This meen “hullo.”
“Allo, Octavian. Es Gatto. I am glad dat yu ar down frrom the treee dat yu werr up. Is that the Eenglish?”
“Yah, that’s gud Inglish. How ar you, Gatto? I’m glad yu manijd to get away from them Rushn soljers. Is Perro OK?”
“Ah, si, Perro es bueno. Sabaka also bueno. Wee arrr in Malaga, in Espanya. Sabaka, well, he ees dog, no? An dogs arrr, how yu say, ankshyus peeples, yu noe? So we—Perro an I—arrr theengking that yu might want to, perhaps, com to Malaga and talk to heem agayn. What yu theengk?”
“O mai,” sez I. “Hmmm. That migt be hard. But…Yu sez he migt has infermayshun I kin yooz to solv this big crysis thin?”
“Si, si! Perro say thees may go up to highest seerkulz of goovernemant! Eez verrrree crrrooshal, he theengks. I hav not noen Perro to ges rrrong on such theengs evvrrr.”
I sigd dramatiklee. “Wull, in that cays, if yu thingks it wull halp…”
“Octavyon, I am theenking thees may be, rrrr, qwyt beeeg.”
“OK, Gatto. In that cays, I chanj mai planz. I mayk stop in Malaga befor goin hom. Wher I find yu?”
“Has yu got pensil?”
“Huh,” sez me, lookin around. “Pensil, yah, but thumz no. Kin yu tells the address to mai frend heer? She writ if fer me.”
An that is how we caym to shift to Plan, um, B.
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