General Jacob Gallbladder and the Art of War Part IV

He plunged the straw into his own pouch and drained it before I’d even managed to slip my straw into the tiny hole. I was still trying to hold it comfortably without accidentally squirting it on myself when he opened another.

“Give it a rest, buddy. This stuff will kill you.”

“And what would life be without artificially flavored sugar water?” he asked.

“You have a problem.” I informed him.

“I can quit anytime I want to.” He drained his second pouch slowly, looking off into the distance. “But I’ve been thinking.” I considered insisting that I didn’t believe that he of all people would ever dare think, but held it in. He was in one of his moods, see. And there’s just people you don’t interrupt. You don’t interrupt a doctor during surgery nor an actor on stage. If you think those lead to disaster, you’ve never interrupted Kenny while he was brooding.

“Let me tell you a story,” he says, his face hard “about the warlords of ancient China and the ferocious General Jacob Gallbladder.” I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Wouldn’t you? How can anyone tell a story about a man named Gallbladder with a straight face? “What’s funny?” I wasn’t sure if he was angry, sarcastic or curious he said it in such a deadpan voice.

“Um. Nothing. Continue.” I tried to match his voice and hope he wouldn’t notice the slight smile forming at the edges of my lips.

“Gallbladder was not his real name. I just don’t remember the real name. Listen, it doesn’t matter.”

“So why are you telling me the story then?” I thought it was a fair question.

“The name. The name doesn’t matter. Look, do you want to hear the story or not?” Now he was glowering, pure and simple. His brood had been interrupted and there would be no peace until whatever terrible idea that had formed in his mind clawed its way out through his mouth.

“Yes. Of course I do.” I’m a very bad liar. Fortunately, Kenny isn’t picky. His only other friends were a brick wall named Eduardo and a tennis ball named Travis.

“Good. So, this General-“

“Gallbladder be his name.”

“He fought a real uphill battle. Outnumbered ten to one. He lost, obviously. But the enemy forces were so impressed they took him prisoner. They kept him in nice quarters, made him comfortable, offered him any food that he wanted, hoping he’d serve them. But instead he asked to be served gallbladder for every meal.“

“Ew. Where did you hear this story?” I asked.

“I dunno. I read it somewhere I guess. Anyway, the gallbladder would remind him of the bitter taste of defeat. He never let that hatred go and eventually he escaped, rejoined with more troops and routed his former captors.”

I frowned. I was never as fond of all the morbid stuff as Kenny. To him, life was Zero-sum. You win or you lose. And I know I may not be as smart, but it seems to me like everybody loses in the end, so there’s no need to fight each other every step of the way. Might as well keep things pleasant. Maybe that sort of sentimental bent is more appropriate among lawyers and soldiers than the schoolyard, but I really felt that if we all put our hearts into it, we’d get along just fine.