Yes, We Have No Bananas

The fog pooled around my legs under the dim gaslight as I made my way down to the docks. I’d been invited to meet the Explorer of the South Seas, newly docked in the port of London, to view some mysterious new find. What it was, I had no idea, just that we’d been advised that my employer would be grateful to add it to his collection. I’d describe him as an art collector but that’s not quite right, he possesses an eclectic collection of curiosities accumulated from the four corners of the earth. I hoped it wouldn’t turn out to be another one of those poorly preserved animal specimens. I shuddered as I recalled the Feejee mermaid, an abomination of a creature stitched together from a mouldering monkey and the decomposing tail of a dolphin. It took weeks to get the stench out of the master’s carriage, hence my walking to this appointment.

I was met at the ship by a piratical looking cove by the name of Jones, a go-between for the ship’s owner, it was he who was to broker our deal. He explained that there had been a mishap and that the promised goods were not as they should be. He reached behind his back and produced what I immediately recognised as a bunch of bananas. I’d never seen a banana before but had read a description of them in Monsieur Verne’s recent Around the World in Eighty Days. By all accounts they were reckoned to be a mighty tasty treat.

I notice that while there was a bright yellow example nestled in the bunch the others were a blackened colour which, to me, suggested decomposition.

I took the bunch, retained the blackened ones for my master, and ate the yellow one myself. Mighty tasty.

Written in response to the Microcosms 300 word competition number 112 with reference to the prompt: Art Collector; Victorian London; Mystery.