Runtu Cannon had as sarcastic a sense of humor UK

Runtu : Cannon had as / http://proza.ru/2023/11/28/620  / sarcastic a sense of humor as I did USA

Runtu : I discovered rather quickly that
Cannon had as sarcastic a sense of humor as I did… USA


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For the first time in my mission,
 I wasn’t eating in restaurants often at all,
 in fact, only when we went to Brazil,
 which was usually a couple of times a month.



The exchange rate was not in our Favor anymore, and we were having to do what we could to cut expenses. Besides, restaurant food in Riberalta wasn’t very good at all. Senora Peris’ restaurant had little to offer, other than her ice cream, which was an icy confection that came in two Flavors: coconut and white coconut.

 Similarly, we drank hardly any soft drinks; the stuff they sold in Riberalta was homemade and bottled in empty Pacena beer bottles, the bottle caps relined with cork.

There was only one flavor of soda, and as near as I could tell, it tasted like it was made of rose petals, with pieces of cork and other unknown objects floating inside the bottles.

On our trips to Brazil, we might pick up some cans of Coke or Guarana.

During our siestas, I was determined to teach Cannon how to speak Spanish.

 He was extremely bright but not particularly quick at picking up the nuances of Spanish. Once as we walked through a crowd in the plaza, he meant to say “Dis-culpeme” (Excuse me), but it came out “Es-cupeme” (Spit on me).

 We worked hard on his Spanish, and he improved quite a bit.


One day he remarked how pale we both were.

 Granted our faces and arms were tanned,
but the rest of us was pasty and white.

“Maybe we should lay out on the patio upstairs
while we study Spanish,” he said.

 Sounded like a good idea to me,
so we began working on our tans while we studied.

I discovered rather quickly that Cannon
had as sarcastic a sense of humor as I did.

His previous companion had been a guy from
California (what was it with those Californians?)
 who had been campaigning actively to become
 the president’s assistant.

 As part of his strategy, he began imitating Peet’s tradition of getting the sister missionaries to sing for him, both on tape and at mission conferences.

The results were dreadful, and Cannon
 had some of them on tape.

Most of the songs were bad Spanish
translations of popular Mormon songs.

 One in particular he had lifted from
 an egregiously bad play called “Saturday’s Warrior.”

                His lyrics read:

Que es esto que escucho?

Puede ser especial.

Ya que se lo que significa
Se que esto es verdad.

Roughly, the song reads as follows:

What is this that I’m listening to?

It could be special.

Now that I know what it means
I know that it is the truth.


We listened to that song over and over, cackling with laughter.

And somewhere along the line, we started writing our own parodies of his songs.

I think Cannon still has some of those songs on tape, which of course always ended with our laughing uproariously. We were good together, and we had a great time.

The house we lived in had at one time been palatial by Riberalta standards.

It had once had hot and cold running water, a satellite dish, and a car in the garage. Slowly she had lost most of it.

 The shower was the nicest I’d seen in Bolivia, though the hot water no longer worked.

 Of course, in that heat you didn’t really need hot water.

 One day the temperature reached 45 degrees Celsius (113 Fahrenheit), and it was so humid that we had to go home before lunch because I couldn’t breathe.


Because of the high humidity and heat, it would rain just about every afternoon, usually beginning at 2:30, as if on a schedule.

It would rain so hard that umbrellas were of no help; the rain would splash up from the ground and soak you.

 And the streets would fill with water, a couple of times reaching to our waists. It was much too hot for a raincoat, so we just learned to enjoy getting wet every day.

On my twentieth birthday, Cannon surprised me with a chocolate cake.

“I’ve been carrying this cake mix and can of frosting around for months just for a special occasion,” he said.


 We sat in the kitchen and ate chocolate cake, and I felt like I was enjoying missionary life more than I ever had.


That night the landlady’s daughters, who were somewhere around our age, brought home a couple of foreign men to the house.

For a few hours we could hear the laughter and what we thought sounded like Australian accents.

We couldn’t figure out what they would be doing
so far out in the middle of nowhere. In the morning,
 they literally staggered from the house,
 looking badly hung over.

More of these mysterious visitors came while
we were there, and we never asked who
 they were or what they were doing.

We figured it wasn’t our business.

About that time we ran out of money.

 We both had checkbooks, but no one in town
would cash a check for us, either in dollars or pesos.

Finally, we asked our landlady, who said she knew a man
who lived outside of town on the road to Guayeramerin
who might be able to help us.

We took a couple of motorcycle taxis out to a large
 house tucked away from the highway.

We knocked on the gate, and a tiny woman let us in.

We walked past an open garage where there were a shiny new
Jeep Cherokee and a four-wheel-drive Chevrolet.

Clearly this guy had money.

She led us to a back room, where a man wearing a cowboy hat and sunglasses sat behind a table covered with stacks of cash, more money than I had ever seen.

“How much do you need, hermanos?” he asked.

“Three hundred dollars should be enough,” I said.

He said he charged $7 per hundred, so I wrote him a check for $321.

 He handed me six $50 bills, and we left, thanking him.

“Anytime,” he said. “Just don’t tell anyone where you got the money.”

“Drugs, definitely drugs,” I said as we walked back to town.

“Most definitely,” said Cannon. “Let’s not go back there again unless we have to.”

A week or so later we had a surprise visit from the Leiningers and another missionary couple, who were coming to check on our branch’s progress.

We weren’t doing too badly, we thought, with average attendance around 15 at that point.

 The branch members made a huge dinner for the visiting couples and treated them like royalty.

 I was happy to see the Leiningers, for whom I had a great deal of respect.

 They asked me how to get to Guineamen, and I said you either rode in the back of a pickup, or you waited a week for the next flight.

They decided on the truck. Since we were running out of people to teach, we went with them to arrange our move to Guayeramerin.

The wives rode in the truck cab, and the four of us rode on planks, as Cannon and I had before. By the time we reached the border, our white shirts had turned to the same orange colour of the dirt roads.

We checked into a small hotel and then walked down to the river and got into the small boats to take us across the river.

 At the churrasqueria, both couples ate well, though the husbands ate nonstop for an hour and a half.

They ate far more than we did, and then we went shopping.

 We hadn’t noticed a shoe store in the Brazilian town,
but the two sisters saw it and headed straight for it.

 We crossed the river with groceries in our packs and laden with shoe boxes.


The next morning, we went to the chapel in Guayeramerin
for church, where the branch president invited us in.

 The members were happy to see the two couples, but no one paid much attention to us. The building was crowded, with perhaps 70 people in attendance.

 After the meetings, we sat down with the branch president and asked him if he would help us find a place to live.

“No,” he said sternly. “We do not want missionaries here.”


I had not expected that. “Why not?”

“Every time we’ve had missionaries here, they ruin the church’s reputation. We’re doing fine on our own.”

I tried to explain that the punishment program had ended and that we would be good examples, but he waved his hand at us and told us again he did not want us.

We talked it over with the two couples,

and Dr. Leininger said,

“Well, if they don’t want you, don’t go.”

It was time to head to Trinidad.

When we got back to Riberalta, we walked to the ENTEL
office to place a call to the mission president and
get permission to move on.

The building was brand new, with shiny black phones in polished wood booths,
 but there was no one in there but a few employees.

I paid my fee and then sat in a booth,
where I would be speaking to the mission president by shortwave radio.

“You have to say ‘cambio’ every time you’re done talking,
and then the person on the other end can speak.”

President Nichols’ voice sounded faint and electronically distorted.

 I could barely hear him over the static.

I managed to communicate to him that we were moving on to Trinidad, and we could make out that he was glad we were well.

That P-day I discovered a worn copy of William Faulkner’s Intruder in the Dust on a bookshelf in the house, and I stayed up late into the night reading it.

I felt so guilty because
 I had once again
 allowed myself to
become distracted from
missionary work.

But I have always loved Faulkner, and the book seemed to call to me.

 I held it inside my scriptures so that even Cannon wouldn’t know what I was reading.

At church the next Sunday we announced
 that we would be leaving.

“Why, elders? You just got here,” said Baba-by, clearly distraught.

“President’s orders,” I said. I didn’t want to leave,
 but I had promised that we would move on once we ran out of people to teach.

A couple of days later we stood at the small grass
airstrip and waited for the plane from
Transporte Aereo Militar to pick us up.

 Almost everyone from church came to see us off,
 and they gave us gifts of fruits and nuts and a few small,
 personalized cards.

As we took off into the Amazonian sky,

 I wondered if I’d ever be

in a place like that again.

Runtu 10 Пьес автора и Стэнфордский университет US
Рюнтю Юри: литературный дневник
10 Пьес автора и Стэнфордский университет США : / http://proza.ru/diary/yuri2008/2022-02-26 / Iouri Runtu: French / Юри Рюнтю : Russian / Uri Runtu: English : Yuri Ryuntyu / Canberra ACT Australia / Celebrities RU Telegram : 2022 .


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