Bruno Fenster's best friends are invisible chickens. When Bruno awakens nightly to feed the hungry critters and imagines decorating their little heads with colorful hats, his wife, Greta, pulls her pillow over her head, hoping to drown out her fears that Bruno will never amount to anything. As Bruno contemplates how he can fabricate chicken hats from his neighbor's newspaper, Greta ponders how much longer she can stand being the sole provider. Bruno thinks one job per family is plenty. But when a prospective job just happens to land in his lap one day, Bruno cannot resist, for he knows his wife will be so proud. Unfortunately, it is not the kind of job that comes with a salary, regular hours, or health insurance benefits. Making a snap decision based on nothing more than cockeyed optimism, Bruno has just transformed his life into a giant mess. In this whimsically humorous fantasy tale, a man with a vivid imagination is about to unwittingly embark on a wild adventure with a prince, several elephants, and a woman who hears voices-and Bruno may just save the world in the process.

BRUNO FENSTER SAVES THE WORLD

And Still Has Time for BreakfastBy Wolfgang Niesielski

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 Wolfgang Niesielski
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-0510-6

Chapter One

When Bruno Fenster got up in the middle of the night to feed his imaginary chickens, he knocked over a lamp.

"What in God's name are you doing?" his wife, Gerta, asked.

"I'm feeding the hungry critters," Bruno grumbled, as he bumped into a wall in the dark, "because you'll never do it."

His wife pulled her pillow over her head covering her ears, knowing only too well that while Bruno's chickens were imaginary, the chicken feed would be real and cover half of her spick-and-span kitchen floor. As Bruno imitated the famished fowl by dancing and making clucking sounds, Gerta fantasized about the two-barrel shotgun that her grandfather had given her as a wedding gift, just in case.... She opted to tough it out, though, after rationalizing what a mess it would be to clean up blood and brain-spattered chicken feed before she had to go to work. And sure enough, moments later Bruno slipped, hit his head on the oven door, and passed out. He woke up halfway through Gerta's second bowl of breakfast cereal, not totally certain of where and who he was.

"You know," Gerta said, "the guys at work fantasize about being rich and famous—why can't you at least do that?"

"I don't know anything about being rich and famous," Bruno replied, vigorously massaging his noggin. "But I always wanted to be among chickens. I heard you could be anything you want if you wished hard enough."

"You'd better wish you had a job, when I come home tonight," his wife hissed, slamming the door on her way out.

Bruno's head was brimming with new ideas about his feathered friends however. He could fashion them paper hats, the kind he once made for the neighbor's dog, although that ungrateful beast had almost torn off his pinkie finger. Full of joie de vivre, he decided to run outside to the neighbor's house to steal his newspaper.

That doggone dog still seemed to hold a grudge and grabbed Bruno by the rear. However, even with its greatest attempts at dimming Bruno's spirits, the dog did not succeed, as Bruno was able to make a feisty retreat, leaving the ill-tempered canine with nothing but shredded underclothing. He peered at the snarling beast through the peephole of his door.

"Don't think I'm not aware of the fact that you're still in possession of my pinkie ring!" Bruno shouted. "You should be ashamed of yourself stealing people's property."

Quickly he fabricated beautiful hats of various sizes and eagerly attempted to try them on his chickens. To his chagrin, they dropped to the floor one by one when he carefully placed them on top of the birds' heads.

"We're imaginary, you dummy," one of them declared. "Besides, those hats are stupid and clash with the color of our toes."

If one thing angered Bruno, it was when someone doubted his keen awareness of current fashion.

"You're just as ungrateful as the dog next door, you varmints!" he shouted as he ran to the garage. He returned with his wife's shotgun, the one that her grandfather had given her as a wedding present, just in case....

"My wife never liked you anyway, you goddamn birds!" he screamed. He started blasting away at his imaginary chickens, taking out the TV and blowing a giant hole into the refrigerator. Then he inspected the bite marks on his rear end and walked outside to look for a job.

Bruno was not in the mood to disturb the dog, which he assumed was probably busy removing valuable buttock tissue from its teeth, as he carefully tiptoed past his neighbor's house. A sharp draft chilled the area around the canine's bite marks and Bruno tried to shield it with his hands. That was when he realized that the cursed dog was also now in possession of his wallet.

"Damn thief," he yelled over the picket fence. He had not only lost his weekly allowance and his picture ID but also his address to find his way back.

"Job ... what do I need a job for?" he grumbled to himself while lumbering along the sidewalk towards the big buildings in his hometown of Porchvillage. Had he not always been able to rely on his wife for this? Why wasn't one job per family enough? Besides, he needed all his strength to comfort her when she returned exhausted from work.

"If I knew what a job looked like, perhaps I could find one," he said, fuming.

Paying close attention to the sidewalk, admiring the pitter-patter sound his feet made on the concrete, Bruno ran head-on into a big, gray building. It was a huge, imposing structure and looked very intimidating. Maybe he could find a job here, he thought, massaging his head.

Then he suddenly remembered the many horror stories his wife had told him and decided to give in to his sensible impulse and stop the insanity of looking for a job before any more severe injuries occurred. Perhaps it would be smarter, he thought, if he tried to find employment elsewhere, some other time, at a more convenient hour, more favorable, agreeable, advantageous, suitable, and appropriate for anybody and everybody concerned.

After mulling things over, mostly about how his poor wife would suffer if he got a job, he started to stumble and lost his footing. Maybe his rear was still smarting from the dog attack—it was after all only a partially domesticated savage beast—causing a bad limp, or perhaps one of his chickens, still angry at being shot at, pushed him into a glass door. Whatever the case might have been, Bruno crashed through the door of the big building, ending up on the floor in front of Maxine's desk with glass everywhere.

Maxine, the owner of "Maxine's Dating Service", a statuesque auburn-haired woman in her late earlies, always eager to increase her customer base, jumped to his assistance and helped him to his feet.

"Hello there, come right in. You look like you're very anxious to take advantage of our services right away," she proclaimed with a gleaming smile on her brightly colored made-up face. "And don't worry about the door; we needed a new one anyway." She knew her insurance would spring for it.

Well, I will have to correct her eventually, because "anxious" is too strong a word, Bruno thought. He was bleeding from several facial cuts. He assumed that he had barged in on the secretive world of employment agencies. Supposing that he was the strong, silent type, Maxine didn't wait for a response but proceeded to carry on with her duty of enticing Bruno to join her services. Quickly she administered several Band-Aids of various sizes all over his face, and after asking his name, she wanted to know if he had ever had a date before.

"A date? Sure I had a date before—a midsized Middle Eastern fruit," Bruno said enthusiastically, thinking he was being tested on how expansive his knowledge of a prospective new job might be. His wife would be proud of him. Maxine's face blushed into various shades of red.

"Oh, it was? Well, I appreciate your straightforwardness," she said, a bit flustered. "But in this age of political correctness, I would not be quite so blunt. Here, we don't use pejorative terms, do we now, dear? But luckily nowadays we can all be ourselves—no need to hide anymore."

With his rear end smarting, Bruno tried to ease into a hard metal chair in front of Maxine's desk as she wrote in the folder she was preparing for him: Gay, prefers Mediterranean types.

"You're about five foot two, aren't you?" she asked, measuring Bruno skillfully, with a professional expression in her eyes. "And slightly balding, which could be to your advantage—it gives you an intellectual look, especially with those glasses. You might want to fix them in the near future. Also, if I were you, I'd have a dentist look at my teeth; they have dynamite replacements for those missing ones, especially in front. And you could be very attractive for the right person if you shaved, lost a few pounds ... well, maybe twenty or thirty ... maybe forty, and took care of your basic hygienic needs...."

Bruno's pain flared up in his rear, as well as in his newly acquired facial abrasions again, so dramatically that he missed most of her babble.

"Okay, how many dates should I pick up?" he asked, figuring this job would involve transporting produce.

"Well, well, well, Mr. Fenster, we're not that kind of service, you know. Let's do it one at a time, okay?"

One date at a time, no heavy lifting involved—seemed easy enough.

"Okay, I'll do it," he said with resolve in his voice. I really don't know what the wife is going on about every day, he thought. This job thing doesn't seem so hard after all.

"Oh, that's fantastic," Maxine replied enthusiastically. "Let me see ... as a matter of fact, I think there might be that special someone waiting for you at the Café L'amour downtown right now, as we speak. I'll call him on his cell phone and make sure he's there."

She picked up the phone and spoke in loud tones, presumably to someone who seemed to be hearing impaired, enunciating each word carefully and slowly.

"Yes, he is there waiting just for you, Mr. Fenster," she said as she hung up. "His name is Mr. Mochtar. He is a fine, distinguished, classy gentleman, and I'm sure you'll have a splendid time."

Then her demeanor changed suddenly.

"That will be one hundred fifty dollars, please," she demanded in a brisk, businesslike manner.

Oh my, Bruno thought. He was almost certain his poor wife probably had assumed that he would get paid for a job, and not the other way around. Well, served her right; she was the one to make him get a job. Now she'd better have the money in the bank to pay for it. He told Maxine that, although his wife had been pretty tightlipped about it, he suspected that there was money in the Old Town Bank. Without hesitation, she contacted that institution and made out a check for him, which he signed. At that very moment, several of the chickens showed up. Bruno tried to ignore them as he handed the check over to Maxine.

"No chicken feed," he hissed at them, assuming that was what they probably came back for.

"Oh," Maxine said, "I know we're not the cheapest, but we provide an outstanding service. If you're not satisfied, Mr. Fenster, just come right back and get the next date for a substantial discount."

"How much would that be?"

"Only $139.99."

Bruno knew that he would have to have a heart-to-heart talk with his wife about the job because with these rates she was bound to kill herself, working all that overtime to compensate for it. Walking outside, Bruno was suddenly overcome with doubt. Perhaps this new job wasn't as easy as he had assumed after all. Not only did it cost money, but now he probably also was expected to show up. He'd rather help the chickens find worms on the sidewalk. Luckily, he remembered how he had heard his wife call her work many times and excuse herself for not coming in. Maybe, he thought, I could do the same and call in sick. He walked back inside and borrowed some change from Maxine. Then he went outside again and called her from the pay phone around the corner, using her number on the receipt.

"Sorry," he said, as he had heard his wife say so many times. "I can't come in today because I have the stomach flu."

However Maxine was experienced with shy, reluctant types, and she assumed that Bruno was overwhelmed by anxiety and wanted to back out.

"Oh, Mr. Fenster, no need to be nervous. Don't worry; I'll introduce you to Mr. Mochtar. You'll see how easy it is. I'll be right out and drive you downtown."

"But I can't move," Bruno tried again. "My legs are paralyzed."

"Oh, Mr. Fenster," Maxine chuckled. "It's okay. Everybody is nervous the first time."

She jumped up and hurried outside to grab Bruno Fenster while he still held the phone in his hand. Flabbergasted by her determination to present to him what she presumed might be the love of his life, he crouched into the back seat of her tiny archaic Toyota. He decided, though with some trepidation, to face collecting the edible pulpy part of a Middle Eastern shrub. The chickens squeezed themselves into the back seat with him, but Bruno was still upset with them. These chickens were nothing but trouble, he thought.

"I wish I could get a duck. That would satisfy my needs," he said. He figured that such a fowl would be easier to care for and would not give him so much aggravation.

"Mr. Fenster, I told you, I have nothing against bluntness," Maxine protested, having trouble hearing him correctly over the roar of the motor. She eyed him admonishingly in the rearview mirror. "But now I have to put my foot down, we don't use the `f-word,' now do we? I'm sure, Mr. Fenster, everything will come in good time."

Maxine began to have second thoughts about going out of her way to help her client to find true love and merriment. I always do this and end up being unhappy myself, she thought as she drove down the highway. Why did she get herself into situations like this? This man didn't seem to care if he found happiness, fulfillment, bliss or a change of clothes. If he wasn't interested in true romance himself, why should she trouble herself? After all, she was busy enough keeping a lid on polishing off that jar of cookies down at the office. All these men seemed concerned about was satisfying their animalistic desires, like watching the porn channel with a six-pack of beer, or belching "Jingle Bells" during the holidays. She was just about fed up with the male species, excluding, of course, her tomcat, Homer, whom she recently had neutered. Lately, it seemed that he was totally disinterested in anything not concerning sleep, fattening foods, and early Greek philosophers, she mused. Working herself into a fit, Maxine became angry and agitated, and she didn't pay much attention to the traffic as she sped up, turning around a corner towards the Café L'amour—when she suddenly ran into a herd of elephants.

Chapter Two

Pandemonium ensued. These stomping beasts of burden, kicking up clouds of dust and dirt, were bucking, storming, stampeding and charging, and causing chaos and confusion. Then, as one of the hulking mammals decided to sit on the hood of Maxine's car lifting his trunk to blare out an unnerving tune, Maxine frantically unbuckled her seat belt and opened the door. She frenziedly scrambled out of her car, her enormous chest heaving and wallowing up and down as she rushed away a short distance, to keep from being crushed. As she watched the thick-skinned animal happily plunking his rear onto the front of her Toyota, smashing its hood with a sickening, crunching sound, and raising his front legs up, exposing his lower abdomen, she realized to her horror that this animal also was a member of the obnoxious sex.

"Well, it just figures!" she screamed, returning full of fury. She pounded on the elephant's column-like legs. "It's a male! Only a male could be so insensitive! I knew it. Get off, you male beast, you good-for-nothing man! They should just neuter each and every one of you. Cut it all off—maybe then you would get some sense!" After that she looked at Bruno who was still sitting in the back of the assaulted vehicle, too terrified to move.

"There you are, still sitting there!" Maxine raged. "It's all your fault! You are a man, and all you men do is cause damage and heartbreak!"

Bruno swallowed hard. He wasn't sure which sight was scarier—the gigantic animal pulverizing the car or the hulking woman threatening him with deprivation of virility.

"But ... but ... the chickens ..." he stammered.

"Yes, by now everybody knows you are a chicken, Mr. Fenster!" Maxine hollered. "If you were a real man, you would have defended me and fought off those ugly beasts! But no, here you are cowering in the car while I have to take care of it, myself!"

It was then that Bruno realized his only true friends consisted of a few illusory chickens. He therefore quickly promised them that he would try his best to improve his behavior towards them and take care of their fowl chicken needs, if they only could find it in their hearts to help and aid him just this one last time. All he wanted was to get rid of the colossal creatures outside the car, especially the one that was sitting on the car and the one prancing outside his window with a scowling, lipstick- smeared, hateful mask of a face.

None of his feathered so-called friends seemed to budge, so Bruno decided to ignore the whole situation. He looked blankly into space and began to whistle. Perhaps, he thought, as he was inspecting his fingernails, this whole predicament would just blow over. He didn't acknowledge at all, while cleaning his dirty nails with the edge of a matchbox, that the elephant had tired of sitting on the hood and had started to ram his giant tusks into the windows of the car. Something—conceivably it was the fact that the car was owned by a male gender-resenter—really seemed to anger the bull elephant to the point that he deemed it necessary to totally total the Toyota. But through all this, Bruno was in awe of the terrific job the corner of a matchbook was able to accomplish in freeing the top portion of his fingernails from the incredible filth that had built up over the years.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from BRUNO FENSTER SAVES THE WORLDby Wolfgang Niesielski Copyright © 2012 by Wolfgang Niesielski. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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