Note: No one in this story is a real person, and the physical descriptions of some of these peoples' body parts are truly fictional and not part of some grand scheme, assorted mishap or other real event. The weather patterns of France in the seventeenth century and any connection of the main character to a historical scientific icon (however controversial he may be) are quite coincidental. It is best to ignore the idea of the representation of the icon being in France in his youth, and not in England where he belongs. The consequences of this realization could be catastrophic to the world we live in.
Part 1/3:
Offer a description of a pen lying on a table. The pen rests in wait for its owner to pick it up at make it a pen, not anymore just an object lying on a table. For without use, there is no function. This object is plain in sight; with small French writing on the side. If only you spoke French, you would be in on the plan. The French citizen, a man, who helped to make this pen a reality relies on its continued use and reuse and the repurchasing of and the support this purchasing power of global pen usage has on his local economy, namely on the economy of his household, where his son, Isaac, rests his bad leg after toiling home from the schoolhouse located just meters down the dirt road which runs through the sickly quaint village where they environ.
The injured leg of Isaac is so in a state of constant agony that it throbs and turns a naughty shade of red every time the boy puts weight onto it. This weight comes from walking to various locata in the tiny and obscenely lovely village where the boy, his leg, and the family reside. Of interest here primarily is the sequence of events which led to the leg of Isaac being injured in the first place. The family of the unnamed French pen maker is without an autocar, horse, buggy or other animal or man-made means of assisted transportation.
Six months and six days ago exactly.....
Isaac's mother, a charming and striking Spaniard from a similar but less disgustingly sick with the scenery village just outside of the bustling Madrid, found herself one morning, as she did most every morning, working in the field next to the house, performing a wide variety of chores too numerous to list. The chores of the outdoors were of the type which required frequent stretching, bending, reaching and like-minded activity. The mother's morning outdoor chores, may it be delicately put, were no secret to the boys of the village. Often during the warm months, a clan of pubescence-rising French youth would hide behind the century old oak tree which marked the rear border of the property owned by Isaac's dear mother and father. From this vantage they fed their undeveloped and turgid imaginations of the female form. To make matters worse, this spring in the scenic village the heat was intense by ten AM, and sweat began to pool by noon. To combat this, the nubile mother would preemptively dress in the lightest and most freely hanging linen garb of the day. This consisting of a summer dress, cut an inch above the knee and showing a considerable portion of the mother's own neck, the very height of male induced eroticism for the time. What the mother doing chores would not have known, and thus not been able to predict, was the combined effect this outfit and her removal of its top portion to better access her sun warmed chest with cool village water would have on the collective brain's of a swarm of thirteen year old French village boys hiding effectively behind the diameter of a tree planted by their grandfathers fathers, perhaps even in anticipation of a day just like this one.
