The Fat Knights

By Sean Campbell

Sancho Panza encountered Sir John Falstaff on Bearsontrees.com, a website for fat men who enjoyed the delights of skinny men.  Sancho was originally attracted to the "Sir' in Falstaff's profile:

From: SirfatknightIV. Subject: Rotund jolly bear seeking skinny wag:

"I am quite the force of nature and known to enjoy a good cup of sack (that's wine to you non-English types), freshly charred capons (that's chicken, you damned foreigners, and quite the luscious feast too) and the delight of a good wag (male wench, boy slut) with whom I may joust in local taverns with the points of our puns, jabs, and even insults to our marms. Must be firm, strong, and not so tall that I can't pluck thee onto my knee like a fool's dummy. No drama please, or royalty: had bad episode involving a prince last time (naming no names). Here is a photo of mine; if you like what you see, send me a response."

Sancho replied under the name: IngeniousHidalgo8:

"I am a knight just like you; only I work for no king. I ride by myself on my robust horse Rocinante, battling evil from under the clouds of London to the forests of La Mancha, stopping often in castles where local royalty offers me the use of their PC or Macintosh (though I much prefer the former). But I'll need a rotund beauty to dedicate all my conquests for, and I'll call this person my 'Dulcinea,' so as to ward off any suspicions from the violent locals. My name is Sir Alonso Quijano. Will you be my Dulcinea?  I am six foot three inches, skinnier than my staff, which has never bent in battle.  Though I might never see you, and could very well die on my next adventure, I will dream of one day sitting upon your lap."

Falstaff's response was swift.

"Have you, perchance, lost thy purse containing your marbles, 'Sir' Alonso? You might have lost it while playing with your staff through those forests. But I approve your royalty disdain. Have had enough of princes who cow tow to cowardly kings. A plague upon their breed; may their litters slobber on the throne and grow horns by their wives.  Though tell me: why risk your behind when you receive the same reward—which is to say, no reward—that I claim imbibing on my stool in dusty watering holes under Diana (forester of the moon I am) with only drunken revelers to ever harm me? And Macintosh is far the finer computer!"

Each relished the chance to argue with an equal; even the cyber sex played second chair.  Neither named their last partner—Sancho with Don Quixote, and Falstaff with the equally angular Prince Hal—with whom they also enjoyed the finer adventures of debate.

Two weeks later they accidentally met at "the King's tavern" in Eastcheap.  The bar's other sack-stinking customers didn't have a clue that these two zaftig men drinking, cursing, and singing with the lot of them enjoyed a secret web affair. When they were alone in a corner, far from anyone's earshot, Falstaff questioned Sancho on his assertion that "to be happy in this world is to be a squire for a great cause, for justice or for love, without the clouds in your eyes," making it clear that:

"I can be just as happy without any cause, and only those with the clouds in their eyes, such as myself, blinding them from the torments of the world, can live in blissful happiness."

Sancho nearly fell off his chair when he heard Falstaff's retort, for he had heard the same thing yesterday from TheFatknightIV.  To be sure, he declared, "What you speak of is not happiness but ignorance, the true cause of all evil, of all unhappiness."

Falstaff gulped his drink down, and for an instant his usually jaunty face went grim, a rare serious look not seen on him since prince Hal left him to serve in the army of his father, King Henry IV.  Falstaff's favoured home, the "King's Tavern," was being invaded by his secret life. But never wanting to pass up a good laugh (and to keep up appearances for those blokes by the bar), he continued: "So, the ingenious hidalgo; fat as your lies I see. Tell me, where did you ever come up with that hideous name anyway: Alonso Quijano?" 

Sancho was on the defensive, but he couldn't keep his right knee from shaking.  "He was a brave knight, and I was his squire. We went on the same adventures I talked about with you. He even gave me an Island once." 

Sancho's voice trailed off, and Falstaff was losing patience with him: how would it appear if Sancho suddenly broke into sobs in this knife-weilding tavern?  He leaned into Sancho and kept his voice down.

"So what? You pretend to be someone else, like everyone else on the web. It's not like I believed everything you said, Mr. eight inches," he said trying to get a laugh out of him.  But Sancho kept talking, his confession escaping like air from a balloon.

“I promised I would continue what he started. But who would believe a fat knight?"

Falstaff finally lost it: he had seen this kind of shame-filled drama before in Hal, and he wasn't about to go through with it again. He let loose a mighty belly laugh. "Oh-oh, the faithful, loving squire, alone without his master, tries to become a master of his own and all he can do is role-play him online! And I'm the coward with clouds in my eyes?"

Sancho stood up. And though the other tables ignored them, Falstaff made a quick mean look that begged him: "do not dare cause a scene."  Sancho, believing himself a greater knight than this drunker ever was, left Falstaff shaking in his cherished seat in his community of fools, but not before shutting the tavern door with a blunt "Goodbye, Sir."

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Sean Campbell was born in Carmel, New York and studied writing and literature at Emerson College, Boston, MA.