Image by Alexandra_Koch from Pixabay
Richard Roe held his jaw in one hand and navigated his mouse with the other as he searched online for pain relief medication to dull the ache of his back teeth. As he scrolled through the listings of paracetamol, aspirin and ibuprofen, seeking any item on special or a bargain bulk-buy, he found the egg, or, rather, the egg found him, for an advertisement popped up on his screen.
Richard usually dismissed such advertisements with a click of his mouse, but on this occasion the advertisement piqued his interest as it promoted his one indulgence in the world: chocolate. For Richard was a sweet tooth, who would’ve sold his family, if he had any, for even a single piece of creamy, smooth, delicious chocolate. But Richard’s intemperance for his sugary sin over the years had come at a cost. His doctor chastised him for his expanding girth and high blood pressure, and his dentist capped his teeth with gold. Last year, on his sixty-fifth birthday, Richard resolved to limit his chocolate consumption to two small squares an evening.
Richard lived alone in a sparsely furnished mansion in a blue-chip suburb. Though often lonely, he’d never married. There had been potential brides, many in fact, over the years, but he could never quite commit. What with them wanting a new wardrobe every new season—indeed, often several new wardrobes within a season—and splurging on shoes and splashing out on trendy hairstyles and blinging themselves with gaudy jewellery and jetting off on luxury overseas holidays with excessive duty-free and indulging in extravagant brunches that extended into the cocktail hour and compulsively filling a house with knick-knacks; well, it was enough to drive a man of his frugal ways insane. And the mere thought of having to share a box of scrumptious chocolates with another made him blanch. No, it was a bachelor’s life for him, living on his measly, self-imposed annuity, despite the significant nest egg he had accumulated through decades of restraint and disciplined expenditure, and it would take a very special woman indeed for him to abandon his austere habits in his twilight years.
Richard sipped his mug of tea as he pondered the egg advertisement. Exotic Ester Egg, the banner beamed. Was that a typo? Did they mean Exotic Easter Egg? He’d not eaten one of those since, well, his childhood. Filled with Exotic Pleasure, the subtext enticed. Exotic pleasure? His mouth watered at the thought of biting into such a treat. He clicked on the egg advertisement, which disappeared, replaced by an eBay page. Richard’s stomach growled as a large image appeared of an egg covered in a red-and-gold patterned foil. He read the blurb: The Honourable Egg. Filled with exotic pleasure. Made in China. Free delivery to anywhere in the world within 48 hours. 50,000 g. Richard did a double-take and re-read the egg’s weight. 50,000 g? 50 kg? Surely not? Surely that was another typo; no doubt the seller’s finger had slipped on the zero key on the numeric keypad when posting the advertisement.
Richard noted that bidding closed at midnight, yet no one had placed a bid for the egg. He took another sip of his tea and nibbled on a square of chocolate. 50 kg, eh? Given his current daily allocation, the egg would last him, what, seven years. A true bargain. And why not shout himself an Easter treat? Hell, no one else would. Besides, even if it was only 5 kg or 500 g or 50 g, a bargain’s a bargain. Why not make a ridiculous bid and see what happens?
He placed a one-dollar bid for the egg and switched off his computer. Holding his aching jaw, he headed to bed with his toothache unresolved.
Next morning, he saw he had received an email at 12.01 am which, to his surprise, notified him of his successful bid for the Honourable Egg. He chuckled at his luck, yet by that night, still battling the throbbing pain of his toothache, he forgot about his newly acquired egg.
***
Next day, Easter Saturday, Richard sat on the toilet, fixed in concentration as he, armed with his trusty green pen, waged war against senility and that day’s published Sudoku puzzle. Though it was of a moderate level, he was losing the battle as that morning’s visit to an emergency dentist had left him with a numb bottom lip and a hefty bill. A double knock at his front door broke his concentration.
When Richard opened the front door, a delivery man with a trolley and a large cardboard box stood before him.
‘Morning. Are you Mr Roe?’
‘Yeth,’ Richard said, drooling.
‘Delivery for you. If you could just sign here.’
Richard signed the clipboard presented to him.
‘Thanks,’ the delivery man said. ‘It’s quite heavy. Would you like me to wheel it inside?’
‘Yeth,’ Richard said, and as he wiped another drool from his lip, he guided the delivery man to the lounge room, where he set the box down.
After the delivery man departed, Richard returned to the lounge room via the laundry, where he pulled out a Stanley knife from his toolbox.
Richard ran the blade along the top and sides of the large box, and when done, the cardboard panels fell away to the carpeted floor, and a huge egg wrapped in red foil sat before him, resting in a white styrofoam base emblazoned with the words The Honourable Egg Company in red.
‘Good God!’ Richard said. ‘It is 50 kilograms.’
***
On Easter Sunday, Richard rose early, wandered out to the kitchen and put the kettle on. As he waited for it to boil, he heard the Thompson twins next door bouncing on their trampoline whilst screaming and squealing.
‘Someone’s gone early and hard on the eggs,’ he said.
He made a cup of tea and sat in his armchair before his Easter egg.
‘Happy Easter, Richard,’ he said.
He leant forward, peeled foil from the egg’s apex and revealed a glossy white chocolate. Its sweet aroma greeted his nostrils and made his mouth water. He didn’t like white chocolate, yet the egg tempted him.
‘Maybe just a bit.’
He tapped the egg, which cracked and splintered, and picked up a shard of the chocolate and placed it on the tip of his tongue.
‘Oh God! Oh My God!’ he gushed.
The chocolate melted on his tongue and tantalised his taste buds with a sweetness he had never experienced. For a full minute he shoved piece after piece of the white chocolate into his mouth until his tongue tingled.
Richard paused and looked at the hole at the apex of the egg and caught a glimpse of silver foil. As he peeled the foil back, a glossier and more aromatic layer of chocolate—milk chocolate—greeted his disbelieving eyes.
Again he tapped the egg, which cracked and splintered, and again he sampled a piece. The chocolate melted on his tongue, and his taste buds exploded. Such sweetness, such exoticness, such wickedness, all within a small morsel of heavenly delight. For another full minute he shoved piece after piece into his mouth until his head buzzed. He collapsed into his chair and gulped down his tea. As he ran his tongue over his teeth to savour the remnants of chocolate, he noticed another layer of foil, gold and shiny, beneath the milk chocolate.
‘What the hell? What is this? A bloody Babushka egg?’
If the milk chocolate layer had tasted so much better than the white chocolate layer, then Richard figured that whatever lay beneath the third layer of foil must be truly divine. Ambrosia-of-the-gods divine.
He peeled back the gold foil, and his head recoiled as the aroma of the exposed chocolate—dark and glossy—hit him with a bang. He tapped on the apex of the egg. Again it cracked, but this time the top of the egg collapsed and dropped inside the egg. He leant forward and looked inside and … jumped back in shock! It couldn’t be? It must be the chocolate. All that sugar. Given him a rush and made his eyes play tricks on him. He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. He peered inside the egg. And there, staring back at him, was an eye.
‘What the hell?’
Richard broke off more of the dark chocolate and looked inside again. He thought he was going crazy, for now not one but two eyes stared up at him. He fell back in his chair and gave his head a shake.
‘What is that? A chick?’
As he stared at the egg in disbelief, he heard cracking, and a hand emerged from the enlarged hole at the top of the egg. A small, delicate human hand.
‘Good God!’
A second hand appeared, joining its twin, and rose in the air as two petite arms emerged.
‘Jesus Christ!’
The egg split in half with an enormous crack, and a human body unfurled itself and stood.
‘Holy bloody hell!’
A woman, small and black-haired, stood blinking before Richard. She wore a black Playboy bunny suit with a white collar, a black bow tie, a pair of rabbit ears and a fluffy tail. She brushed off the remaining pieces of chocolate clinging to her body, looked over at Richard and smiled.
‘Hello,’ she said.
Richard’s mouth gaped as his voice froze and his mind roared. Here, before him, stood the most beautiful woman he had laid eyes upon. Her almond eyes dazzled, her cherry lips pouted, her peachy skin glistened and her honeypot beckoned. She was the forbidden fruit, the original sin, and he wanted her, and, by God, he would be prepared to sacrifice anything to have her, to consume her. Money, jewellery, even his beloved chocolate; indeed, the whole glass and a half of full cream milk.
‘Hello,’ she said again.
‘Who … who … who are you?’ Richard said.
‘I Ester. I your Ester Bunny. I made China.’
‘You are truly beautiful.’ Yearning filled his loins.
Ester glanced down at his groin and said, ‘You want hanky-panky?’
‘God, yes!’ And Richard took a step forward.
‘You want hanky-panky with me?’
‘Yes. Yes. I must have you.’ Richard took another step forward and reached out with his arms.
‘You wait.’
‘What?’ Richard paused and let his arms fall to his side.
‘You wait. No hanky-panky till we married. I come marry you. You be honourable husband.’
‘Oh, please, no. I must have you. Now.’ His arms reached out again.
‘You honourable husband. Then hanky-panky.’
He ran his eyes over Ester’s body. ‘OK. OK. I’ll marry you. As soon as the Registry Office opens on Tuesday. Now can I have you?’
‘No. Must wait we married. You not want me, respect me, after hanky-panky.’
‘Oh God! I could never not respect you.’ Richard went to embrace Ester, but she ducked and scooted around him and hurried out of the living room and down the hallway. Richard chased after her, but a slammed bathroom door in his face blocked his desperate final lunge. As he sat on the hallway floor and rubbed his head, the bathroom door lock clicked.
He knelt before the door and brought his lips to the keyhole and said, ‘Please, Ester.’
‘You honourable husband,’ Ester whispered back. ‘Then hanky-panky.’
All day, he sat before the bathroom door, begging Ester within to unlock the door and yield to his impassioned entreaties. And every time, she replied, ‘Must wait we married. You not want me, respect me, after hanky-panky.’
At nightfall, he tried a different tack.
‘Ester, please come out. You need to eat.’
Silence greeted his request.
‘Ester?’
‘I not eat. I starve. Fit wedding dress.’
‘What wedding dress?’
‘One you buy.’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow. Go early.’
A sheet of toilet paper slid under the door.
Richard picked up the sheet and read: Vera Wang.
‘Vera Wang?’
‘That right. Wera Wang. Dress ready now. You go City. You pick up. You pay.’
‘Pay? How much?’
Another sheet of toilet paper slid under the door. He picked it up and read the number in disbelief: $100.00.
‘What? One hundred dollars?’
‘No. No decimal point.’
‘What? Ten thousand dollars?’
‘You want hanky-panky? You get dress.’
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