Chapters 8+9

“You do have a problem, Virgil,” his shrink, the esteemed Catherine Rolland, M.D., assured him. “It’s a psychological one.”

“That’s very reassuring,” Oswald acknowledged, seated, but not lying, beside Rolland in an office cluttered with books and based on a floor so far up in a building in the middle of a busy city all he could see was clear blue sky, and piles of books jutting into it. It’s what Rolland would have called juxtaposition, but only because the similar sounding word jutting would have already been associated with the scene. The jutting books created a juxtaposition with the clear blue sky. Like something you’d read in an English class, or a spelling bee. Only, don’t forget which of the two you have to spell. It would be silly if you carried on with two t’s rather than move on with an x then a t. “Very reassuring.”

“Don’t be sarcastic with me,” Rolland said. “You perceive yourself as being too important for the work you do. It results in a poor temper, poor interpersonal relations, and poor judgment. In effect, your problem is with ego.”

Every session was like this. It just became more specific based on what Rolland had already decided, on the first day, and every day was her chipping away, chipping away at her generalities, until at last she arrived at her conclusion. If only she knew everything else Oswald could tell her. She’d believe it was psychological, all right. “Previously, I had excellent interpersonal relations,” he reminded her, though he was willing to grant the ego. He had a healthy one of those, and wasn’t afraid to admit it. “But of course, I’ve always had the ego, too. I’m not sure how the temper factors into it. Maybe the judgment part.”

“Good,” Rolland said, “you’re opening up more. We’re making progress after all. But it’s important not to rush. You say you’ve always had good interpersonal skills. When did you first realize this.”

“Maybe when they made the action figure,” Oswald said.

“Mind the sarcasm,” Rolland said. “Go on.”

“Okay,” Oswald said, forcing back a grin from the corners of his mouth. “I was always a schoolyard hit. Recess was the first period I excelled in. The rest followed, after I determined I wanted to become an astronaut.”

“And how did you come to that ambition?” Rolland prodded, with her pencil.

“I don’t know, really,” Oswald said. “It might have been the first time I saw one on television. It was during a children’s program. Their jumpsuits caught my interest, and from then on it was either become an astronaut, or a garbage man. Sarcasm detectors duly noted, but I’m being serious.”

“Naturally,” Rolland said. “Go on.”

“I could also have busted ghosts,” Oswald said, “but that’s another story. Sarcasm detectors noted. Yes I was, and so let’s get on with this. I began to apply myself. They don’t let Joe Dodgeball into space. Maybe it would be fun to play a game of that in Zero-G, but it’s not exactly the point. So I applied myself, ‘got serious,’ and took myself seriously. But I was still the social type. I didn’t lose that. I didn’t want to. I figured, if I discovered astronauts on TV, on a children’s program, there was no reason why I couldn’t become one and still have an outrageous personality. So I learned most astronauts are about as exciting as your average house plant. They have an exciting job. Maybe in most cases one element of excitement is enough. Computer geeks hyperventilate over code, right? Sports fans, though, they’re something else. They retain the excitement both as spectators and participants. So what if they’re usually lousy participants? That’s not the point. They have it both ways. It’s a full-contact thing. The spectator part encourages you to jump up for a good play. You experience the highs and lows vicariously, in a very real way.

“And that’s how I felt about becoming an astronaut. These guys have a completely different view of existence than anyone else. Sure, athletes condition themselves, religious orders restrain themselves, but no one else so fully touches the ‘other’ they prepare themselves for as astronauts. Mystics would come the closest, but that’s a different story. That’s all about channeling something, not touching it. Astronauts are pure. They don’t fool around. If they do, something goes wrong, and when something goes wrong, someone dies. So they can’t fool around. But they can have fun. I would see footage of that sort of thing, and think, I’d love to be able to experience that, to know no one else can know, really know, what drinking a substance that won’t fall if you tip your cup upside down. Sure, you can simulate weightlessness, but you know it’s an illusion. You know when you step out of that room, that simulator, your foot will touch the ground. You’ll know you won’t have…escaped something.

“And when you see a picture of the earth’s profile? It’s not the same. It’s like a war movie. Please. That’s not war. It may not be entertainment, exactly. It might be an experience. But it isn’t war. So I applied myself. I applied myself so I could know what it was like to take a small step. The giant leap had already been taken, and the next one is still decades away, but the small steps are still there. They’re like dancing on a cloud, like stepping outside an airplane when it’s above the clouds. You’re in something insubstantial, but it sustains you, suspends you. All along you know exactly how you got there, what it takes to keep you there, because that’s the way you got there, and the reason you stick around. You’re making it better for the next generation, so they’ll take that next giant leap. It’s something.”

“I--I’m sure it is,” Rolland said. “Go on.”

“There’s more,” Oswald said, half as a question and half as a statement. “So you want to know what happened to my interpersonal skills? Somewhere along the line I realized the enormity of what I was a part of. I became complacent. It happened at the worst possible moment, when I had finally achieved my dream. When I got into space. I stopped believing I could have it both ways. I slipped. I let space take hold of me, numb me. I forgot about objectivity. Pliny and Volkov became pests, to be ignored, to separate myself from, instead of integral components of the experience, components vital to it. I hadn’t prepared myself for them. So yes, I have a problem with ego. I centered everything around me, around my experience. They didn’t prepare me to think otherwise. Except if you count the anonymous concept of the team.

“Yes, I was part of a team. The team needed to work together. The team needed to co-exist. The team needed to accomplish certain things. The team, the team. I was an astronaut. What did I care about a team? There were three of us. That’s not a team. That’s a collaboration. That’s a cohabitation. But it’s not a team. It was not a part of my dream. They were forced on me, and they did not serve much purpose. They were a deterrence. They stood between me and my experience.”

“Did you attempt to inform them of this?” Rolland asked.

“I’m shitting you,” Oswald said. “You wanted something about ego, so I gave you ego. Made me sound crazy.”

“Mr. Oswald,” Rolland said, “we’re not going to make any progress unless you stop playing games. You have an issue with control, with authority. We must explore this further.”

“Yes,” Oswald said, “we must.” Up until the team nonsense, he had been perfectly honest, but he needed to satisfy her concept of ego, so he drove on, and in truth felt bad about it now. He had no desire to mock her.

“Sarcasm,” Rolland tut-tutted.

“I’m sorry,” Oswald said. “Sincerely.”

“That be all for today,” Rolland concluded. “We can touch on some of the other issues tomorrow. I’m glad you’re speaking more. It does, however, mean we’ll have to explore the interpersonal issue more. I know your reputation. Until today I wasn’t sure I believed it.”

“Oh, today’s the most I’ve talked in a while,” Oswald said.

“Then this is working after all,” Rolland said, “isn’t it? You must be glad.”

“Very much so,” Oswald said. “I can hardly wait until next time.”

“Sarcasm?” Rolland hazarded.

“Not so much,” Oswald said, and almost meant it. “I sincerely thank you.” He was entirely glad to get up, get away from the jutting books, no mater how well juxtaposed they were with the clear blue sky, and leave Rolland’s office. The doctor was convinced of her own effectiveness, and he was glad to humor her, but he didn’t believe he needed helping. As long as those who did believed he was getting that help, and benefiting from it, were satisfied, he was equally glad to play along.

The part about his motivation to become an astronaut, about the two elements of excitement, Oswald believed had a part in what had happened to him. He really had lost one of them, on the way down, in exchange for bringing the other back with him. It was fair enough. The new Virgil Oswald was busy enough keeping up with his new perspective to bother with old matters. He had abandoned the comic strip without a second thought, as if it had never been important. He could heard avian conversations. Nothing could compete with that, not the newspapers, not even television, which he had followed faithfully since boyhood and the advent of his ambitions with those children’s programs. They went something like this:

Lovely to see you.

Not so lovely to see them.

So don’t bother already. They leave just as soon as we arrive.

That’s the beauty of it.

And that’s the beauty of it, thought Oswald.

***

Come see, Boo prodded, and so Leopold came to see, and what he saw was a fox run through the woods just beyond the apartment. So what do you think?

“I’m thinking it was quite a thing to see a fox in my backyard,” Leopold said. “And that it couldn’t have been a mere coincidence.”

You may be catching on, Boo said. It might even be time to breach a subject or two. Reynard here wanted to know if he could get away with it.

“Get away with running through a residential area,” Leopold finished for her.

Exactly, she said, and as it turns out he could. Lots of animals aren’t so lucky, especially on your roads. But some drivers are more patient than others. You’ve seen some of that, haven’t you? How someone will hold traffic up, just so a raccoon can take his time crossing back over to the forest, after he figured out some human had made it more difficult than it needed to be to cross the road. Which reminds me, why did the chicken cross the road?

“To see if he could get away with it,” Leopold said.

You catch on fairly quickly, Boo said. Only it wasn’t a he in this instance. Still a chauvinist, though. A pity.

“Well, I didn’t want to say ‘it,’” Leopold said, “and you didn’t exactly provide a name. You said chicken. It’s pretty generic.”

And so is ‘he,’ Boo said, in your primitive dialect. Which sucks to be restrained to. Cats have a much more elegant language.

“Like French?” Leopold offered.

I said elegant, not obtuse, Boo said. Those people exaggerate everything. And they split the sexes ridiculously. Like a car is a male or female machine. But English isn’t much better there. Cars aren’t female. Ships aren’t female. Propane stoves you use on holidays aren’t female.

“Touchy subject,” Leopold gathered.

Yup, a real bright one, Boo said. You remember how I was going to tell you about the last time one of you came close? It happened because a German shepherd got a little out of control, and let a boy who wasn’t ready into the circle. We ended up with a story about alien dogs who ‘weeded’ populated worlds for those worth keeping around, with some potential, and those without, whose worlds were destroyed. It was a complete debacle. The boy wasn’t ready, or couldn’t handle it. At any rate, he became a complete nutcase, but thankfully, nobody noticed. Couldn’t really let something like that get out, not that anyone would really bother to believe it. You stood out because you approached your dog skeptically, allowed the notion that he might have said something to you to have a look around your mind. You didn’t completely reject it, but you didn’t fully believe it, either. You gave it the benefit of the doubt, and some thought.

The ingenious part of our whole act is that, once you decided you believed, you couldn’t take it for granted. You had to concentrate, to continue believing, even as you weighed my contributions in further skepticism. It was fun to watch you entertain those thoughts.

“Well, thanks,” Leopold said, “I guess.”

You don’t have to be so reluctant, Boo said. Okay, I guess it’s in character, and the reason I’m even talking to you, so it’s fine. There are other things you have to do now.

“Things I have to do?” Leopold said, tentatively.

If you want to know more, Boo said. If you want to believe, to understand. Unfortunately, I can’t help you the rest of the way. It’s not my job. I have other duties, other interests.

“I’ve seen your interests,” Leopold said, and simulated licking himself.

Ha ha, Boo said, not so amused. That’s more of that sarcasm. Don’t lose it. It’s cute. You’ll finish this out with a dog. Yeah, it’s sad to say, but it’s the fact of the matter, and now that you’ve come this far you might as well accept that too, right?

“I don’t mind dogs,” Leopold said.

Too bad, Boo said. Reynard will introduce you, but there’s more still for you to do before that. You’ve still got the astronaut’s information, right? Put it to good use. He’ll come in handy.

“Just call the astronaut,” Leopold said.

Yes. I can’t stutter, Boo said. Call him.

“Fine,” Leopold said, and Boo was already gone when he looked around again, as if it was mandatory for the guide to do that. Except of course that was perfectly normal for Boo. “Didn’t need her to call the astronaut anyway. This is just a little crazy. All I need is for that German shepherd to be my next guide. Maybe I should be looking for a job more strenuously. Where’s the note? Ah.” In what was far too easy an action to sit well with Leopold, the number was dialing and the astronaut was picking up.

“Hello?” Virgil Oswald’s voiced asked. No reply came. “Is this a prank call? Don’t you know that’s rude this soon after touchdown?”

“No, this isn’t a prank,” Leopold managed. “Listen…Mr. Oswald. I don’t know how to say this. I have a web log, called SPIDER MONKEY. Um, have you by any chance visited it? Maybe posted a reply to it?”

No answer for a very long few seconds. “…Yes,” Oswald said. “How, if you don’t mind my asking, would you have known?”

“I’m betting the complicated answer you wouldn’t really need,” Leopold said. “Please confirm this.”

“Listen, kid,” Oswald said. “Listen. Um. Shit. This is weird. I wish I’d never received this call, if you don’t mind my saying. And then, I’m also glad I received it. Shit. You know. Shit. I’m sorry, I’m not cooperating very well. Shit. I’m just at a loss for words right now. You can understand.”

“You’d better believe it,” Leopold said, and for good measure added, “Shit. I’ve been directed to you. I’ve got something I have to do, and you’re supposed to be useful.”

“That’s certainly reassuring,” Oswald said. “Wait. I think I might know how. You need to go somewhere?”

“I think so,” Leopold said. “I’d be more helpful, but my…guide isn’t exactly herself. She’s a cat.”

“That explains,” Oswald said, “a number of things.”

“She’d have something to say about that,” Leopold said. “I can’t believe I’m saying that about a cat. Oh god, I can just imagine what she‘d think about me saying that. And I can‘t believe I‘m talking like this. And she say, ‘that‘s why we picked you.’”

“Sounds like you’ve got issues,” Oswald said. “If only I didn’t have them too.”

“Tell me about it,” Leopold said. “You can do that later.”

“Yeah,” Oswald said, “after you have, y’know, a better idea of what you need from me.”

“Sounds good,” Leopold said. “Actually, I guess that would be, sounds weird.”

“No, it’s starting to sound normal,” Oswald said, asswipe.”

“What was that?” Leopold said, astounded.

“Sorry,” Oswald said, “just had to be sure this wasn’t a prank. I don’t think you would have responded that way if it had been. Talk to you later.”

“Sure thing, Asswipe,” Leopold said. He heard a snort, and then the conversation was done. Somehow it seemed even more surreal than the ones he’d been having with Boo. He shook his head. Nothing, just a bit of a headache. He decided he wasn’t going to pinch himself. He was awake. Things had just took a turn for the weird, or as Virgil Oswald, the Astronaut had remarked, somehow they were perfectly normal. And they were, somehow. Leopold didn’t know quite how, but it was starting to seem normal. He saw as the fox made his approach again, this fox named Reynard, the one who had dashed through Leopold’s backyard, on the grounds of an apartment complex, just to see if he could. Who was going to introduce Leopold to his next guide.

If he ever found a coffee shop to hang around, as he’d planned, Leopold would be there right now, enjoying a mocha latté. He’d be out walking Freckles, except of course that meant exposing himself to more of this, and right now he felt a little daunted. Not overwhelmed, but daunted. Overwhelmed would be like the boy who met the German shepherd, and who went stark raving mad. Then again, maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he’d found out some ugly truth Boo was trying to keep from Leopold himself, about vicious dogs and the jealous cats who hide their secrets. Or maybe he himself was going stark raving mad. It was always a possibility. No work and all play make Johnny something something. Maybe employment was the nourishment of sanity, and that’s why everyone seemed to think it was so important. That’s why so many beggars held signs insisting on the end of the world. Right? Or maybe they were just lost Shakespearean soothsayers, which was an equally grim scenario.

He’d gotten an Astronaut somehow involved. An Astronaut, or perhaps the lesser known astro-nut. Leopold knew about those. He’d written about them in his boyhood cartooning days, along with the captain of the notes, who desperately needed something to stave off, so he chose boredom, and proved a mostly successful champion. He no longer cartooned. Virgil Oswald was no astro-nut. He was an Astronaut, and he was not involved in Leopold’s bad case of concentration. It might not have been a dream, but it was a nightmare.

To try and sooth himself, Leopold decided to log back onto his blog. He read Oswald’s reply again. It was still the only one, which was somehow encouraging. Boo snuck in, and played with the humidifier again. Leopold picked her up, and chucked her out of the room, closing the door while he was at it. But it was no use. He didn’t want to be in there himself anymore, so he left, and went to sit on the couch. Boo did not come to join him, immediately.