This is a a new version of a story I've been working on since high school, sort of a homage to Douglas Adams's Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, in which a select group of people discover that dogs (and cats) are a lot more than we ever suspected. I never completed this draft, but I hope to one day, and that's a little of why I'm trying to keep it around. If you like what you see here, you might also enjoy my short fiction blog, Sigild V, or perhaps The Cloak of Shrouded Men.
To follow the story in sequence, click the label links on the right. Enjoy!
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Friday, April 01, 2005
Chapter 15
Delirious, delirious.
That’s what everyone keeps telling him. They say he’s delirious, delusional, diametrically detached. But the voices are returning. The story he was told wasn’t true, the one even he was starting to doubt after seven years locked up in the place where they made it official and fed him drugs to soothe him and his rattled sense of reality. It was true. Because it was happening again.
Seven years ago a boy named Gerry Donovan was made aware by his German shepherd Spotty that dogs were intergalactic beings who controlled the universe. They sent agents to every world, in anticipation of an evaluation of the population’s long-term worth, and Earth’s ticket was up. Gerry learned that Spotty was in fact not only his loyal pet but the ruler of these tyrants, who had deemed humanity unworthy. Fortunately, Spotty spared Gerry, as well as an astronaut named Oswald Hamilton, who had happened across the same realization, along with his trusty, footstool-shaped robot companion named Omni 117, after coming across Gerry’s diary, which floated about in space after the dog and the boy’s departure from the doomed planet.
Various adventures resulted, in which the last humans in existence learned the true canine adversary was not cats but flies, whom when captured were banished to the Nullification Zone. Spotty continued his ‘weeding’ of planets, with his humans as his pets, until he grew tired of them and left them behind one day. Eventually, Gerry and Oswald ended up as the hosts of a talk show on the planet Golem, until Spotty came to collect them again. He said the time of reckoning had come.
Somehow, Gerry ended up back on Earth, where he was committed and everyone told him those events were figments of his imagination. He stewed on that, in his stupor, for seven years, and began to believe it. After all, one view of reality was just as likely as another. He had now experienced three, and had decided any one of them could be real. Perhaps everyone was really just in a drug-induced haze, locked away in a padded room, having their dreams taken from them and replaced with a life where they were told what was really going on, despite what they believed. Gerry was the lucky one, knowing how he did the hand that held him down. When he wanted someone to blame, he could point right toward the nurse who visited him three times each day, with the needle and the serum that informed his reality.
In all actuality, he had began to like this state. Even if it wasn’t true, he had decided it might as well be, for all he cared. He accepted it, as someone accepts that a spoon goes inside your mouth if you want to eat. He ate his truth, willingly, for seven years. For seven years truth was something someone gave him.
Then he heard the voices again. This was how it had all started before, the voices, the ones that told him there was another way, another view of reality, one that would shatter everything he had ever known. He knew immediately that there was going to be a fourth world waiting for him, if he could just understand what the voices were saying. He needed help. He couldn’t do it alone. Spotty. He needed Spotty.
But Spotty had been put to sleep. That’s what he had been told, and he had no reason to doubt it, after the grand parade of the cosmos had been played out and the toys put away and he had been safely nestled into this new womb of his. Spotty, the dictator whose pride of his galaxy had moved him to nurture its inhabitants by removing cancerous growths from it, was gone, put to sleep from among those he had condemned. And it all made perfect sense. That was the greatest gift Gerry had received. He understood everything.
And so he waited for the voices to come into focus, so he could embrace his fourth world, where new gods would be waiting, and his final battle would finally be fought. He had found his Source.
That’s what everyone keeps telling him. They say he’s delirious, delusional, diametrically detached. But the voices are returning. The story he was told wasn’t true, the one even he was starting to doubt after seven years locked up in the place where they made it official and fed him drugs to soothe him and his rattled sense of reality. It was true. Because it was happening again.
Seven years ago a boy named Gerry Donovan was made aware by his German shepherd Spotty that dogs were intergalactic beings who controlled the universe. They sent agents to every world, in anticipation of an evaluation of the population’s long-term worth, and Earth’s ticket was up. Gerry learned that Spotty was in fact not only his loyal pet but the ruler of these tyrants, who had deemed humanity unworthy. Fortunately, Spotty spared Gerry, as well as an astronaut named Oswald Hamilton, who had happened across the same realization, along with his trusty, footstool-shaped robot companion named Omni 117, after coming across Gerry’s diary, which floated about in space after the dog and the boy’s departure from the doomed planet.
Various adventures resulted, in which the last humans in existence learned the true canine adversary was not cats but flies, whom when captured were banished to the Nullification Zone. Spotty continued his ‘weeding’ of planets, with his humans as his pets, until he grew tired of them and left them behind one day. Eventually, Gerry and Oswald ended up as the hosts of a talk show on the planet Golem, until Spotty came to collect them again. He said the time of reckoning had come.
Somehow, Gerry ended up back on Earth, where he was committed and everyone told him those events were figments of his imagination. He stewed on that, in his stupor, for seven years, and began to believe it. After all, one view of reality was just as likely as another. He had now experienced three, and had decided any one of them could be real. Perhaps everyone was really just in a drug-induced haze, locked away in a padded room, having their dreams taken from them and replaced with a life where they were told what was really going on, despite what they believed. Gerry was the lucky one, knowing how he did the hand that held him down. When he wanted someone to blame, he could point right toward the nurse who visited him three times each day, with the needle and the serum that informed his reality.
In all actuality, he had began to like this state. Even if it wasn’t true, he had decided it might as well be, for all he cared. He accepted it, as someone accepts that a spoon goes inside your mouth if you want to eat. He ate his truth, willingly, for seven years. For seven years truth was something someone gave him.
Then he heard the voices again. This was how it had all started before, the voices, the ones that told him there was another way, another view of reality, one that would shatter everything he had ever known. He knew immediately that there was going to be a fourth world waiting for him, if he could just understand what the voices were saying. He needed help. He couldn’t do it alone. Spotty. He needed Spotty.
But Spotty had been put to sleep. That’s what he had been told, and he had no reason to doubt it, after the grand parade of the cosmos had been played out and the toys put away and he had been safely nestled into this new womb of his. Spotty, the dictator whose pride of his galaxy had moved him to nurture its inhabitants by removing cancerous growths from it, was gone, put to sleep from among those he had condemned. And it all made perfect sense. That was the greatest gift Gerry had received. He understood everything.
And so he waited for the voices to come into focus, so he could embrace his fourth world, where new gods would be waiting, and his final battle would finally be fought. He had found his Source.
Friday, March 25, 2005
Chapter 14
“Is it just me or do you - should I call you Virgil? - is your mind a little fuzzy?” Mahmoud announced. They were now waiting, anxiously, for Bob to appear, and had seated themselves in the guest chairs, angled around, in front of Oswald’s desk, so that they would greet Bob as soon as he appeared. Oswald had made the suggestion to situate themselves that way, to give Bob his usual impression that he was the most important person in the room, as he was used to, only this way he’d know they were doing it mockingly. Mahmoud found it a little curious, but she played along, probably to humor Oswald.
“My…mind is fine,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
“You mean other than because my own mind is a little fuzzy? I wanted to mess with you,” Mahmoud said. “You don’t feel it?”
“I suppose I don’t,” Oswald said. “Then again, I’ve had storm clouds in my head for the past few weeks, so it’s not very likely I’d be able to tell if there was something else wrong up there. It’s like I’ve been seeing the world on a rainy day. It’s the same world, but it’s different, and it’s hard to distinguish anything. It’s all just rain and dark skies, and the ground changes. That’s how I distinguish it from something akin to snow. Snow covers things, makes everything different on account of new dressing. Rain, however, warps things, so that it’s not just something entirely new, but something that’s entirely the same, only not. It’s very confusing. Do you follow me at all?”
“Since I’ve lived with this my whole life, I’d have to lose it to see any differently,” Mahmoud said. “But I think I know what you mean. You’ve put on a pair of sunglasses.”
“Exactly,” Oswald said. “Only these don’t come off very easily, which is what your experience must be. As for your fuzzy mind, can you explain that a little more?”
“Since we’re doing that,” Mahmoud said, “I guess I can try. The French have a term, deja vous.”
“Yeah, we use it too,” Oswald noted.
“Then you’ll understand,” Mahmoud said. “It’s as if I’m in possession of knowledge I cannot remember gaining myself, like seeing something and knowing, or at least thinking, I’ve seen it before. With these thoughts, my head becomes--”
“Fuzzy,” Oswald said. “Right. I gotcha.”
“Then you understand,” Mahmoud said.
“Yes,” Oswald said.
“Then you also have a fuzzy head,” Mahmoud said.
“Well,” Oswald said. “I don’t know. It’s like I was saying earlier.”
“We have screwed up minds,” Mahmoud concluded.
“Exactly,” Oswald said. “I’ll agree to that, wholeheartedly. We have screwed up minds. Which could apply to anyone, but we‘re cornered the market on this one. I‘m wearing sunglasses, and I guess you‘re wearing glasses as well, and they‘re the tinted kind. You‘ve walked out into bright sunlight, wearing your glasses, and your glasses tint on you. You just weren‘t expecting sunlight.”
“I was expecting rain,” Mahmoud said.
“Which is perfectly normal for you,” Oswald said, “and getting there for me. You expected rain, but found sun penetrating the rain, or maybe you came out just as the rain ended.”
“Let’s stop trying to analogize it,” Mahmoud suggested. “It is giving me a headache.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Oswald said, “but I’m actually anticipating Bob’s arrival. Why isn’t he here yet? I actually want him to be here. Now it’s conclusive. I really have gone insane.”
“Don’t say that,” Mahmoud said, playfully knocking him on the shoulder as she laughed. “You’re cursing us!”
“Usually Bob would be a curse,” Oswald said. “Plus, he curses a lot, so we’re full of curses here. Maybe that explains our, uh, rain.”
“Do you know how Gerald views our rain?” Mahmoud mused.
“Who’s Gerald?” Oswald said.
“Gerald,” Mahmoud repeated, “You know, Do-little. The person you’ve previously been in contact with.”
“How did you know his name?” Oswald said. “I didn’t know what it was, and I‘m the one who‘s actually talked with him, let alone knew who he generally was before you walked into this office. I’m still expecting a follow-up conversation with him, in fact.”
“You won’t need one,” Mahmoud said. “I think I might have an explanation for the fuzz. The deja vous belongs to Do-little. To Gerald. I can’t explain any further, but that’s what it is. I believe we’re telepathically connected.”
“Not to make things any weirder than they already are or anything,” Oswald said. “I’m somehow becoming less comforted by the minute, and I can’t imagine way…”
“Bob will come in handy,” Mahmoud said. “I now know how you’ll come in handy, too. If you give it a little concentration, you’ll be able to distinguish what the fuzz is, what‘s being said, or thought.”
“Bearing in mind,” Oswald said, “that I can’t even find this fuzz you’re talking about, let alone recognize it, how am I supposed to fine tune it?”
“You’re a mess,” Mahmoud said.
“Tell me about it,” Oswald said.
“Actually,” Mahmoud said, “I could.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that,” Oswald said. “And now you’re going to say, ’you could have, if you could work this mojo out in your mind.’ Right?”
“But you still can’t,” Mahmoud said. “Can you?”
“No, I can’t,” Oswald said. “And it’s probably better that way.”
“It probably is,” Mahmoud said. “Besides, it’s probably unnecessary.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean? I’m just along for this ride--” Oswald started, and then followed the thought for himself. “I’m responsible for the ride. I’m the chauffer. How wonderful is that? Not very, that’s what I say. I am not amused.”
“I don’t think you’re required to be,” Mahmoud said.
“If I’m understanding any of this by now,” Oswald said, “you don’t serve any purpose at all. How does that feel? Crummy, isn’t it? To know this Gerald, this Do-little, is more important than either of us. He’s got a cat helping him out, for pete’s sake. He’s the big banana in all of this. The punk.”
“You’re poor wounded ego,” Mahmoud said, “Mr. Astronaut. Nice action figure, by the way. What does it come with, a footstool?”
“Ha ha,” Oswald said. “The manufacturer either has a really good imagination or a really bad one. It’s a robot, and I was thinking of calling it Pliny, just so you know.”
“You gave up on the comic strip,” Mahmoud reminded him.
“Out of my head!” Oswald exclaimed.
“Afraid I can’t do that,” Mahmoud said, giggling. “Here’s another blow to your ego. I’m probably here to help you out.”
“Very funny,” Oswald said.
“I thought so,” Mahmoud said. “Now, where’s Bob?”
“My thoughts--” Oswald started. “Not funny.”
“What?” Mahmoud protested, innocently. A knock at the door interrupted any further reply she might have been formulating. It was Bob Taliaferro, and he showed himself in without waiting for admittance. He eyed the room for a minute, and betrayed nothing of his reaction to the two persons who had obviously been engaging in a lively conversation before his entrance. He closed the door and began looking at a sheet of paper he’d taken with him.
“You’re ready?” he muttered, without taking his eyes from the sheet, and then handed it to Oswald with his eyes training on him now. “You’ll want to sign this waiver. I see you’ve met Padma. I don’t know what else to call her so I’m just going to use her first name.”
“Very informal of you,” Oswald said, accepting the waiver and turning around to sign it, not acknowledging Bob.
“Charming,” Mahmoud said, training her own eyes on Bob.
“I try to be,” Bob said. “Try, but fail. What’re you gonna do about it? Throw an intervention? Be ready for the test, or both of you can kiss my ass. I mean that in the kindest way possible.”
“As you always do,” Oswald said to Bob’s back, as he left the room, leaving the door open behind him. Oswald realized he still had the waiver. “Figures. He wants me to go to his office. And he’s in one of his moods. Maybe I should be thankful, and maybe I’m going to roast for what I’d like to do to him all the same.”
“I wish you wouldn’t actually think it,” Mahmoud said.
“Sorry,” Oswald said.
“If only,” Mahmoud said. “He’s coming back. And he’s got someone with him.”
“Great,” Oswald said. “Wait a minute, maybe this isn’t so bad.”
“What isn’t so bad?” Bob said, walking into the office again, accompanied by a gangly twenty-something male. “You’d better be able to explain this kid. He came into the premises half an hour ago, and claimed he needed to see you, and claimed further that he’d actually walked here so he could.”
“It’s true,” the man said. “I walked here.”
“Shut it,” Bob said. “Give me the waiver, and if the boy proves a security risk, it’s your ass.”
“He apparently cleared security already,” Oswald noted, as Bon snatched the waiver from his hand.
“Smart ass,” Bob said, and left the office again, with the door in the same condition as before. The three people left in his wake shared a solemn moment to celebrate.”
“Gerald,” Oswald said.
“That would be me,” Leopold said. “I see you’re up to speed on the voodoo aspects.”
“Unfortunately,” Oswald said. “You know me, I guess, already. This is Padma.”
“Padma Mahmoud,” Mahmoud said, extending her hand. “Proud member of this society.”
“I guess that’s what it is,” Leopold said. “Do I know you?”
“In a way,” Mahmoud said.
“You’re absolutely right,” Leopold said, the meaning dawning on him. “In a way. Then I guess you know your boss there wasn’t shitting when he said I walked here. I…walked here. It didn’t take as long as I thought it would. Where is here, exactly?”
“Generally speaking, Florida,” Oswald said. “This is a R&D facility, and I get to engage in the next step in that process. They make exciting new crafts, I take them for a spin, see if they’re hazardous or not. I feel very secure when I come to work.”
“And I’m here to help him,” Mahmoud said.
“You don’t have to be so enthusiastic about it,” Oswald said.
“You’ve got a sub today,” Leopold said, “Don’t you?”
“I’m beginning to understand,” Mahmoud said.
“You’ve said that already,” Oswald said. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”
“Depends,” Leopold said.
“On what?” Oswald said.
“On whether you want to find out what the point of our little society is,” Mahmoud said.
“Honestly,” Oswald said. “Right now? I don’t know…”
“My…mind is fine,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
“You mean other than because my own mind is a little fuzzy? I wanted to mess with you,” Mahmoud said. “You don’t feel it?”
“I suppose I don’t,” Oswald said. “Then again, I’ve had storm clouds in my head for the past few weeks, so it’s not very likely I’d be able to tell if there was something else wrong up there. It’s like I’ve been seeing the world on a rainy day. It’s the same world, but it’s different, and it’s hard to distinguish anything. It’s all just rain and dark skies, and the ground changes. That’s how I distinguish it from something akin to snow. Snow covers things, makes everything different on account of new dressing. Rain, however, warps things, so that it’s not just something entirely new, but something that’s entirely the same, only not. It’s very confusing. Do you follow me at all?”
“Since I’ve lived with this my whole life, I’d have to lose it to see any differently,” Mahmoud said. “But I think I know what you mean. You’ve put on a pair of sunglasses.”
“Exactly,” Oswald said. “Only these don’t come off very easily, which is what your experience must be. As for your fuzzy mind, can you explain that a little more?”
“Since we’re doing that,” Mahmoud said, “I guess I can try. The French have a term, deja vous.”
“Yeah, we use it too,” Oswald noted.
“Then you’ll understand,” Mahmoud said. “It’s as if I’m in possession of knowledge I cannot remember gaining myself, like seeing something and knowing, or at least thinking, I’ve seen it before. With these thoughts, my head becomes--”
“Fuzzy,” Oswald said. “Right. I gotcha.”
“Then you understand,” Mahmoud said.
“Yes,” Oswald said.
“Then you also have a fuzzy head,” Mahmoud said.
“Well,” Oswald said. “I don’t know. It’s like I was saying earlier.”
“We have screwed up minds,” Mahmoud concluded.
“Exactly,” Oswald said. “I’ll agree to that, wholeheartedly. We have screwed up minds. Which could apply to anyone, but we‘re cornered the market on this one. I‘m wearing sunglasses, and I guess you‘re wearing glasses as well, and they‘re the tinted kind. You‘ve walked out into bright sunlight, wearing your glasses, and your glasses tint on you. You just weren‘t expecting sunlight.”
“I was expecting rain,” Mahmoud said.
“Which is perfectly normal for you,” Oswald said, “and getting there for me. You expected rain, but found sun penetrating the rain, or maybe you came out just as the rain ended.”
“Let’s stop trying to analogize it,” Mahmoud suggested. “It is giving me a headache.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Oswald said, “but I’m actually anticipating Bob’s arrival. Why isn’t he here yet? I actually want him to be here. Now it’s conclusive. I really have gone insane.”
“Don’t say that,” Mahmoud said, playfully knocking him on the shoulder as she laughed. “You’re cursing us!”
“Usually Bob would be a curse,” Oswald said. “Plus, he curses a lot, so we’re full of curses here. Maybe that explains our, uh, rain.”
“Do you know how Gerald views our rain?” Mahmoud mused.
“Who’s Gerald?” Oswald said.
“Gerald,” Mahmoud repeated, “You know, Do-little. The person you’ve previously been in contact with.”
“How did you know his name?” Oswald said. “I didn’t know what it was, and I‘m the one who‘s actually talked with him, let alone knew who he generally was before you walked into this office. I’m still expecting a follow-up conversation with him, in fact.”
“You won’t need one,” Mahmoud said. “I think I might have an explanation for the fuzz. The deja vous belongs to Do-little. To Gerald. I can’t explain any further, but that’s what it is. I believe we’re telepathically connected.”
“Not to make things any weirder than they already are or anything,” Oswald said. “I’m somehow becoming less comforted by the minute, and I can’t imagine way…”
“Bob will come in handy,” Mahmoud said. “I now know how you’ll come in handy, too. If you give it a little concentration, you’ll be able to distinguish what the fuzz is, what‘s being said, or thought.”
“Bearing in mind,” Oswald said, “that I can’t even find this fuzz you’re talking about, let alone recognize it, how am I supposed to fine tune it?”
“You’re a mess,” Mahmoud said.
“Tell me about it,” Oswald said.
“Actually,” Mahmoud said, “I could.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that,” Oswald said. “And now you’re going to say, ’you could have, if you could work this mojo out in your mind.’ Right?”
“But you still can’t,” Mahmoud said. “Can you?”
“No, I can’t,” Oswald said. “And it’s probably better that way.”
“It probably is,” Mahmoud said. “Besides, it’s probably unnecessary.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean? I’m just along for this ride--” Oswald started, and then followed the thought for himself. “I’m responsible for the ride. I’m the chauffer. How wonderful is that? Not very, that’s what I say. I am not amused.”
“I don’t think you’re required to be,” Mahmoud said.
“If I’m understanding any of this by now,” Oswald said, “you don’t serve any purpose at all. How does that feel? Crummy, isn’t it? To know this Gerald, this Do-little, is more important than either of us. He’s got a cat helping him out, for pete’s sake. He’s the big banana in all of this. The punk.”
“You’re poor wounded ego,” Mahmoud said, “Mr. Astronaut. Nice action figure, by the way. What does it come with, a footstool?”
“Ha ha,” Oswald said. “The manufacturer either has a really good imagination or a really bad one. It’s a robot, and I was thinking of calling it Pliny, just so you know.”
“You gave up on the comic strip,” Mahmoud reminded him.
“Out of my head!” Oswald exclaimed.
“Afraid I can’t do that,” Mahmoud said, giggling. “Here’s another blow to your ego. I’m probably here to help you out.”
“Very funny,” Oswald said.
“I thought so,” Mahmoud said. “Now, where’s Bob?”
“My thoughts--” Oswald started. “Not funny.”
“What?” Mahmoud protested, innocently. A knock at the door interrupted any further reply she might have been formulating. It was Bob Taliaferro, and he showed himself in without waiting for admittance. He eyed the room for a minute, and betrayed nothing of his reaction to the two persons who had obviously been engaging in a lively conversation before his entrance. He closed the door and began looking at a sheet of paper he’d taken with him.
“You’re ready?” he muttered, without taking his eyes from the sheet, and then handed it to Oswald with his eyes training on him now. “You’ll want to sign this waiver. I see you’ve met Padma. I don’t know what else to call her so I’m just going to use her first name.”
“Very informal of you,” Oswald said, accepting the waiver and turning around to sign it, not acknowledging Bob.
“Charming,” Mahmoud said, training her own eyes on Bob.
“I try to be,” Bob said. “Try, but fail. What’re you gonna do about it? Throw an intervention? Be ready for the test, or both of you can kiss my ass. I mean that in the kindest way possible.”
“As you always do,” Oswald said to Bob’s back, as he left the room, leaving the door open behind him. Oswald realized he still had the waiver. “Figures. He wants me to go to his office. And he’s in one of his moods. Maybe I should be thankful, and maybe I’m going to roast for what I’d like to do to him all the same.”
“I wish you wouldn’t actually think it,” Mahmoud said.
“Sorry,” Oswald said.
“If only,” Mahmoud said. “He’s coming back. And he’s got someone with him.”
“Great,” Oswald said. “Wait a minute, maybe this isn’t so bad.”
“What isn’t so bad?” Bob said, walking into the office again, accompanied by a gangly twenty-something male. “You’d better be able to explain this kid. He came into the premises half an hour ago, and claimed he needed to see you, and claimed further that he’d actually walked here so he could.”
“It’s true,” the man said. “I walked here.”
“Shut it,” Bob said. “Give me the waiver, and if the boy proves a security risk, it’s your ass.”
“He apparently cleared security already,” Oswald noted, as Bon snatched the waiver from his hand.
“Smart ass,” Bob said, and left the office again, with the door in the same condition as before. The three people left in his wake shared a solemn moment to celebrate.”
“Gerald,” Oswald said.
“That would be me,” Leopold said. “I see you’re up to speed on the voodoo aspects.”
“Unfortunately,” Oswald said. “You know me, I guess, already. This is Padma.”
“Padma Mahmoud,” Mahmoud said, extending her hand. “Proud member of this society.”
“I guess that’s what it is,” Leopold said. “Do I know you?”
“In a way,” Mahmoud said.
“You’re absolutely right,” Leopold said, the meaning dawning on him. “In a way. Then I guess you know your boss there wasn’t shitting when he said I walked here. I…walked here. It didn’t take as long as I thought it would. Where is here, exactly?”
“Generally speaking, Florida,” Oswald said. “This is a R&D facility, and I get to engage in the next step in that process. They make exciting new crafts, I take them for a spin, see if they’re hazardous or not. I feel very secure when I come to work.”
“And I’m here to help him,” Mahmoud said.
“You don’t have to be so enthusiastic about it,” Oswald said.
“You’ve got a sub today,” Leopold said, “Don’t you?”
“I’m beginning to understand,” Mahmoud said.
“You’ve said that already,” Oswald said. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”
“Depends,” Leopold said.
“On what?” Oswald said.
“On whether you want to find out what the point of our little society is,” Mahmoud said.
“Honestly,” Oswald said. “Right now? I don’t know…”
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Chapter 13
Leopold was presently attempting to avoid one of the most obvious questions of existence. How delicate was Sam, at her advanced age? Oh sure, that question applied to any life, but it took on new prominence when the subject of advanced age was breeched. The paradox of growing old to the same physical helplessness as when growing up from infancy proved the answer: control was an illusion. At any rate, that was the message of a film Leopold enjoyed, and he decided the same applied here, even if the context was different. He didn’t like to thin about it until something brought the subject up, but even then he was satisfied he wasn’t afraid of the implication. He watched Sam walk on ahead of him, and considered mortality.
You don’t have to be old to die, Sam retorted, and she sounded offended at the notion. Everything is inevitable. My bones will break, my eyes will roll, my tongue will slacken, yes my paws will dangle above me. But that would all happen even if I was ten years younger. Get over yourself, and quit lagging behind.
Deep in the woods now, so that Leopold had lost all sense of location, they trampled. This was not something he was unfamiliar with, since he had often taken Freckles for walks down ATV trails. He wondered what it must have been like, to create such trails, and he thought it should be very much like this, only now when someone traveled these paths it was in an all-terrain blur. The destination was no longer important so much as the thrill of the hyper-experience. He had never known that thrill, but knew the sensation of being lost, which was probably just the same, the frantic trampling thru brush to try and resituate himself. He’d done that, sometimes by himself and sometimes with Freckles. He had that sensation now, but he had a guide, and he assumed Sam knew her way around. Still, it wasn’t much comfort, since Leopold had no idea where they were going. The destination was a comfort, he realized, and maybe he had a form of claustrophobia.
You’re wandering around in that mind a lot, Sam observed. Tread carefully.
Leopold did not much care for that attitude. “You know--” he began.
Yes, I do, she retorted.
“So you can read minds,” Leopold said. “Pliny probably would have caught on to that already. He would have had a few choice words for you, too, and probably some for your parentage.”
Pliny isn’t your friend, Sam said, and you’ve come to that realization before. Try to keep up, in both senses.
“Wait a minute,” Leopold said. “You’re right. Who the heck is Pliny anyway? And why would I have, heck how could I have invoked him out of the blue like that?”
Give it some thought, Sam said. And remember, we have patience to fall back on. What about you?
“I don’t know anyone who ever went by that name,” Leopold said. “None of my friends, none of my relatives, ever mentioned anyone like that. There’s an historic figure or two, but I’m not really that familiar with them. I think they were Roman. Philosophers of some kind, maybe, but then again everyone but the rulers, and even some of those, seemed to be. I guess the reality stars of the day. Maybe Pliny is a clue? Maybe the name is supposed to mean something?
“Come on, help me here! You mutt! I didn’t really mean that. I guess I say things like that, and maybe I don’t really mean it, and maybe I sort of do, because it’s easy to do that sort of thing. Heck, there’s not exactly a canine civil servant, is there? There’re people out there who’ve gone the extreme the other way, PETA and Vegans and whatnot. I guess that’s how we do things, to extremes. Well, maybe not everyone. I really wish you’d help me here. You make me sound like an idiot.
“Which is what I suppose I am, I mean you did pick me to receive some spectacular message about animals, right? There’re two types of people who get those things: those who need it and those who are asking for it, and the second group is sort of like the first. Basically these things turn out to reveal us humans as the barbarians we try to convince ourselves we’re not. Which makes me…so proud…to have been chosen. I can barely contain my excitement. Really! I’m the bad guy here, give me my comeuppance!
“Okay, now I’m just making a farce out of this, I’m rambling, and I’m not thinking about what I’m supposed to be thinking about, am I? Give us the power to think, and we stray, is that the message? But then again, I seem to have stumbled on the fact that humans are not alone in the thought department, which throws a whole volume of, uh, human thought away. Animals act of instinct! They, y’know, don’t have a soul!
“I’m still digressing. Well, you’re still not helping! Why did I conjure this Pliny guy? Why? Why? Why do bananas fly? Why do bananas fly in the clear blue sky? This is being so helpful…
“Help me out.
“Help me out. Please help me out. Give me a clue. Something that would push me in the right direction. Give me a starting point. Give me a swig of water, I’m dying of thirst.”
I promise you you won’t, Sam said.
“Okay, sure,” Leopold said, and the trampling through the woods was not helping his frustration. “You’ll respond to that. Very helpful, very encouraging. Thank you very much. I’m sure glad we know there’s an astronaut who shares my…affliction. Yah, I said it. It’s an affliction. I could just die of thirst, even though you’ve said otherwise. Putting aside the fact that I can hear the thoughts of assorted dogs and cats, what’s to say they all aren’t lying to me, misleading me, leading me into a trap? Who says this…gift isn’t one of those curses? That’s a popular story device for a reason. And it’s not just paranoia.
“I’m doomed. What a lovely thought. I could die, of thirst, right now, happy. I’ve deciphered the reason, my fate. I’ve answered one of the most important questions of existence. I suppose I should be happy about that, too. Not everyone realizes this. Oh sure, that’s sometimes a good thing, not knowing how you’re going to die. It makes things relatively painless. I get to enjoy my pain. I guess some people get off on that. Maybe I could. Yah, I guess I could.
“Lead on, o Death. Lead me to my doom.”
Knock it off, Sam said. Cool your britches and start talking sense again.
“It’s hard to do that,” Leopold said, “when you’ve lost control.”
Convince yourself that you’re a chicken, Sam said. That would be more entertaining. Go ahead. She stopped momentarily, to emphasize her sarcasm.
“Okay, I get it,” Leopold said.
You’d better have, she said. Her tail never wagged.
“With great power comes great opportunity to be an ass,” Leopold said. “I guess I should apologize for the correlation with the donkey.”
Only words, Sam said.
“Okay,” Leopold said. “Thank god you have patience.”
Oh, we developed that on our own, Sam said.
“These answers I’m going to find,” Leopold said, before correcting himself, “These answers that are finding me, I guess, I’m glad about them. I really am. Okay, now I’m just sounding selfish.
You’re sounding like someone who doesn’t know what to expect, Sam said. You sound perfectly normal. Get on with your puzzling.
“Sure,” Leopold said. “Fine, I can do that. I won’t try to get answers from you, get any clues. I can do this. Pliny has to be someone, a real person. I already ruled out people I know, but maybe I shouldn’t have. I sort of know the astronaut, but I don’t, really, this Oswald I used to think of in such different terms. Pliny. Pliny was his companion. His friend. Pliny was Oswald’s friend. They spent nine months or whatever in the space station together. Damnit, I can’t even claim this victory for myself. You helped me, even if you didn’t really.”
Cheer up already, Sam urged. And quit moping.
“You try that,” Leopold said. “It’s not as if you’re the most cheerful thing in these woods. Don’t believe me listen to the bird chatter.”
I do, thank you, Sam said.
“That’s it? You’re just going to leave it at that,” Leopold said.
Yes, Sam said.
“Well, thank you very much,” Leopold said. “I’ve bent pretty far these past twenty minutes or so, and all I get back is a grudging dismissal from you. That’s rude, no matter what species you are.”
Get over yourself, Sam said.
“I’d love to, but that’s what humans do,” Leopold said. “Our defining aspect is our ego, and we’re damn proud of it, even if some of us try to create scenarios where there is no self. Imagine that. How can you experience something without being there?
“Wait a minute. This isn’t a religious experience, is it? Am I going to meet my maker?”
You aren’t going to die, you aren’t going to have a mystical experience, Sam insisted.
“Okay, then,” Leopold said. “I guess I’ll just have to keep an open mind.”
Try to keep that in your mind for a few minutes, she said.
Leopold was by nature impatient. After a few minutes of silence, which he was sure Sam enjoyed, he said, “Are we there yet?” He tried to understand what he was supposed to understand, but his impatience got the best of him, and as soon as he realized that, he realized he was continuing to miss the point. He couldn’t concentrate long enough to work with whatever this journey was headed toward, but he did realize that by realizing this, he was making enough progress. That must be why he had been chosen, what Boo had tried to explain to him. He had enough patience within his impatience. Armed with the thought that he must have a psychic bond with the astronaut Oswald, he became aware that there was another presence rattling around up there as well, and that he had already invoked it, just as he had invoked the astronaut. Sam might be insisting that this was not a mystical journey, but in his experience there were already elements of it there, and there was plenty of reflection being done in his experience.
Leopold would have enjoyed a little less inevitability.
You don’t have to be old to die, Sam retorted, and she sounded offended at the notion. Everything is inevitable. My bones will break, my eyes will roll, my tongue will slacken, yes my paws will dangle above me. But that would all happen even if I was ten years younger. Get over yourself, and quit lagging behind.
Deep in the woods now, so that Leopold had lost all sense of location, they trampled. This was not something he was unfamiliar with, since he had often taken Freckles for walks down ATV trails. He wondered what it must have been like, to create such trails, and he thought it should be very much like this, only now when someone traveled these paths it was in an all-terrain blur. The destination was no longer important so much as the thrill of the hyper-experience. He had never known that thrill, but knew the sensation of being lost, which was probably just the same, the frantic trampling thru brush to try and resituate himself. He’d done that, sometimes by himself and sometimes with Freckles. He had that sensation now, but he had a guide, and he assumed Sam knew her way around. Still, it wasn’t much comfort, since Leopold had no idea where they were going. The destination was a comfort, he realized, and maybe he had a form of claustrophobia.
You’re wandering around in that mind a lot, Sam observed. Tread carefully.
Leopold did not much care for that attitude. “You know--” he began.
Yes, I do, she retorted.
“So you can read minds,” Leopold said. “Pliny probably would have caught on to that already. He would have had a few choice words for you, too, and probably some for your parentage.”
Pliny isn’t your friend, Sam said, and you’ve come to that realization before. Try to keep up, in both senses.
“Wait a minute,” Leopold said. “You’re right. Who the heck is Pliny anyway? And why would I have, heck how could I have invoked him out of the blue like that?”
Give it some thought, Sam said. And remember, we have patience to fall back on. What about you?
“I don’t know anyone who ever went by that name,” Leopold said. “None of my friends, none of my relatives, ever mentioned anyone like that. There’s an historic figure or two, but I’m not really that familiar with them. I think they were Roman. Philosophers of some kind, maybe, but then again everyone but the rulers, and even some of those, seemed to be. I guess the reality stars of the day. Maybe Pliny is a clue? Maybe the name is supposed to mean something?
“Come on, help me here! You mutt! I didn’t really mean that. I guess I say things like that, and maybe I don’t really mean it, and maybe I sort of do, because it’s easy to do that sort of thing. Heck, there’s not exactly a canine civil servant, is there? There’re people out there who’ve gone the extreme the other way, PETA and Vegans and whatnot. I guess that’s how we do things, to extremes. Well, maybe not everyone. I really wish you’d help me here. You make me sound like an idiot.
“Which is what I suppose I am, I mean you did pick me to receive some spectacular message about animals, right? There’re two types of people who get those things: those who need it and those who are asking for it, and the second group is sort of like the first. Basically these things turn out to reveal us humans as the barbarians we try to convince ourselves we’re not. Which makes me…so proud…to have been chosen. I can barely contain my excitement. Really! I’m the bad guy here, give me my comeuppance!
“Okay, now I’m just making a farce out of this, I’m rambling, and I’m not thinking about what I’m supposed to be thinking about, am I? Give us the power to think, and we stray, is that the message? But then again, I seem to have stumbled on the fact that humans are not alone in the thought department, which throws a whole volume of, uh, human thought away. Animals act of instinct! They, y’know, don’t have a soul!
“I’m still digressing. Well, you’re still not helping! Why did I conjure this Pliny guy? Why? Why? Why do bananas fly? Why do bananas fly in the clear blue sky? This is being so helpful…
“Help me out.
“Help me out. Please help me out. Give me a clue. Something that would push me in the right direction. Give me a starting point. Give me a swig of water, I’m dying of thirst.”
I promise you you won’t, Sam said.
“Okay, sure,” Leopold said, and the trampling through the woods was not helping his frustration. “You’ll respond to that. Very helpful, very encouraging. Thank you very much. I’m sure glad we know there’s an astronaut who shares my…affliction. Yah, I said it. It’s an affliction. I could just die of thirst, even though you’ve said otherwise. Putting aside the fact that I can hear the thoughts of assorted dogs and cats, what’s to say they all aren’t lying to me, misleading me, leading me into a trap? Who says this…gift isn’t one of those curses? That’s a popular story device for a reason. And it’s not just paranoia.
“I’m doomed. What a lovely thought. I could die, of thirst, right now, happy. I’ve deciphered the reason, my fate. I’ve answered one of the most important questions of existence. I suppose I should be happy about that, too. Not everyone realizes this. Oh sure, that’s sometimes a good thing, not knowing how you’re going to die. It makes things relatively painless. I get to enjoy my pain. I guess some people get off on that. Maybe I could. Yah, I guess I could.
“Lead on, o Death. Lead me to my doom.”
Knock it off, Sam said. Cool your britches and start talking sense again.
“It’s hard to do that,” Leopold said, “when you’ve lost control.”
Convince yourself that you’re a chicken, Sam said. That would be more entertaining. Go ahead. She stopped momentarily, to emphasize her sarcasm.
“Okay, I get it,” Leopold said.
You’d better have, she said. Her tail never wagged.
“With great power comes great opportunity to be an ass,” Leopold said. “I guess I should apologize for the correlation with the donkey.”
Only words, Sam said.
“Okay,” Leopold said. “Thank god you have patience.”
Oh, we developed that on our own, Sam said.
“These answers I’m going to find,” Leopold said, before correcting himself, “These answers that are finding me, I guess, I’m glad about them. I really am. Okay, now I’m just sounding selfish.
You’re sounding like someone who doesn’t know what to expect, Sam said. You sound perfectly normal. Get on with your puzzling.
“Sure,” Leopold said. “Fine, I can do that. I won’t try to get answers from you, get any clues. I can do this. Pliny has to be someone, a real person. I already ruled out people I know, but maybe I shouldn’t have. I sort of know the astronaut, but I don’t, really, this Oswald I used to think of in such different terms. Pliny. Pliny was his companion. His friend. Pliny was Oswald’s friend. They spent nine months or whatever in the space station together. Damnit, I can’t even claim this victory for myself. You helped me, even if you didn’t really.”
Cheer up already, Sam urged. And quit moping.
“You try that,” Leopold said. “It’s not as if you’re the most cheerful thing in these woods. Don’t believe me listen to the bird chatter.”
I do, thank you, Sam said.
“That’s it? You’re just going to leave it at that,” Leopold said.
Yes, Sam said.
“Well, thank you very much,” Leopold said. “I’ve bent pretty far these past twenty minutes or so, and all I get back is a grudging dismissal from you. That’s rude, no matter what species you are.”
Get over yourself, Sam said.
“I’d love to, but that’s what humans do,” Leopold said. “Our defining aspect is our ego, and we’re damn proud of it, even if some of us try to create scenarios where there is no self. Imagine that. How can you experience something without being there?
“Wait a minute. This isn’t a religious experience, is it? Am I going to meet my maker?”
You aren’t going to die, you aren’t going to have a mystical experience, Sam insisted.
“Okay, then,” Leopold said. “I guess I’ll just have to keep an open mind.”
Try to keep that in your mind for a few minutes, she said.
Leopold was by nature impatient. After a few minutes of silence, which he was sure Sam enjoyed, he said, “Are we there yet?” He tried to understand what he was supposed to understand, but his impatience got the best of him, and as soon as he realized that, he realized he was continuing to miss the point. He couldn’t concentrate long enough to work with whatever this journey was headed toward, but he did realize that by realizing this, he was making enough progress. That must be why he had been chosen, what Boo had tried to explain to him. He had enough patience within his impatience. Armed with the thought that he must have a psychic bond with the astronaut Oswald, he became aware that there was another presence rattling around up there as well, and that he had already invoked it, just as he had invoked the astronaut. Sam might be insisting that this was not a mystical journey, but in his experience there were already elements of it there, and there was plenty of reflection being done in his experience.
Leopold would have enjoyed a little less inevitability.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Chapter 12
The ants advanced, fearless of the consequences. Oswald knew he could just as well stamp on them as worry about them, yet it was their reckless attitude that was arresting him, freezing him. They were still coming at him. What were they saying? This was the one thing he didn’t know. He could hear them, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying, or for however he knew this, what they were thinking. They were acting aggressively, and without provocation, and they weren’t red. This shouldn’t be, he thought frantically, and he continued thinking it as they reached his position by the office window. Why would they come from the door? Was the facility likewise overrun?
Another unspoken question lingered at the tip of his mind as Oswald found himself engulfed in the insects, and he lost the courage for anything else but frozen panic. His eyes searched frantically for something that might rescue him. Perhaps something that would be more enticing lay about. There had to be. Ants weren’t carnivores. Then again, humans couldn’t hear ants, either, and yet here Oswald was, detecting the mounting murmur of these creatures, as if they were building up to something.
The door slammed open before that could develop. A woman, of Arabic descent, burst in, and clapped her hands twice, sending the ants scurrying off and away, leaving the woman with a satisfied smile on her face and Oswald would total astonishment on his. He still did not know what to do. He didn’t know this woman, and he was frightened by how well she’d taken the presence of the ants. Perhaps there were superheroes on earth now, and no one bothered to inform extra-terrestrials of this?
“Relax,” the woman said, “and no, I can’t read your mind.”
Oswald did not relax. “You’re scaring me,” he noted.
“No, I’m Padma Mahmoud,” she said, offering her hand, “your new assistant. Don’t call me Moody.”
“New assistant?” he tried to understand.
“Bob thought you might need one,” Mahmoud said, “after you experience.”
“Oh did he now,” Oswald said, coming to a decision on what he thought of the situation, and he was liking it less and less now.
“Not that one,” Mahmoud said. “Shake my hand, please. I want to be courteous.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to stop frightening me first,” Oswald said. “What do you mean, ‘not that one’?”
“You know what I mean,” Mahmoud insisted.”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” Oswald said. “Let’s say for argument’s sake I don’t. What are you thinking of?”
“It embarrasses you,” Mahmoud said, still stubbornly holding out her hand. “You haven’t really thought about it in that way yet, but it’s how you really feel. You have something few others have. An alternative awareness.”
“Get out of my mind, lady,” Oswald insisted.
“I’m not in it,” Mahmoud said. “It’s in your eyes, and it’s also why the ants were on you. They were trying to talk some sense into you. They’re tiny. It wouldn’t have worked any other way.”
“They wanted to…talk,” Oswald said. “Please close the door.”
Mahmoud complied, with the none proffered hand and without turning around. “See. It embarrasses you.”
“No, I just have this hang-up of not wanting to appear insane,” Oswald said.
“That hasn’t really been working,” Mahmoud probed, “has it?”
“You said--” Oswald began.
“That I wasn’t assigned to you because of that,” Mahmoud continued for him. “I haven’t lied to you. But it is in your file, and I sometimes help myself to things I think are pertinent to me. I was proven correct, just not in the sense I had originally conceived.”
“You’re still frightening me,” Oswald said.
“Bob wanted me added to your assignment because he’d like a level head,” Mahmoud said, “and the only way to ensure a level head, which this project demands, is had from a man just come back from space is to oversee his work. Believe it or not, Bob does have a sympathetic bone in his body. He wouldn’t throw you back in headfirst and expect you to not land on your head. He also has logistical concerns, as you must understand.”
“Quit making Bob sound so rational,” Oswald said,” finally placing his hand into Mahmoud’s, to find she had a firmer grip. “Pleased to meet you, I guess. Now, tell me how you know anything about my…embarrassment.”
“Intuition,” Mahmoud said, “aided by the fact that we share a common…peculiarity. When I was still in my mother’s womb, she took a little tumble as she attempted to continue her regular chores around the house. Out of the many irregularities that might have resulted for me, I ended up with the ability to employ some of the uncharted regions of the brain. I found I was attuned to animals. One day, as we were taking a ride on a camel, and the rest of that day I don’t like to talk about, I became aware of the fact that the camel wasn’t content with the amount of water he was holding. I tried to give him some of our rations, which did not go over very well with my family, and from then on I realized my full potential. Realize might be a misleading term in this instance.”
“And from then on you were known as Camel Mahmoud,” Oswald joked.
“Not funny,” Mahmoud playfully protested. “In a way, I assume the conversation those ants tried to have with you had to do with your own camel incident. You misinterpreted something you heard, or saw.”
“Well, now that you mention it,” Oswald said, “I might have been a little hasty with an interpretation or two. This is not an easy ’gift’ to get used to.”
“I’ve known plenty others who have lost their minds,” Mahmoud said. “When I saw your file, I feared that you, too, had lost yours. I am satisfied that you haven’t.”
“I’m, uh, glad I meet with your approval,” Oswald said.
“It’s not my approval you should be worried about,” Mahmoud said. “Bob might have already added me to your assignment. He might also subtract you from it. He hasn’t decided, and he’s on his way to.”
“He’s on his way here?” Oswald said. “Now? You might have mentioned that. God, what am I going to do? I’m sunk, I’m history, I’m toast.”
“You’re panicking,” Mahmoud said.
“You haven’t been here long, have you?” Oswald said. “That’s Bob’s methodology. I’ve seen a lot of talented people slip through the cracks of the company because of Bob’s whims. I’m surprised I’m still here to begin with. I should already be sacked. Maybe he’s got something up his sleeve. Or maybe he’s had it to sack me in person. I’m doomed.”
“You’re paranoid,” Mahmoud said.
“And embarrassed,” Oswald added. “We’ve already been over this. But now that you mention it, how did you end up here? Did you come here specifically to spy on me?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but yes,” Mahmoud said. “I read about your homecoming, and some ticks you had developed since returning, and thought, here’s another candidate. You must understand that my life has been reduced to two areas of interest. That they coincide here is a relief for me. I have this theory, and I need to prove it.”
“Theory, huh,” Oswald said, beginning to be numbed. “Does it sound any less crackpot than anything else?”
“As much as anything sounds absurd, no,” Mahmoud said. “It has to do with the animal kingdom, and who sits at the throne, and where. It’s not where you’d think.”
“Fascinating,” Oswald said. “What does this have to do with the project?”
“I believe I could test this theory,” Mahmoud said, sounding enthused for the first time. “Think of it, to know how our world works, to be the first ones to know it.”
“You’re losing me,” Oswald said. “Physics has already told us that. And a lot of men died getting us to that point.”
“I don’t speak in that sense,” Mahmoud said. “I speak in terms of the universal condition. I speak for those who speak, but who are not heard.”
“Cryptic,” Oswald said, and then frowned. He was beginning to understand. “Oh crap. You’ve got to promise not to talk like that again.”
“It was something that needed to be said,” Mahmoud said.
“It could have been said differently,” Oswald said.
“Still, I have made my point,” Mahmoud said. “You have no idea what a relief it is to have been able to say that and to be understood, even if the wording was not to your liking.”
“I have an idea,” Oswald said. “So the ants just wanted to talk.”
“They were agitated,” Mahmoud said. “You anthropomorphized them, and nothing agitates an animal more than that. Some are amused, others are not. It has something to do with domestication.”
“So those ant boxes some companies hawk,” Oswald said, “those don’t count?”
“I doubt that those ants are taken out and placed on the palm of a child’s hand,” Mahmoud said. “At least very often.”
“And what about zoos?” Oswald pressed.
“I try not to go,” Mahmoud said. “There is a large variety of emotion in those, even in the more liberal ones. It can be overwhelming.”
“I’ll take that off my checklist,” Oswald said. “Dolittle is going to be so pleased.”
“I’m sorry,” Mahmoud said, “I thought you said ‘do-little’?”
“Dolittle,” Oswald repeated, “it’s an Internet alias. You aren’t the first person I came across to understand my condition.”
“You will excuse me if I don’t know immediately how to take this news,” Mahmoud said.
“Don’t worry,” Oswald said. “As much as we seem to have come to a ready understanding, Dolittle and I came to the same one. A bit differently, but I’m reasonably certain that I can trust him. I mean, I can trust you, right?”
“Of course you can,” Mahmoud said. “Forgive me, once again, if I am uncertain about this Do-little. I have this feeling that we have just come across a…stumbling block.”
“Maybe you have, but I haven’t,” Oswald said. “We’re an exclusive bunch, but that doesn’t automatically mean we’re limited. There’re billions of people out there. If three of us happen to share this, then so be it.”
“Three who happen to have stumbled upon each other,” Mahmoud said.
“You’re only making this sound worse,” Oswald said. “Haven’t you been trying to do the reverse since you came into this office?”
“I suppose I have,” Mahmoud said, “but that was before I--”
“Realized you weren’t the sole authority on this,” Oswald suggested. “It’s scary. Maybe you haven’t thought of it that way in a while.”
“No, I haven’t,” Mahmoud said. “I think I would have preferred it to stay that way.”
“Then you probably would not have experienced the full reward of it,” Oswald said. “Heck, this should be scary. I’d be worried if it wasn’t.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Mahmoud said. “What else can you tell me about this Do-little?”
“Maybe more than I’d like,” Oswald said. “Maybe less.”
Another unspoken question lingered at the tip of his mind as Oswald found himself engulfed in the insects, and he lost the courage for anything else but frozen panic. His eyes searched frantically for something that might rescue him. Perhaps something that would be more enticing lay about. There had to be. Ants weren’t carnivores. Then again, humans couldn’t hear ants, either, and yet here Oswald was, detecting the mounting murmur of these creatures, as if they were building up to something.
The door slammed open before that could develop. A woman, of Arabic descent, burst in, and clapped her hands twice, sending the ants scurrying off and away, leaving the woman with a satisfied smile on her face and Oswald would total astonishment on his. He still did not know what to do. He didn’t know this woman, and he was frightened by how well she’d taken the presence of the ants. Perhaps there were superheroes on earth now, and no one bothered to inform extra-terrestrials of this?
“Relax,” the woman said, “and no, I can’t read your mind.”
Oswald did not relax. “You’re scaring me,” he noted.
“No, I’m Padma Mahmoud,” she said, offering her hand, “your new assistant. Don’t call me Moody.”
“New assistant?” he tried to understand.
“Bob thought you might need one,” Mahmoud said, “after you experience.”
“Oh did he now,” Oswald said, coming to a decision on what he thought of the situation, and he was liking it less and less now.
“Not that one,” Mahmoud said. “Shake my hand, please. I want to be courteous.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to stop frightening me first,” Oswald said. “What do you mean, ‘not that one’?”
“You know what I mean,” Mahmoud insisted.”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” Oswald said. “Let’s say for argument’s sake I don’t. What are you thinking of?”
“It embarrasses you,” Mahmoud said, still stubbornly holding out her hand. “You haven’t really thought about it in that way yet, but it’s how you really feel. You have something few others have. An alternative awareness.”
“Get out of my mind, lady,” Oswald insisted.
“I’m not in it,” Mahmoud said. “It’s in your eyes, and it’s also why the ants were on you. They were trying to talk some sense into you. They’re tiny. It wouldn’t have worked any other way.”
“They wanted to…talk,” Oswald said. “Please close the door.”
Mahmoud complied, with the none proffered hand and without turning around. “See. It embarrasses you.”
“No, I just have this hang-up of not wanting to appear insane,” Oswald said.
“That hasn’t really been working,” Mahmoud probed, “has it?”
“You said--” Oswald began.
“That I wasn’t assigned to you because of that,” Mahmoud continued for him. “I haven’t lied to you. But it is in your file, and I sometimes help myself to things I think are pertinent to me. I was proven correct, just not in the sense I had originally conceived.”
“You’re still frightening me,” Oswald said.
“Bob wanted me added to your assignment because he’d like a level head,” Mahmoud said, “and the only way to ensure a level head, which this project demands, is had from a man just come back from space is to oversee his work. Believe it or not, Bob does have a sympathetic bone in his body. He wouldn’t throw you back in headfirst and expect you to not land on your head. He also has logistical concerns, as you must understand.”
“Quit making Bob sound so rational,” Oswald said,” finally placing his hand into Mahmoud’s, to find she had a firmer grip. “Pleased to meet you, I guess. Now, tell me how you know anything about my…embarrassment.”
“Intuition,” Mahmoud said, “aided by the fact that we share a common…peculiarity. When I was still in my mother’s womb, she took a little tumble as she attempted to continue her regular chores around the house. Out of the many irregularities that might have resulted for me, I ended up with the ability to employ some of the uncharted regions of the brain. I found I was attuned to animals. One day, as we were taking a ride on a camel, and the rest of that day I don’t like to talk about, I became aware of the fact that the camel wasn’t content with the amount of water he was holding. I tried to give him some of our rations, which did not go over very well with my family, and from then on I realized my full potential. Realize might be a misleading term in this instance.”
“And from then on you were known as Camel Mahmoud,” Oswald joked.
“Not funny,” Mahmoud playfully protested. “In a way, I assume the conversation those ants tried to have with you had to do with your own camel incident. You misinterpreted something you heard, or saw.”
“Well, now that you mention it,” Oswald said, “I might have been a little hasty with an interpretation or two. This is not an easy ’gift’ to get used to.”
“I’ve known plenty others who have lost their minds,” Mahmoud said. “When I saw your file, I feared that you, too, had lost yours. I am satisfied that you haven’t.”
“I’m, uh, glad I meet with your approval,” Oswald said.
“It’s not my approval you should be worried about,” Mahmoud said. “Bob might have already added me to your assignment. He might also subtract you from it. He hasn’t decided, and he’s on his way to.”
“He’s on his way here?” Oswald said. “Now? You might have mentioned that. God, what am I going to do? I’m sunk, I’m history, I’m toast.”
“You’re panicking,” Mahmoud said.
“You haven’t been here long, have you?” Oswald said. “That’s Bob’s methodology. I’ve seen a lot of talented people slip through the cracks of the company because of Bob’s whims. I’m surprised I’m still here to begin with. I should already be sacked. Maybe he’s got something up his sleeve. Or maybe he’s had it to sack me in person. I’m doomed.”
“You’re paranoid,” Mahmoud said.
“And embarrassed,” Oswald added. “We’ve already been over this. But now that you mention it, how did you end up here? Did you come here specifically to spy on me?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but yes,” Mahmoud said. “I read about your homecoming, and some ticks you had developed since returning, and thought, here’s another candidate. You must understand that my life has been reduced to two areas of interest. That they coincide here is a relief for me. I have this theory, and I need to prove it.”
“Theory, huh,” Oswald said, beginning to be numbed. “Does it sound any less crackpot than anything else?”
“As much as anything sounds absurd, no,” Mahmoud said. “It has to do with the animal kingdom, and who sits at the throne, and where. It’s not where you’d think.”
“Fascinating,” Oswald said. “What does this have to do with the project?”
“I believe I could test this theory,” Mahmoud said, sounding enthused for the first time. “Think of it, to know how our world works, to be the first ones to know it.”
“You’re losing me,” Oswald said. “Physics has already told us that. And a lot of men died getting us to that point.”
“I don’t speak in that sense,” Mahmoud said. “I speak in terms of the universal condition. I speak for those who speak, but who are not heard.”
“Cryptic,” Oswald said, and then frowned. He was beginning to understand. “Oh crap. You’ve got to promise not to talk like that again.”
“It was something that needed to be said,” Mahmoud said.
“It could have been said differently,” Oswald said.
“Still, I have made my point,” Mahmoud said. “You have no idea what a relief it is to have been able to say that and to be understood, even if the wording was not to your liking.”
“I have an idea,” Oswald said. “So the ants just wanted to talk.”
“They were agitated,” Mahmoud said. “You anthropomorphized them, and nothing agitates an animal more than that. Some are amused, others are not. It has something to do with domestication.”
“So those ant boxes some companies hawk,” Oswald said, “those don’t count?”
“I doubt that those ants are taken out and placed on the palm of a child’s hand,” Mahmoud said. “At least very often.”
“And what about zoos?” Oswald pressed.
“I try not to go,” Mahmoud said. “There is a large variety of emotion in those, even in the more liberal ones. It can be overwhelming.”
“I’ll take that off my checklist,” Oswald said. “Dolittle is going to be so pleased.”
“I’m sorry,” Mahmoud said, “I thought you said ‘do-little’?”
“Dolittle,” Oswald repeated, “it’s an Internet alias. You aren’t the first person I came across to understand my condition.”
“You will excuse me if I don’t know immediately how to take this news,” Mahmoud said.
“Don’t worry,” Oswald said. “As much as we seem to have come to a ready understanding, Dolittle and I came to the same one. A bit differently, but I’m reasonably certain that I can trust him. I mean, I can trust you, right?”
“Of course you can,” Mahmoud said. “Forgive me, once again, if I am uncertain about this Do-little. I have this feeling that we have just come across a…stumbling block.”
“Maybe you have, but I haven’t,” Oswald said. “We’re an exclusive bunch, but that doesn’t automatically mean we’re limited. There’re billions of people out there. If three of us happen to share this, then so be it.”
“Three who happen to have stumbled upon each other,” Mahmoud said.
“You’re only making this sound worse,” Oswald said. “Haven’t you been trying to do the reverse since you came into this office?”
“I suppose I have,” Mahmoud said, “but that was before I--”
“Realized you weren’t the sole authority on this,” Oswald suggested. “It’s scary. Maybe you haven’t thought of it that way in a while.”
“No, I haven’t,” Mahmoud said. “I think I would have preferred it to stay that way.”
“Then you probably would not have experienced the full reward of it,” Oswald said. “Heck, this should be scary. I’d be worried if it wasn’t.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Mahmoud said. “What else can you tell me about this Do-little?”
“Maybe more than I’d like,” Oswald said. “Maybe less.”
Friday, March 11, 2005
Chapter 11
“Going to work today, honey?” Pamela casually inquired as she poured herself a cup of joe. She might have suspected it by the way Oswald was furiously fighting his necktie, which was something he wore only when he was nervous. “Save yourself the trouble. About the tie. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Says you,” Oswald noted, a finger caught where it shouldn’t have been. “I appreciate the sentiment, but now’s really not the time. I’ve got to do this, and I will do it. Tie this thing, I mean.”
“I’m sure you will,” Pamela said. “I know about your call from Connecticut. Who do you know there?”
“Call? What call?” Oswald said, sincerely confused, and the tie wasn’t helping.
“The one you received yesterday,” Pamela said. “I overheard some of it. I didn’t understand what you were talking about.”
“So you did some investigating,” Oswald said, still distracted. “Something of a Pliny, isn’t it? You doing that, I mean.”
“As far as I could tell, it was a residential number,” Pamela continued. “There has to be someone you know there, or someone you’ve previously contacted?”
“No, no,” Oswald said, the tie still winning. “The caller initiated, everything. I don’t know who he is, never seen him before.”
“But you must know why,” Pamela pressed on. “Why he called. At least it wasn’t a she.”
“I hope you don’t seriously, or haven’t seriously considered that,” Oswald said. “That I would be having an affair.”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” Pamela said. “It would be a natural conclusion.”
“And this is an unnatural beast,” Oswald said, and as soon as he did he seemed to know how to handle it. “There. Uh, that’s better.”
“Good,” Pamela said, presuming she had struck a cord. “This wasn’t a pimp, was he?”
“A pimp!” Oswald chortled. “God no, the guy from Connecticut was not a pimp. This was not a hotline. As far as I know, you make those call yourself. Not that I have any firsthand experience.”
“Pliny might say otherwise,” Pamela said. “Your reputation, Flyboy, that might, too.”
“My reputation,” Oswald snorted back again. “You haven’t talked to Pliny about this, have you?”
“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?” Pamela said. Her hand was hovering over her cup, where it sat on the counter. She might have been entertaining a nasty destination for the coffee therein.
“No, no,” Oswald insisted, popping some pieces of bread down the toaster, now that he thought of it. “But I’d rather not have him involved in this. Again.”
“I have a right to be concerned,” Pamela said, “to involve Pliny if I find it necessary.”
“It’s not,” Oswald insisted. “You found out how useful he was the last time.”
“Yes, I did,” Pamela said.
“Please,” Oswald said. “You’re not still entertaining some of his more idiotic malaprops, are you? The guy knows exactly the wrong thing to say, for almost every situation. I love him, but he‘s a dope when it comes to anything but engineering. Even you wouldn‘t have enjoyed Volkov’s company.”
“What does the Russian have to do with it?” Pamela said, picking her cup up and taking a sip.
“Nothing, except the point of irritation,” Oswald said. “Why does nobody understand that plain and simple stress might account for my behavior, my reactions since the assignment, or during it?”
“Pliny said you were fine up there,” Pamela said.
“Pliny says a lot of stupid things,” Oswald said. “We’ve already been over that.”
“You have,” Pamela said. “Doesn’t mean it’s the last word on the subject.”
“You really don’t trust me?” Oswald said, as his toast popped up. He hated to turn away just then, but he had to. Only one thing was worse than a potential argument, and that was lukewarm toast. The butter was pretty much useless at that point. He didn’t need his new sense to know Pamela did not share the sentiment, but it was a significant priority for him.
“I’d love to,” Pamela said. “As long as you started playing straight with me. I deserve that, don’t I?”
“It’s not about you,” Oswald said, buttering his toast. “I have some things to work out. Dr. Rolland agrees as much, and if you won’t take my word for it, please trust the person you and the Agency sent me to so I could explore my neuroses. They’re quite amusing, actually. I could probably make some money from them.”
“Like the comic strip idea?” Pamela said, and purposefully took another sip to smother any other reaction.
“That was not a bad idea,” Oswald retorted. “I just grew uninterested in it.”
“And as interesting as this conversation is, it can’t go on indefinitely,” Pamela said, transferring the rest of her coffee into a traveling mug. “We can talk more later.”
“Yes, Dr. Rolland,” Oswald joked, and cleared his mouth of crumbs when his wife advanced to kiss. “I’m fine, really.”
“I’m sure you are,” Pamela said, and pointedly stared at the ring her cup had left behind on the counter. “There’re two ways for that to go. We’ll see which one.”
The old Oswald would have cleaned it up immediately. The new Oswald had once already trashed the entire kitchen with the intension to clean everything, like he needed a reason. After that, the room had become considerably less pristine, and it was Oswald’s project to observe the ways in which it changed. Warren, for instance, came down for breakfast, pulling a plate out of the cabinet and placing it squarely on top of the coffee ring, thus smudging it onto both surfaces. “Pop tarts,” he announced, and Daddy obliged, while also hollering for Hattie to come join her brother. When the pastries rose from the toaster, Oswald placed them on Warren’s plate, and watched as it was carried to the table, where a part of the ring would be transferred to a new location. Pamela must have been expecting for this sort of thing to be a proving point for Oswald, to see how long he could last before breaking and cleaning things again. Or she might be assuming that he was intending to try and break her, to make her do the cleaning instead of him for a change. The result was that the kitchen was not cleaned and Oswald’s experiment could continue.
The coffee ring, such as it now was, would soon dry out, leaving a sticky smudge behind, and Oswald was impressed with the natural artistry of it. He also enjoyed the Pollackian spackles of sauce on the stove, and the coffee grinds littering the counter. Soon the ants would be back, and Oswald treasured that the most. There were other rings, like these left behind by glasses that had been filled with water. The sheen, off of every surface was gone. The kitchen no longer appeared new; no, far from that. Oswald wondered if he should have been keeping a diary on the transformations, but decided that recording it would have taken away from the purity of the experience. All he wanted to do was experience it.
“Daddy could tell us a story about this,” Hattie observed, and Oswald noticed how the ants had already returned. He was careful not to indulge himself too much, especially not in front of the kids. In truth, he didn’t have to. Even a glance was enough to tell him everything he wanted to know, and he was fearful he might fall into a trance if he strayed longer. “Eat your breakfast. We’ll be going soon.”
This was the first morning in a long time he would be driving his kids to school. When Pamela absolutely could not, which was often, they had taken the bus, and Oswald knew how Hattie especially did not like to do that. How Pamela had convinced him not to drive them as soon as he’d returned, he didn’t know. The only place he had been going to was the office of Dr. Rolland, and those sessions were in the early afternoon, where he wouldn’t have an excuse to wait around for the end of the school day. He had been discouraged from doing that, the fear being whatever came up in that day’s session might pose a danger for his state of mind. Oswald considered that hogwash, an excuse. But it had only been for a few weeks, so he played along. He had gotten quite good at playing along, and if anyone had cared to notice, things would have changed. He just didn’t know if for the better or worse, but he was inclined to pick neither. These questions were not a result of any personal concerns but rather out of imagined fears. What they didn’t know was far worse.
Oswald was going to work, and waiting for him there was the next step in the shoes of his new identity. The boy from Connecticut played a role, but what that was he didn’t know, and maybe the boy didn’t either. The only thing Oswald knew for certain is that he had just scratched the surface of whatever was going on, or for whatever he was beginning to understand.
So he dropped his kids off at school and headed for what he knew to be the next leg of his destination. Bob Taliaferro was there to greet him, and neither was pleased about that, but both pretended to be. Oswald excused himself to his office, which he hadn’t seen in a very long time. “Hello,” he said, to the old friend it was. Nothing had changed, as if no one had stepped foot in it in the year he’d been away. He took a look around, to reacquaint himself, and for the first time noticed the hole in the corner, between paneling. It had been there before, he realized. He had just never noticed it before.
“Strange,” he murmured, and as he did so a succession of ants marched from it, in a single line such as he’d never seen in real life. They were coming straight at him, and what‘s more, he could hear their chatter. They sounded angry.
“Says you,” Oswald noted, a finger caught where it shouldn’t have been. “I appreciate the sentiment, but now’s really not the time. I’ve got to do this, and I will do it. Tie this thing, I mean.”
“I’m sure you will,” Pamela said. “I know about your call from Connecticut. Who do you know there?”
“Call? What call?” Oswald said, sincerely confused, and the tie wasn’t helping.
“The one you received yesterday,” Pamela said. “I overheard some of it. I didn’t understand what you were talking about.”
“So you did some investigating,” Oswald said, still distracted. “Something of a Pliny, isn’t it? You doing that, I mean.”
“As far as I could tell, it was a residential number,” Pamela continued. “There has to be someone you know there, or someone you’ve previously contacted?”
“No, no,” Oswald said, the tie still winning. “The caller initiated, everything. I don’t know who he is, never seen him before.”
“But you must know why,” Pamela pressed on. “Why he called. At least it wasn’t a she.”
“I hope you don’t seriously, or haven’t seriously considered that,” Oswald said. “That I would be having an affair.”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” Pamela said. “It would be a natural conclusion.”
“And this is an unnatural beast,” Oswald said, and as soon as he did he seemed to know how to handle it. “There. Uh, that’s better.”
“Good,” Pamela said, presuming she had struck a cord. “This wasn’t a pimp, was he?”
“A pimp!” Oswald chortled. “God no, the guy from Connecticut was not a pimp. This was not a hotline. As far as I know, you make those call yourself. Not that I have any firsthand experience.”
“Pliny might say otherwise,” Pamela said. “Your reputation, Flyboy, that might, too.”
“My reputation,” Oswald snorted back again. “You haven’t talked to Pliny about this, have you?”
“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?” Pamela said. Her hand was hovering over her cup, where it sat on the counter. She might have been entertaining a nasty destination for the coffee therein.
“No, no,” Oswald insisted, popping some pieces of bread down the toaster, now that he thought of it. “But I’d rather not have him involved in this. Again.”
“I have a right to be concerned,” Pamela said, “to involve Pliny if I find it necessary.”
“It’s not,” Oswald insisted. “You found out how useful he was the last time.”
“Yes, I did,” Pamela said.
“Please,” Oswald said. “You’re not still entertaining some of his more idiotic malaprops, are you? The guy knows exactly the wrong thing to say, for almost every situation. I love him, but he‘s a dope when it comes to anything but engineering. Even you wouldn‘t have enjoyed Volkov’s company.”
“What does the Russian have to do with it?” Pamela said, picking her cup up and taking a sip.
“Nothing, except the point of irritation,” Oswald said. “Why does nobody understand that plain and simple stress might account for my behavior, my reactions since the assignment, or during it?”
“Pliny said you were fine up there,” Pamela said.
“Pliny says a lot of stupid things,” Oswald said. “We’ve already been over that.”
“You have,” Pamela said. “Doesn’t mean it’s the last word on the subject.”
“You really don’t trust me?” Oswald said, as his toast popped up. He hated to turn away just then, but he had to. Only one thing was worse than a potential argument, and that was lukewarm toast. The butter was pretty much useless at that point. He didn’t need his new sense to know Pamela did not share the sentiment, but it was a significant priority for him.
“I’d love to,” Pamela said. “As long as you started playing straight with me. I deserve that, don’t I?”
“It’s not about you,” Oswald said, buttering his toast. “I have some things to work out. Dr. Rolland agrees as much, and if you won’t take my word for it, please trust the person you and the Agency sent me to so I could explore my neuroses. They’re quite amusing, actually. I could probably make some money from them.”
“Like the comic strip idea?” Pamela said, and purposefully took another sip to smother any other reaction.
“That was not a bad idea,” Oswald retorted. “I just grew uninterested in it.”
“And as interesting as this conversation is, it can’t go on indefinitely,” Pamela said, transferring the rest of her coffee into a traveling mug. “We can talk more later.”
“Yes, Dr. Rolland,” Oswald joked, and cleared his mouth of crumbs when his wife advanced to kiss. “I’m fine, really.”
“I’m sure you are,” Pamela said, and pointedly stared at the ring her cup had left behind on the counter. “There’re two ways for that to go. We’ll see which one.”
The old Oswald would have cleaned it up immediately. The new Oswald had once already trashed the entire kitchen with the intension to clean everything, like he needed a reason. After that, the room had become considerably less pristine, and it was Oswald’s project to observe the ways in which it changed. Warren, for instance, came down for breakfast, pulling a plate out of the cabinet and placing it squarely on top of the coffee ring, thus smudging it onto both surfaces. “Pop tarts,” he announced, and Daddy obliged, while also hollering for Hattie to come join her brother. When the pastries rose from the toaster, Oswald placed them on Warren’s plate, and watched as it was carried to the table, where a part of the ring would be transferred to a new location. Pamela must have been expecting for this sort of thing to be a proving point for Oswald, to see how long he could last before breaking and cleaning things again. Or she might be assuming that he was intending to try and break her, to make her do the cleaning instead of him for a change. The result was that the kitchen was not cleaned and Oswald’s experiment could continue.
The coffee ring, such as it now was, would soon dry out, leaving a sticky smudge behind, and Oswald was impressed with the natural artistry of it. He also enjoyed the Pollackian spackles of sauce on the stove, and the coffee grinds littering the counter. Soon the ants would be back, and Oswald treasured that the most. There were other rings, like these left behind by glasses that had been filled with water. The sheen, off of every surface was gone. The kitchen no longer appeared new; no, far from that. Oswald wondered if he should have been keeping a diary on the transformations, but decided that recording it would have taken away from the purity of the experience. All he wanted to do was experience it.
“Daddy could tell us a story about this,” Hattie observed, and Oswald noticed how the ants had already returned. He was careful not to indulge himself too much, especially not in front of the kids. In truth, he didn’t have to. Even a glance was enough to tell him everything he wanted to know, and he was fearful he might fall into a trance if he strayed longer. “Eat your breakfast. We’ll be going soon.”
This was the first morning in a long time he would be driving his kids to school. When Pamela absolutely could not, which was often, they had taken the bus, and Oswald knew how Hattie especially did not like to do that. How Pamela had convinced him not to drive them as soon as he’d returned, he didn’t know. The only place he had been going to was the office of Dr. Rolland, and those sessions were in the early afternoon, where he wouldn’t have an excuse to wait around for the end of the school day. He had been discouraged from doing that, the fear being whatever came up in that day’s session might pose a danger for his state of mind. Oswald considered that hogwash, an excuse. But it had only been for a few weeks, so he played along. He had gotten quite good at playing along, and if anyone had cared to notice, things would have changed. He just didn’t know if for the better or worse, but he was inclined to pick neither. These questions were not a result of any personal concerns but rather out of imagined fears. What they didn’t know was far worse.
Oswald was going to work, and waiting for him there was the next step in the shoes of his new identity. The boy from Connecticut played a role, but what that was he didn’t know, and maybe the boy didn’t either. The only thing Oswald knew for certain is that he had just scratched the surface of whatever was going on, or for whatever he was beginning to understand.
So he dropped his kids off at school and headed for what he knew to be the next leg of his destination. Bob Taliaferro was there to greet him, and neither was pleased about that, but both pretended to be. Oswald excused himself to his office, which he hadn’t seen in a very long time. “Hello,” he said, to the old friend it was. Nothing had changed, as if no one had stepped foot in it in the year he’d been away. He took a look around, to reacquaint himself, and for the first time noticed the hole in the corner, between paneling. It had been there before, he realized. He had just never noticed it before.
“Strange,” he murmured, and as he did so a succession of ants marched from it, in a single line such as he’d never seen in real life. They were coming straight at him, and what‘s more, he could hear their chatter. They sounded angry.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
Chapter 10
When she did join him, Boo curled up in Leopold’s lap, and said nothing, just as if her role really was concluded. He waited, she slept, and a knock on the patio glass alerted him when the time was up. Reynard sat there, calmly. Leopold gently slid Boo to the couch, where she gazed up at him and leapt down, venturing off to another haunt, while Leopold went to see what the fox had in store for him. He wondered if he should make an introduction. “Hi, I...”
Gerald Leopold, I know, said the fox. We run a tight operation, no fooling, okay a lot of fooling around, but we get the essentials taken care of, and that’s what’s really important. So let’s get going already.
“Where are we going?” Leopold asked, wondering if he should use the patio, or the door at the bottom of the stairs, in the hallway outside of the apartment.
Oh, I’m not going far, Reynard said, and you might as well use the door. It’ll give you greater peace of mind.
“So I take it you’re not going to be with me long,” Leopold said.
The cat already told you that, Reynard said. And please, get a move on it. You feel like chatting, we can do that when you’re outside.
“Fine,” Leopold muttered, crossing over to the closet, before remembering he might want his cell phone, which was on the kitchen table, where the new plant was being pruned by Boo. “Shoo,” he indicated, with a word and a hand, and Reynard looked impatient, which sent Leopold walking a little faster this time to the closet, where he retrieved his jacket, and then he put on his shoes, and then he was out the door. Once he was outside, he noticed Reynard a little off from the patio, clearly not interested in meeting up with him, but rather the other way around, which Leopold obliged. “This won’t be long, will it?”
Consider the next few days worth of your experiences to work like how you calculate ‘dog years,’ Reynard said. They’ll be in collapsed time. You won’t return home to any questions about where you’ve been, since you’ll be back before your sister comes home from work today. Don’t ask me to explain it exactly. Something to do the difference between animal and human experience. You just don’t notice, so it doesn’t matter. By the way, I hope you like walking. We don’t do automatic transportation. We have other tricks.
“I’m fine with walking,” Leopold said, though he was concerned for his shoes, and the bottoms of his pant-legs, which always seemed to suffer the brunt of his foot travels.
You should try paw pads, Reynard suggested. They always wear well.
“You can even hear my thoughts,” Leopold said.
Sure, you hear ours, Reynard said. It only seems natural that we’d hear yours.
“But you understand what I say when I talk, too,” Leopold said. “How do you cross the communication barrier?”
Something like, we just do, Reynard said. Anyway, that’s more a question for the one you’re going to see.
“Please don’t tell me he’s a wizard,” Leopold said, “or a professor confused for one, with smoke and mirrors and all that.”
No wizards, Reynard said. No professors, no smoke, not where we’re going, no mirrors. It’s a little more concrete than that. A little more realistic, a little less fantastic. At least it’ll have to seem that way, since you’ve already cleared the first hurdle. Do you find me fantastic?
“Yeah,” Leopold said, impishly. “Sure I do! You’re fantastic, Reynard. Seriously, though, I think I’ve reached the point where this isn’t so bizarre anymore. You’re the third animal I’ve heard now, and the second I’ve spoken with. I understood ants. Either all of this makes sense or none of it does. There’s too much for none of it to, so all of it does, and so here I am, talking with a fox, and letting him guide me. To where exactly?”
To whom, Reynard said. I’m getting tired of reminding you about that. You don’t seem to catch on very quickly, which I suppose was the selling point for Boo. She’s a little devil, that one. Did she tell you about the German Shepherd?
“Sure she did,” Leopold said. They were walking through woods, through fields, through pretty much anything that did not bare an immediate mark of civilization, and there was plenty for Leopold’s shoes and pants to worry about. As it was winter, much of that meant he was getting wet, which he managed by trudging through varying amounts of deposit. Reynard never slowed down, even when he sank in several inches with each step. In fact, sometimes, he never broke the surface, even though he was of a considerable size. As with every such scenario, Leopold struggled to keep up, no sympathy lost on him by his guide. “She said that he led a boy down a path he wasn’t ready for. Like a trap.”
Something like that, Reynard said. Don’t worry, though. You’ve proven your worth, as she suggested. The only surprises you’ve got ahead of you are of entirely practical matters, how you arrive at your answers, and what those answers are.
“But I never asked any questions,” Leopold said.
Answers are not meant to have questions, Reynard said, just as you do not go in search of something you are looking for. You only think you are. You find something by accident, not by design. If you look for something, you find exactly what you expected, not what you didn’t expect, which would seem to be the point of the search. How could you expect the unexpected? Therefore, how can you find something by looking for it? How can you ask a question and expect an answer? The answer comes without the question. The question is framed for the answer, not the other way around. You have a popular television program to the effect, don’t you?
“I wasn’t told this was a quest for philosophy,” Leopold said.
You weren’t told anything, Reynard said. Was that not your complaint?
“I wasn’t complaining,” Leopold protested.
You asked a question, Reynard said. A question is a complaint. Pay attention.
“I am trying, you know,” Leopold said.
That’s both the pity of it and the joy, Reynard said. Joy isn’t my concern. Perhaps you would do well to be quiet and think about it. You’re a nuisance to me, and a charge. Nothing more. Understand that.
“I’m beginning to,” Leopold said. He wanted to ask how much longer it would be, but knew what the fox’s response would be, and further that the fox already knew this desire, and that the only result was that Leopold was starting to sulk. But he carried on, even as Reynard drew farther away as he lagged behind. Yes, it was becoming depressing, this quest he had never signed up for, not that the fox’s logic couldn’t twist even that truth around. It was ridiculous, and Leopold was not afraid to admit it.
Maybe ridiculous was exactly what it was supposed to be, or one way it was supposed to be seen. If he told any of this to anyone, it would certainly seem ridiculous to them, there was no question about that. He couldn’t even be sure how the astronaut was taking it, how he’d reacted to the phone call, beyond what he’d said. From what Leopold gathered, he wasn’t even having the same experience. It was as if he was being manipulated, to be made useful for whatever Leopold was heading into. He probably wasn’t even aware of it.
Then again, that might be true of Leopold. He could be a pawn in a scheme hatched for the astronaut, the one someone had already made an action figure for. In that case, Leopold would be the bizarre footstool robot, serving the astronaut’s needs in an appropriately subservient design. It was somehow a less pleasant thought, with the roles reversed. Maybe he had a problem with ego. In truth, he always had. Admitting that was brutal.
Okay, a voice said, and it took Leopold a minute to realize it was Reynard’s. He took a look around his surroundings to reacquaint himself with the reality of his situation. Reynard had stopped, in a dense forest, along a well-worn path probably used by ATVs, and Leopold discovered that he had stopped, too, instinctively. Reynard was well off in the distance, so that he could have been any fox, his distinctive patch of white on the back of his neck not visible from there.
“You could come back,” Leopold said.
Or you could meet me here, the fox said.
“Fine,” Leopold relented, and complied. “I don’t see anything.”
Of course you don’t, Reynard said. There isn’t anything to see yet. There will be. Be patient, and please don’t miss me too much.
“That’s sarcasm,” Leopold said.
And you are observant, Reynard said, trotting off. When you want to be. It won’t be long. You can take that literally.
“I will,” Leopold said defiantly, realizing he’d forgotten to say goodbye to Boo, and satisfied he had no interest saying so to Reynard, not the least of which was because the fox shared this particular sentiment. So he decided to. “Catch you later, Reynie!” The only reply was a huff and the resulting breathe shot into the chilly air, which was all that was still visible of the fox now. The trip had taken ten minutes at least. Leopold took a look at his watch, and decided to count the minutes of ‘won’t be long.’
When another ten minutes had passed, and he was beginning to freeze something reminiscent of solidly, Leopold began to contemplate writing the whole thing off and turning back around, confident he knew his way back, and that all he will have lost was a half hour. Then he began to think about what Reynard had said about compressed time, and what that might mean for what he will have lost, and decided it could be as little as a few seconds, like he had never gone, and that thought soothed him for the next twenty minutes, when finally something stirred behind him, shaking itself and letting identifying tags tell at least part of its story. Leopold turned around and told the rest himself.
“Sam,” he said. “Fancy meeting you hear.”
It’s not a bit pleasant, Sam said, and you know it, so wipe that smirk off your face and let us be on our way. We have much to do, and I’m not in the mood to fool around.
Gerald Leopold, I know, said the fox. We run a tight operation, no fooling, okay a lot of fooling around, but we get the essentials taken care of, and that’s what’s really important. So let’s get going already.
“Where are we going?” Leopold asked, wondering if he should use the patio, or the door at the bottom of the stairs, in the hallway outside of the apartment.
Oh, I’m not going far, Reynard said, and you might as well use the door. It’ll give you greater peace of mind.
“So I take it you’re not going to be with me long,” Leopold said.
The cat already told you that, Reynard said. And please, get a move on it. You feel like chatting, we can do that when you’re outside.
“Fine,” Leopold muttered, crossing over to the closet, before remembering he might want his cell phone, which was on the kitchen table, where the new plant was being pruned by Boo. “Shoo,” he indicated, with a word and a hand, and Reynard looked impatient, which sent Leopold walking a little faster this time to the closet, where he retrieved his jacket, and then he put on his shoes, and then he was out the door. Once he was outside, he noticed Reynard a little off from the patio, clearly not interested in meeting up with him, but rather the other way around, which Leopold obliged. “This won’t be long, will it?”
Consider the next few days worth of your experiences to work like how you calculate ‘dog years,’ Reynard said. They’ll be in collapsed time. You won’t return home to any questions about where you’ve been, since you’ll be back before your sister comes home from work today. Don’t ask me to explain it exactly. Something to do the difference between animal and human experience. You just don’t notice, so it doesn’t matter. By the way, I hope you like walking. We don’t do automatic transportation. We have other tricks.
“I’m fine with walking,” Leopold said, though he was concerned for his shoes, and the bottoms of his pant-legs, which always seemed to suffer the brunt of his foot travels.
You should try paw pads, Reynard suggested. They always wear well.
“You can even hear my thoughts,” Leopold said.
Sure, you hear ours, Reynard said. It only seems natural that we’d hear yours.
“But you understand what I say when I talk, too,” Leopold said. “How do you cross the communication barrier?”
Something like, we just do, Reynard said. Anyway, that’s more a question for the one you’re going to see.
“Please don’t tell me he’s a wizard,” Leopold said, “or a professor confused for one, with smoke and mirrors and all that.”
No wizards, Reynard said. No professors, no smoke, not where we’re going, no mirrors. It’s a little more concrete than that. A little more realistic, a little less fantastic. At least it’ll have to seem that way, since you’ve already cleared the first hurdle. Do you find me fantastic?
“Yeah,” Leopold said, impishly. “Sure I do! You’re fantastic, Reynard. Seriously, though, I think I’ve reached the point where this isn’t so bizarre anymore. You’re the third animal I’ve heard now, and the second I’ve spoken with. I understood ants. Either all of this makes sense or none of it does. There’s too much for none of it to, so all of it does, and so here I am, talking with a fox, and letting him guide me. To where exactly?”
To whom, Reynard said. I’m getting tired of reminding you about that. You don’t seem to catch on very quickly, which I suppose was the selling point for Boo. She’s a little devil, that one. Did she tell you about the German Shepherd?
“Sure she did,” Leopold said. They were walking through woods, through fields, through pretty much anything that did not bare an immediate mark of civilization, and there was plenty for Leopold’s shoes and pants to worry about. As it was winter, much of that meant he was getting wet, which he managed by trudging through varying amounts of deposit. Reynard never slowed down, even when he sank in several inches with each step. In fact, sometimes, he never broke the surface, even though he was of a considerable size. As with every such scenario, Leopold struggled to keep up, no sympathy lost on him by his guide. “She said that he led a boy down a path he wasn’t ready for. Like a trap.”
Something like that, Reynard said. Don’t worry, though. You’ve proven your worth, as she suggested. The only surprises you’ve got ahead of you are of entirely practical matters, how you arrive at your answers, and what those answers are.
“But I never asked any questions,” Leopold said.
Answers are not meant to have questions, Reynard said, just as you do not go in search of something you are looking for. You only think you are. You find something by accident, not by design. If you look for something, you find exactly what you expected, not what you didn’t expect, which would seem to be the point of the search. How could you expect the unexpected? Therefore, how can you find something by looking for it? How can you ask a question and expect an answer? The answer comes without the question. The question is framed for the answer, not the other way around. You have a popular television program to the effect, don’t you?
“I wasn’t told this was a quest for philosophy,” Leopold said.
You weren’t told anything, Reynard said. Was that not your complaint?
“I wasn’t complaining,” Leopold protested.
You asked a question, Reynard said. A question is a complaint. Pay attention.
“I am trying, you know,” Leopold said.
That’s both the pity of it and the joy, Reynard said. Joy isn’t my concern. Perhaps you would do well to be quiet and think about it. You’re a nuisance to me, and a charge. Nothing more. Understand that.
“I’m beginning to,” Leopold said. He wanted to ask how much longer it would be, but knew what the fox’s response would be, and further that the fox already knew this desire, and that the only result was that Leopold was starting to sulk. But he carried on, even as Reynard drew farther away as he lagged behind. Yes, it was becoming depressing, this quest he had never signed up for, not that the fox’s logic couldn’t twist even that truth around. It was ridiculous, and Leopold was not afraid to admit it.
Maybe ridiculous was exactly what it was supposed to be, or one way it was supposed to be seen. If he told any of this to anyone, it would certainly seem ridiculous to them, there was no question about that. He couldn’t even be sure how the astronaut was taking it, how he’d reacted to the phone call, beyond what he’d said. From what Leopold gathered, he wasn’t even having the same experience. It was as if he was being manipulated, to be made useful for whatever Leopold was heading into. He probably wasn’t even aware of it.
Then again, that might be true of Leopold. He could be a pawn in a scheme hatched for the astronaut, the one someone had already made an action figure for. In that case, Leopold would be the bizarre footstool robot, serving the astronaut’s needs in an appropriately subservient design. It was somehow a less pleasant thought, with the roles reversed. Maybe he had a problem with ego. In truth, he always had. Admitting that was brutal.
Okay, a voice said, and it took Leopold a minute to realize it was Reynard’s. He took a look around his surroundings to reacquaint himself with the reality of his situation. Reynard had stopped, in a dense forest, along a well-worn path probably used by ATVs, and Leopold discovered that he had stopped, too, instinctively. Reynard was well off in the distance, so that he could have been any fox, his distinctive patch of white on the back of his neck not visible from there.
“You could come back,” Leopold said.
Or you could meet me here, the fox said.
“Fine,” Leopold relented, and complied. “I don’t see anything.”
Of course you don’t, Reynard said. There isn’t anything to see yet. There will be. Be patient, and please don’t miss me too much.
“That’s sarcasm,” Leopold said.
And you are observant, Reynard said, trotting off. When you want to be. It won’t be long. You can take that literally.
“I will,” Leopold said defiantly, realizing he’d forgotten to say goodbye to Boo, and satisfied he had no interest saying so to Reynard, not the least of which was because the fox shared this particular sentiment. So he decided to. “Catch you later, Reynie!” The only reply was a huff and the resulting breathe shot into the chilly air, which was all that was still visible of the fox now. The trip had taken ten minutes at least. Leopold took a look at his watch, and decided to count the minutes of ‘won’t be long.’
When another ten minutes had passed, and he was beginning to freeze something reminiscent of solidly, Leopold began to contemplate writing the whole thing off and turning back around, confident he knew his way back, and that all he will have lost was a half hour. Then he began to think about what Reynard had said about compressed time, and what that might mean for what he will have lost, and decided it could be as little as a few seconds, like he had never gone, and that thought soothed him for the next twenty minutes, when finally something stirred behind him, shaking itself and letting identifying tags tell at least part of its story. Leopold turned around and told the rest himself.
“Sam,” he said. “Fancy meeting you hear.”
It’s not a bit pleasant, Sam said, and you know it, so wipe that smirk off your face and let us be on our way. We have much to do, and I’m not in the mood to fool around.
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