Linfield College Linfield College

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Senior Theses Student Scholarship & Creative Works

2017

The Penobskan Porcupine Panic The Penobskan Porcupine Panic

Quinn Riesenman Linfield College

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Recommended Citation Recommended Citation Riesenman, Quinn, "The Penobskan Porcupine Panic" (2017). Senior Theses. 27. https://digitalcommons.linfield.edu/englstud_theses/27

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The Penobskan Porcupine Panic

By

Quinn Riesenman

Signature redacted

Table of Contents

Map – 2

Chapter One – 3

Chapter Two – 9

Chapter Three – 13

Chapter Four – 18

Chapter Five – 22

Chapter Six – 24

Chapter Seven – 28

Chapter Eight – 35

Chapter Nine – 37

Chapter Ten – 41

Chapter Eleven – 46

Chapter Twelve – 49

Chapter Thirteen – 54

Chapter Fourteen – 60

Chapter Fifteen – 65

Chapter Sixteen – 71

Chapter Seventeen – 85

Afterward – 93

Onacoldwinter’sdayacommunityofporcupineshuddledveryclosetogethertoprotectthemselvesfromfreezingthroughtheirmutualwarmth.However,theysoonfeltoneanother’squills,whichthenforcedthemapart.Nowwhentheneedforwarmthbroughtthemclosertogetheragain,theseconddrawbackrepeateditselfsothattheyweretossedbackandforthbetweenbothkindsofsufferinguntiltheydiscoveredamoderatedistancefromoneanother,atwhichtheycouldbestendurethesituation.

- ArthurSchopenhauer,ParergaandParalipomena,vol.2

Why would we try, why should we try to make anewWhen we could be intoxicated by this ordinary turn again?

- Quilt, "Penobska Oakwalk"

It is from that in water we were fromLong, long before we were from any creature.Here we, in our impatience of the steps,Get back to the beginning of beginnings,The stream of everything that runs away.

- Robert Frost, "West-Running Brook"

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BuriedattheRiver’sedge,beneaththewind-wavedsand,beneaththefirstthick,gooeystripsofmudthatdrinkthesoakedRiver,beneathdenseoilylayersoflong-sluicedblackenedferns,pastthefossilizedflowerpetals,somelesstwistedorgrainedthanothers,pastcompressedfansofcedarneedlesandserratedbunchesofporcupinequillssetlikeagod’sgraffitiinthesunlessstone,betweenpressurizedpuddlesofgraniteandveinsofquartz,underthetwistedwreckageofwhatcouldeitherbeamachine’spowercablesorthetruncatedrootsofvanishedtrees,throughlightlessmileaftermileofquietheavyearth,underallthisandundertheremainderoftheworld’scumulativeweight,throughthemoltencoreofitall,you’llfindallofitagain,inreverse,untilyouemergedrippingwithsandfromthebankofsomeotherriver,lessmythic,somesimplyflowingvein.You’llfindyourselfinwhatoncefolkscalledPenobskaPrefecture.Standhere,dripyoursandfromthetipsoffingers.Someanimalsmayfindtheirwayfromshadowsslowlytobearoundyou.Ahuddlerotatingaroundtheearth-bornevisitor,drippingwiththesiltandsoilofthemiddleofitall.

Featurespartiallyhumanoid,ridgedlikeahacksawwithrowsofscintillatingquills.Theymightuselanguage.Theireyesmightcatchyoursandwink.Inthemyoumightfindsomeoneyouthinkyouonceknew.

Shakeyoursandoff,traveler,knockthosestonesoutofyourshoes,unrootyourrightfootfromthetangledbramblesthatcatchyouandbareyourwrinkledfacetothesun.Sitdown,andseewhatthisplacehastotellyou.Seethepastcaughtupinthegleamofthesecreatures’eyes.

ChapterOne–InWhichTripdoeContemplatesaStranger’sLivingRoomWhilePretendingtoDiagnoseHisTreadmill,andWeLearnaThingorTwoAboutthePhanFamily

‘Iwasabouttwentyminutesintomyusualjogwhenthephonerang,andIpressedtheSTOPWORKOUTbuttonthere,’hesaid,gesturingwithabruisedwrinkledhandatthetreadmillinthecorner,‘andIhearthis…thissortofgrindingnoise,see,asifsomebodyoutside’sdraggingaslabof…flagstoneoverthesidewalk,andbeforeIhavetimetohopoffthedamnthing,itspeedsalmosttotallyup.Likeaawfulengine,takingmyfeetrighttherefromunderme,andIgohead-firstintothebelt,asyoucanseehere.Yeahp.IthoughtIwasalldonefor,itdon’ttakemuchtoputanold-timerlikemeoutofcommission,butIcametoandthethingwasjustspeedingtherewithoutanyoneonit,Icouldseethestripoftreadthattooksomeofmyskinwithitgoingaroundandaround,andIthought,byGodifthedamnthingdidn’tbustuponmeagain,andbustedmeuphereintheprocess.’

TripdoePhan,19,TreadmillRepairSpecialist,crouchedandscribbledintheclosed-blindslivingroomofthisoldman’swood-paneledhome.Sheheldherclipboardinthecrookofherleftarmasshetooknotes.Awaftofoldcarpetsmelltumbledunderhernoselikeawadofdryerfuzzinthewind.‘Howlong’veyouhadthismachine?’

Hewaswearingaplainwhitetee-shirttuckedintoaloosepairofpleatedslacks.Hisskinwasthatpaperybrittlenessoftheaged,andastripofgauzecoveredtherightsideofhisface.Animalcracker-shapedbruisestraipsedupanddownhisarmsinablotchyprocession.Hecalculatedquietlyforashortminute.‘Comingontwenty-someyears,Iguess.’

Shewhistled,impressed.Comingintopeople’shomes,she’salwaysamazedbywhattheyholdonto,howdevotedtoageingequipmenttheyare.‘Theseoldthings’

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circuitrytendstogetmixedupafterawhile.Thewireinsulationgetsallgooeyandgreasy,thingsstartsofteningup,youknow.Myguessissomething’stouchingsomethingelsethatitshouldn’tbe.LiketheSTOPbutton’swiresandtheINCREASESPEEDbutton’swires,inthiscase.Whichis…’shetracedthegauzeonhisfacewithhereyes,‘…youknow.Kindofaproblem.’

‘Heck,’hesaid,anembarrassedcloudpassingoverhimthathetrieddispersingwithashortthickwadoflaughter,‘youdon’thavetotellmetwice.Myquestionisiswhethertheoldthing’sworthspendingonrepairsorisscrappingitbetter?Mythirstyvengeancesaysonethingandmypocketbookawholeother.’

Theoldmachine–builtinalightertime–weighedclosetoalot.Thickwheelssprungfromitsfrontcornerslikeironmushroomsandtherubbermatcirculatingunderneaththeuser–worndownwhereyearsoftheoldman’ssneaker’dfeethadtreadit–couldgiveanoxatoughtimetowing.Eventhebuttons–asTripdoefiddledwiththem–werethickandheavyasiftheirmakingtookplaceinadustycobblestoneforge.Arelic,really.Itwasnosurprisethisthingbuggedoutonthepoorguy,andwasamiracleitdidn’thappensooner,orwithmorepermanentconsequences.

Tripdoe,forthesakeoftheoldtimer,tookherprofessionaltimeassessingthemachineshe’dalreadydecidedneededtobehauled,dismantled,dumped,andrusted.Sheexhaledthroughpursedlipsasifwranglingdownthedecisioninhermind.Shecouldfixit,sure.Shecouldfixanytreadmillinanyshapeanybodyshowedher.But,honestly,shejustdidn’twanttospendanymoretimecrouchinghereinthisoldman’slivingroom.Somethingaboutit–perhapsallthesmallpersonaldetailsthatlungedoutatherbuttohimhadprobablybecomeinvisibleyearsago–madeherfeelunmooredfromherself.

Thethick,mustardcarpetingtrackedwiththeshufflingofhissockedfeet.Thebrown-framedpaintings,hungfromthefaux-woodpanelwalls,ofgrey-skiedharborsandboatsbumpingthedockswaitingforastormtopassoverontolandunpainted,withsmallincoherentblacksignaturesintheircornerstocommemoratetheprobablydeadordyingartist.Itwasallweigheddownbyanunfamiliarlyfamiliarcloakofsentiment,anoutdatedsimplicityofdesignandtoneandtexture,allhuddlingthereinhishouse,ontheman’sslopedshoulders–andontopofitalltheoldman’sshiny,sinceregaze,histwitchedlookofconcernwhenshefinallysaid,‘Well…youcouldgothroughtherepairs,butwithamachinethisold,whoknowswhatallwe’dfindintherethatneedsfixing.Ican’tguaranteeyouapricebyjustlookingatitlikethis.We’dhavetocrackitopenandtakealookbeforeIgiveyouanynumbers.’Sheglancedatherclipboard,thenatherwatch.‘Aaaaand…Igotafewotherappointmentsthisafternoon,andsoonestIcouldbebackis…sometimenextweek?BythenyoucouldbebackuponabrandnewGaspMasterinhereforthesamepriceasrepairingthisoldthing.Plusthosenewmodelshaveitall.Cablejacks,mist-fans,spittrays.Theworks.’Shegavetheclunkapolitetoeingwithherrightshoeandwaitedforwhatsheknewwouldbetheman’squietacceptance.

---Tripdoestartedrepairingtreadmillsandotherindoorexerciseequipmentata

veryyoungage.Thetreadmillfascinatedher.Roge,Tripdoe’sdad,wouldalwaystellherhowwhenshewasatoddlershewouldsitonthecarpetandwatchhimorTripdoe’smomNikosirunontheoldwood-print-paneledmachinehe’dpickedupatagaragesaleforfifteendollars.HetoldherhowhereyeswouldfollowtheblurredFastTracklogoprintedonthematasitshotfromthefrontofthebelt,curvingbackunderneath,and

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backoutfromthefrontoverandover.Hereyesranfromrighttoleftlikeanoracleintheheatofpropheticreception,andnomatterwhatshe’dbeendoing,orwhatherparentshadgivenherasadistractiontodo,she’dabandonwhatevershe’dbeendoingorwhateverherparentshadgivenherasadistractiontodo,sothatshecouldwatchoneortheotherparentruninplacethereonthetreadmillfacingthewindowthatlookedoutintothebackyard.

Tripdoe’sfixedgazemadeNikosiself-consciouswhilerunning:‘Trippy,sweetheart,doyouwannawatchaprogramwhilemommaruns,hmm?’shewouldask.Tripdoewouldsitonthecarpet,legspartiallydrapedinabright-blueandwhitestripedblanketthatshechewedonthecornersof,movingherpursedlipsfromonecornerofherfacetoanother,puzzlingtogetherthemachine’smysteriesandignoringhermother’shigh-pitchedbargains.Behindunevenreptilianblinks,Tripdoe’seyesranthetreadmill.

EventuallyNikosistartedrunningoutside.Tripdoe,stillobviouslyinthethroesofsomeincompletequestforunderstanding,wouldpullNikosibythehandtothetreadmillwhenshesawhermomlacingupherrunningshoes,herslickblackhairpulledintoatightponytail,wirestrailingfromherears.NikosiwoulddetachTripdoebyturningthetreadmillontoletitspinaroundandaround.That’showshelearnedTripdoewasn’tinterestedinwatchingherrunasmuchasjustwatchingthetreadmillrunitself.

RogeontheotherhandusedTripdoe’senthusiasmforthetreadmillasathleticinspiration:‘IfeellikeanOlympian,’he’dsayatdinnerwhileNikosichompedacobofcorn.‘It’slikeshe’scheeringmeonsilentlyorsomething.Myowncheersquad.Plusit’sgottabesettingagoodexampleforher,watchingallthisexercisetakeplacearoundthehouse.She’llprobablyendupbeinganationalathleticheroin.Ahurdlerorsomething,herface,flexedbicepsprintedoncerealboxesorwhatever,’hechuckledandchewed,coughingasarenegadekernelflewdownthewrongpipe.ToddlerTripdoe,hearingthis,tookahandfulofporkchopanddunkeditquietlyintoherglassofmilk.‘Swimmyswimmy,’shesang.

Thiswasrightaroundthetimeoftheinitialporcupinesightings.

Mr.BozemanwasPenobska’sPrefect,itsmayorandfigurehead.He’dbeennotsomuchelectedashoistedintoofficerandomlyfromacrowdofpeoplewhoshowedupforaPrefecturePublicMeetingafewdecadesagoafterthepreviousPrefecthaddisappearedinthewildernessoutsidetown.TheporcupinepanicinitiallystartedbecauseofBozeman.Here’sthetranscriptofthefirsttelevisedsegmentofhisinitial‘PorcupineAwareness’campaign:

Bozeman:Hello,fellowPenobskans.I’mspeakingtoyoualltonighttobringaparticularsetofcircumstancestoyourawareness.Recently,myhomeotherapistprescribedthoughtfulwalksthroughthewoodsasameansofbalancingafewofmychakrasthathavebeenalittlewonkyasoflate.AsfarasI’maware,one’schakrasarelikeemotionalgyroscopes,andafewofminehavebeentiltedslightlythiswayorthat.Thesymptomsarenothingtodwellon,justafewlapseshereandthere…Eh…butanyway…ononesuchwalk,nottwomilesoutsideoftown,Ibeganfeelingparticularlyhotandsweaty;somethingwasdefinitelyoutofplace.Ifeltasifsomething,orsomeone,wereobservingme.

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SoItookstockofmysurroundingstomakesureIwasnotbeingpursued.InthedistancesomefiftyyardstomyrightInoticedseveralmedium-sizedmammals,lumberinginmydirection.Icrouchedbehindashrubinanattempttodisguisemyselfamongtheleaves,branches,andotherplantmaterialwhilealsomaintainingadirectlineofsightontheapproachingtroupe.Alas,myeyespickeduptheanatomicalfeaturesthatsuggestedmembersoftheporcupinespecies,andforabriefmomentmybodyseizedwithterroratthepossibility;Ibecamerigidwithfear.ThisclosetoPenobska?Travellinginpacksfreelyaboutthewilderness?Ithoughtofthechildreninourtown.Ithoughtoftheelderly,perhapsrelaxingonaparkbenchintheopenaircontemplatingthegeneraldelightoftheirlong,eventful,andproductivelives.Iregainedmycomposureandmanagedtoalightfromtherewithoutattractingtheirattention.However,theirprogressionthroughtheforestsuggestedtheywereheadinginthedirectionoftown.I’dbeafoolnottopassthisinformationontoyou,thecitizensofPenobska,andIencourageyouall,especiallythoseofyouwhosehomesskirttheedgeoftheforest,tokeepavigilanteyeoutforanymammalianactivity,especiallythatoftheporcupine.Ifyoumakeasightingpleasedialthenumberonscreenandmakeyourreport.Thankyouall,andgoodnight.

AtfirstnobodyreallyknewwhattomakeofBozeman’stelevisedspeech,orwhytheyshouldallofasuddenbeworriedaboutporcupinesofallthings.Afterall,therehadn’teverbeenanyseriousproblemsbefore,infactsomeofthetownspeoplekindoflikehavingsomesemi-docilewildanimalstopeeratfromtheirbackyards.Rogejustignoredthewholegrowingfuss,butNikosi’searsprickedup.Rogestartedfindingherstandingatthebackwindowinthepalehoursoftheafternoon,armsakimbo,gazingoutintotheirbackyardwhileTripdoeplayedwitholdspoonsinthelonggrass,theTVoninthebackground.

Nikosistoppedrunningoutside,andspentmoreandmoretimeinthehouse,staringoutthebackwindowandwatchingBozeman’snow-permanentporcupinepreparednesschannel.Shedraggedthereclinerovertothewindowandmovedthephonesothatitsatnexttoheronatallwoodenreadingstand,trailingitscurlycordshalfwayacrossthelivingroom,asshegazedthroughbinocularsintothedarkforestbeyondtheirbackyard.

Whentheiroldgarage-saletreadmillputteredoutafewyearslater,whenTripdoewasaboutfiveyearsold,Rogefoundheronemorningontheunpluggedtreadmillpushingoffthefrontpanelwiththeopenpalmsofherhands,laboringwithherlegstomakethematrolllaboriouslyunderher.‘I’mfixingit,Pappy.’Rogejustlaughedandpattedherbouncinghairbeforebrewingapotofcoffee.

AfewmonthsafterthePhanfamily’streadmillbrokedown,Tripdoeaskedsweetlyifshecoulduseascrewdriverinordertotakealookatitsinsides.AsfaraseitherRogeorNikosicouldtell,Tripdoehadn’tthefirstpieceofknowledgeaboutmotorsorelectricity,northecognitiveequipmenttocrackinto,letalonefix,anythingofthesort.Itwasn’tthattheythoughtshewasstupid,shewasjustsoyoung.

PerplexedbyTripdoe’srequest,NikosicameupwithvariousdiversiontacticstodiscourageTripdoe’suseoftools,thescrewdriverinparticular.‘Whatifsherunsaround

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withitandtrips,hmm?’sheaskedRoge.‘DoyouwanttobetheonetocarryourdaughterintotheERwithascrewdriverstickingoutofhereyesocket?Orwhatifshestartsjabbingaroundinthetoasterwithit?Wecan’twatchherallthetime,andwecanonlytellhernoaboutsomanythings.’Rogedidn’thavemuchtosayaboutthoseparticularimages,butitdidn’tendupmatteringmuchanyway.Tripdoe,boredbyherparents’gameofword-tennis,snuckthescrewdriverfromthetoolboxinthegarageandstartedperformingclandestinerepairsonthedustymachinebytheglowofasmallpinkflashlightshe’dsavedupherticketsatthearcadedowntownfor.

Oneday,Rogecamehomefromworkandshewastrottingtriumphantlyonalowsetting,makingsuretostepdeliberatelyontheFastTracklogoasitemergedeachtimefromthefrontofthemachine.Thelittlered-handledscrewdriver,hediscovered,satinthetoolboxslightlyaskew.

Later,afterNikosiuncoveredandconfiscatedashoeboxfullofsalvagedwires,screwdrivers,scrapsofoldrubber,thepinkflashlight,andelementarydrawingsofcircuitboardsfromunderTripdoe’sbed,Nikosiscratchedunderherrightbreastandexhaled,lookingattheopenshoebox.‘RogeIgetthisimageofheronherbackononeofthoserolliecartsunderaChevyintwentyyearswithgrease-mattedeyebrowsandahusbandnamedLukewho’sgotacheckeredracingflagnecktattoo.Shouldn’twebesigningherupforsomegymnasticsclassesorsomething?Orpiano?’

Rogeshruggedandgesturedtowardtheshoeboxtheyhadopenontheirnightstand.‘Youseewhatshe’swillingtodotokeepatit.Andforgoodnesssakesshe’sonlyeightyearsold.Isuspectifwetrytostophershe’llsplitforhills,starthauntingjunkyardslookingforscrapsofwirestosplicetogetherorsomething.Youcan’tsuppressakidlikethat,Nikki.It’lljustcomebacktoussomehowanyway.Nowdon’tyouwannacometobed,hmmm?’heaskedthroatilyashelaunchedintotheairfromtheirbathroomandontothebed,floppingupanddownlikeafish.

NikosireluctantlyreturnedtheshoeboxtoTripdoethenexteveningafterTripdoegothomefromschool.Tripdoesatatthekitchentablechewingontheendsofherhair,swingingherfeetaroundinwildlittleloopsastheydangledfromunderthechair.Nikosigaveherthreeconditions:‘One:thatyouneverfiddlewithanythinginsideourhouse,especiallynottheelectricalwiringinsidethewalls,andkeepyourdistancefromthetoaster.Infact,keepawayfromthekitcheningeneralwhileholdinganythingmetal...besidesspoonsorforks,Iguess.Two:tellmeordadwhenyou’reworkingonthings.Andthree:youhavetowashyourhandsafteryou’redone.Idon’twantgreasylittlehandprintsalloverthehouse.Gotit?’Tripdoenoddedinagreement,anodthatNikosicouldn’thelpbuttranslateas‘Wellduh.’Nikosislidtheshoeboxontothetabletowardher.Tripdoebentbackthecardboardlidandgazedintoitlikeaseacaptainmightgazeatachestofdoubloons.Sherubbedherlittlehandstogetherandsmiled.

Fromthatpointon,whenshewasn’tsittingatschoolmentallydisassemblingtreadmillswhilesheshouldhavebeenpayingattentiontoahistorylesson,orhastilyeatingmeals,shewasusuallyfoundgougingouttheelectricalinnardsofsomemachineoranother,crossingwirestomakewholeadiscombobulatedmessofparts;she’dmadefriendswiththewealthierkidsatschoolknowingtheirparentswouldhavenewertreadmillsintheirhomes.Whenevershewentovertotheirhousesshe’dmakesureto

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packalongherlittleshoebox,whichitselfneededducttaperepairsfrombeingtotedaroundsofrequently.Whentheparentsofherfriendsdroppedheroffbackathomethemorningsaftersleepovers,they’dalwayshavesomestoryabouthowthey’dwokenupinthemiddleofthenighttothesoundsofmetalonmetal,thinkingthemselvesvictimsofrobbery,onlytofindTripdoeelbow-deepintheirtreadmillssmudgedwithdustandgrease,asharpnessofconcentrationrimminghereyes.Nikosialwaysapologizedtotheparents,butRogejustsmiledandaskedifshe’ddamagedanything.Theyalwayssaid,‘Well,no.It’sstrange.Ithinkshetuneditupforus,actually.’

Slowly,wordgotaroundthatthePhan’sdaughtercouldcrackintooldtreadmillsandfixthemupwithouthardlyblinkinganeye.Ataroundtheseventhgradeshegotherfirstpaymentforfixinganeighbor’sburnt-outtreadmill.

WhenPrefectBozeman–whoRogeworkedforaspersonalassistant–foundoutaboutTripdoe’sspecialty,herenovatedalargeroominhisbasementandboughtthreeoldtreadmillsthathehiredsomeonetorunonfourtimesaweek.Slowlytheyworedownandslowlyheplannedonaskinghertocomeworkonthemforhim.

Bythen,though,Nikosi–andmostofPenobska–hadfallenintothemouthofBozeman’sPorcupinePanic.Shewouldn’tleavethehouse,andsatintherecliningchairalldaywatchingthedailyPrefecturePreparednessPrograms,designingcomplexevacuationmapsforthefamily,andresearchingporcupines’evolutionaryhistory:‘It’sobvious.Theirwholegenetichistoryissharpenedtoapoint,andthey’regettingsharper,theirquillsaremashingintofirmerbundles,andtheireyesaregrowingheavywithsentience.’She’dhollerstufflikethisintothekitchenwhereRoge,bewildered,wouldbehunchedoveracuttingboard,quietlychoppingvegetablesinpreparationfordinner.

WhenTripdoelefttheseventhgrade,Nikosihadstartedeatingmostlycannedfoodandpopcorn.Herphysicalboundarieshadexpandedinalldirections,andsoonshewasonlyeverfoundwearinglightgreysweatsuitsstaineddarkerinpatchesbyspilledSpam,popcorn,cannedbeets.She’dquitherjobatthebookstore.BytheendofTripdoe’seighthgradeyearNikosihadgainedoverninetypoundsandrarelyleftthelivingroom,whoseback-facingwindowwasrimmedwithblackandwhiteprintoutsofporcupinesthatRogeassumedshewasusingtoidentifythecreaturessheneverspotted.ShecontractedTripdoetodesignaspecialtrackforherchairtorideonsothatshecouldglidefromtheTVtothewindowwithoutalltheeffortofgettingupandscootingitmanuallyoverthecarpet,whichhadbecomenearlyimpossible.

SeeingheroverweightmotherdragthechairtothewindowgaveTripdoealltheencouragementsheneededtodesignandinstallthetrackasquicklyaspossible,andeventookafewdaysofffromschooltofinishthejob.

Rogedidn’tknowwhattodo,andspentmoretimeatworktoavoidhavingtoworryhimselfoversolutionsandconversationshecouldn’tquiteseemtowrangleundercontrol.SoonNikosiwasrestrictedtothecheckered-bluereclineroverthesidesofwhichherincreasinglyrollingmoundsoffleshspilledlikeclothesfromaneglectedlaundryhamper,glidingbackandforthbetweenTVandwindow.Tripdoebarelynoticed,oratleastactedlikeshebarelynoticed,nowinfactbeingquitebusyrepairing

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Bozeman’sandwhoever’selsewhoaskedtreadmillseverycoupleweeksandspendingthemoneyhepaidheronnewtoolsandparts.

ChapterTwo–InWhichTripdoeBreaksforLunchatGullahBowl

Thenonedaytowardtheendofthesummerofher19thyear:Tripdoe,breakingforlunchafterhavingsealedthedealwiththeoldmanwho’slivingroomgaveherthecreeps,swungtherepairtruckintotheparkinglotofaGullahBowl:QuickCreoleRestaurant.TakingtheturnintoaspacenexttoaraggedVespascooter,theloosetreadmillpartsinthetruckbedrolledandclangedintoeachotherandintothesideofthetruck.Tripdoewhistledmelodicallyoverthemetalanti-musicandwishedtheradiointhetruckweren’tpermanentlystuckonthePenobskaPrefecturePorcupineInvasionDrillStation,whichwasaloopedrecordingofPrefectBozemanmakingsirensoundswithhismouthandperiodicallysayinginaflat,evenvoice:‘InhabitantsofPenobskaPrefecture,thisisaPorcupineInvasionDrill.InthecaseofanactualPorcupineInvasion,baryourselfinawindowlessroomandwaitforfurtherinstructionsonthisfrequency.Thankyou.’

ThestationhadbeensendingBozeman’sprecautionaryloopsintotheairwavesforthepastfourmonths,andmosteverybodyinPenobskaPrefecturehadstoppedlistening.ButeverytimeTripdoestartedthetruckup,theradioturnedonautomaticallyand,beingstuckonthestation,herearsweresubjectedtoabriefblastofBozeman’smouth-sirenbeforeshepressedthedialoff.

InGullahBowl,someheadsturnedfrombowlsofgumbotowatchTripdoeasshe–inpressedwhiteuniformrepairshirtandnavypants–walkedin.ThewetchompingoftheclientelebackdroppedTripdoeasshescannedthemenu.Spicysausagegumbo,crawfishgumbo,shrimpgumbo,vegetariangumbo,andsoforth.Thecrowdofnoisebehindhersoundedlikeaclothesdryerfilledwithwarmsausages,tumblingmoistly.Thesoft,velvetjazzdrippingfromtheceilingseemedtobeintimewiththesoundsomehow.

Tripdoeatetherealmosteverydayduringtheweek.Abrief,soupy,richrespitenestledwarmlyatthecruxoftreadmilltedium.

Fromthekitchen,shufflingtowardthecashregister,muchtohereye-rollingdispleasure,thenarrowhog-troughfaceofFennyJoilsglistenedlikecrudeoilonthefeathersofanendangeredbirdinthelightoftheorder-screenheapproached.Seeingherwaitingatthecounter,hissmileopenedlikeawalletstuffedwithdampbusinesscards.‘Wellshoot,goodafternoonthereMs.Phan!Suchararityseein’youaroundGullahBowlhere!Heyuckheyuck.’HislaughtersmearedacrossthecountertopandintoTripdoe’sears.FennytwistedhisheadaroundtomakesurehisoneandonlycoworkerBigJ–standinghunchedoverapotofgumbointheback–laughed.EventhesogginessofFenny’sgreetingsfailedtooverpowerTripdoe’sloveofgumbo;herloathingofFennyandhissock-with-a-hole-in-itsenseofhumorcouldnevermakethegumboanylessappealing,ashardasthatwasforhertokeepbelieving,persistentashewasandall.

‘AhFenny.Iseethatreptilebraintransplantwentwell,’shesaid.‘Althoughitcertainlydidn’tmakeyouanybetterlooking.I’llhaveabowlofshrimpgumbo.Mediumspice.’

Hetappedtheorderintothescreen,alargewetragofagrinwipeditselfacrosshisface.‘Well,howadventurousofyou,Ms.Phan!Why,I’veneverseenyouorderthat

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before!Hyeckhyeckhyeck.’HetwistedbacktoseeBigJstirringandsnickeringoverahugepotofgumbo.‘Hey,uh,bytheway,’hesaid,leaningonthecounterwithhiselbow,‘…CalypsoCometII’splayingatthedrive-inthisSaturdayifmaybeyouwantedto,youknow,ridebikesovertheretogether…Ifoundastashofmydad’soldbourbon,wecouldpoursomeinawaterbottleand…’

‘It’sadrive-in,Fenny.Notapeddle-in.PlusI’malreadygoingwithLambo.He’sdriving.Nowhere.I’mtryingtopayforthegumbo,ifyou’lljust…’TripdoeheldoutacouplebillstowardFennywhoignoredthem.Shemovedthemcloserandclosertowardhisface…

‘WellmaybeI’llseeyoutherethen,heyuckheyuck.I’llknockonthehoodtowarnyoutwoso’sIdon’tinterruptnothingtoosteamyornothin’…’thebillsinchedcloserandcloseruntilTripdoestuffedthemintoFenny’smouth.‘Glaghyumff,heythat’sunsanitary.’

‘Inyourcase,Fenny,moneyinthemouth’sprobablyahygienicimprovement.’‘Huh…?’

TheywereinthesamegraduatingclassoutofPenobskaHighjusttwomonthsago.Fenny’dalwaysharboredaleakysailboatofacrushonTripdoe,andtriedinthemostsoul-nauseatingwaystoconvincehertoclimbaboard…thetimeinBiologywhenheactuallydippedacombinVaselinetoslickhishairbackinfrontofher,ascenethateverynowandthenreturnstoherinnightmares.But,uh,well…Tripdoewasimmunetohisadvancesbythispoint,andonlyinteractedwithhimbecauseofthegumbo…hethesnickeringtrollunderthebridgeonthewaytothemagiccastle,Tripdoetheobligedpilgrim.

HefishedthemoneyoutofhismouthandTripdoeenduredafewmoregobblesofflirtysarcasm,staredblanklythroughseveralpoorly-deployedwinksashecountedherchangeoutandsliditacrossthecountertohersaying,‘We’llhavethatrightoutforyou,ma’am.’

Shesatinacornerspotbythesodamachine,sippingfromaplasticcupofwater,outofsightofFenny.ThesweatynecksofherfellowPenobskansshonelikesaranwrap.Fatmenincollaredshirtshunchedtheirhairynecksoversteamingbowls.Theirwives’pinkiefingerstautlyaimedawayfromthespoonstheyheld.Penobska’sgeneticpoolwaslesslikethefull-sizedOlympickindandmorelikeafill-with-a-hose-and-drag-around-the-yardkind;peoplelookedpuffyandhomogenous,withstaleblueeyesandrounded-offskullslikeexpressivewatermelons.Italwaysamazedherthatthereweresomanytreadmillsthatneededrepairinginatownsofullofpeoplewho–byallavailableevidence–didn’tknowthefirstthingaboutpersonalfitness.

ThoseborninPenobskalived,bred,anddiedinPenobska;that’showit’dbeenforaslongasanyonecouldremember,althoughonsomeeveningsafterhavingsmokedajointortwointheshedbehindherhouse,Tripdoecouldn’thelpbutentertainthisvestigialbuzzinthebackofherheadthatseemedtosayshe’dcomefromsomewhereelse,somewherefarfromPenobska,butnotquitenotPenobska,exactly,insteadsomecore–orsymmetricalyetinvisiblespirit–ofPenobskashe’dneverreallyseenorheard,butjust,somehow,intuited.Andlookinginthemirror,pastherbloodshoteyes,shesawsomethinginthestructureofherface,theskullunderherskin,thattoldherthe

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samething.Liketheoutlineofamapdrawnontheothersideofareceiptforanitemshedidn’trememberbuying.

Fennycalledout:‘Ms.Phan,anorderofshrimpgumbohereatthecounterforya.’

Comingbacktoherseat,gumbo-bowlsteaminghypnoticallyinfrontofher,Tripdoescannedthecrowdagain.Anolder,beardedguysittingaloneinaboothbythewindowcaughthereye;she’dneverseenhimaroundtown,letaloneinGullahBowl.Hewastakingslowbitesfromhisgumbo,andhishandshooklikeafeathereachtimehebroughtittohismouth.Hehadonalong-sleeveshirtwithabigpictureprintedonitofwhatfromTripdoe’spointofviewlookedlikeasunglasses-wearinghenstandingonapooltable;aduct-tapedmotorcyclehelmetonthefloorbyhischairheldapairofrattyglovesandascuffedleathercoathungoffthebackofhischair.Hishairwascroppedshort,grey,andwhirledfromwearingthehelmet,andhisscruffyyetshortbeardwasofthesamecolor.Verybriefly–shebarelynoticed–somethingseemedtorippleupanddownhissleevefromunderneath…aquickshimmerpassedacrosshisshoulderanddisappeared,thefaintestflickeroffabric.Shekeptwatching,butheactedthesameasmosteveryoneelse,andtheripplingstopped.

Feelingthesteamunderherchin,shetookathickshrimpfromhergumboandtraveledtheminisculehighwayofshrimpshitrunningalongitsbackwiththeelectric-blueminivansofhereyes,thenateit.Shestirred,watchingchunksofseafoodandvegetablerisetumbling,andsettle.Shegatheredanotherredbiteandliftedittohermouth–

FifteenMinutesAgo

Anelectronicremixof“AllAlongtheWatchtower”playedfromtheceiling.SynthesizersdesignedtosoundlikeBobDylanwarbledworn-outwearinessesasBigJandFennytippedindustrial-sizedcansoftomatochunksintoevenmoreindustrial-sizedsteelpotsinthecrampedkitchenofGullahBowl.Theysnickeredatjokeseithermadetopassthehottime,hunchedoverthebubblingpots,armschurningthethicksubstance.Bubblebubble,gumboinGullah,theclockwisestirringofthestew,thesteamyrisingofthedailygrinding,BigJandFenny,chasingdowntheirpaycheckswithheadsfullofsteam.Thetwoboyssweat.Synth-Bob’ssplittingharmonicahadbeenreplacedwitharapidsuccessionofreverberatingbeepsandboops,whichtheradiostationbroadcastingthesongwassupposedtowarnpeopleaboutduetorumorsofthesoundsettingoffunforetoldseizuresinthestation’slisteners.Itaccompaniedthethicksplashesoftomatoesastheytumbledintothepot…

‘Goshgollygosh,’Fennysaidoverthebeeps,theboops,thesplashes.‘It’ssureahotonebackheretoday,ain’tit?’Littleracetracksofsweatbentdownfromhisneckintotheunbuttonedmouthofhisred-collaredshirt.

‘What’dyamean,today?It’salwaysahotonebackhere.’BigJangledhisdrippingheadtotheburners,asiftosay:Uh…?

Thecauldronsofsimmering,lightlybubblinggumboradiatedheatinsidetheteal-tiledkitchen,andonlywhenoneoftheSummerJobberboyscrackedthefreezertograbfrozensausagesorshrimptohuckintothemixdidtheripplingheat’sedgessoften.Sometimestheboysjokedaboutcrawlinginthereforawell-earnedsiestaduringthehotterhoursofthesummerdays,frozenmoundsofshrimpforpillowsandsoforth,but

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ofcourseneverdid.Theyjuststirredandscoopedandpouredandstirredandscooped,andeverythirty-five-or-sominutesFennywentoutbackwheretheshimmeringbroken-glassparkinglotunfoldedintothestripmalltosmokecigarettesandgrindgravelunderthesoleofhisrubberkitchenshoeswhilelisteningthroughthedoortowhateverhumplayedfromtheceilinginside.Gnatsandflies,ledtherebythesun-hotdumpster,wouldwhizintheirpatternslikedisorganizedacrobatsthroughhisexhaledsmoke.

HisstepmomWeihatedhissmoking,hisdadRuthbertnevernoticed,beingacatatonicallydepressedmultipleamputee,andFennyhimselfdislikedhisownhabit,thefeeling,thewayhishandsstunkaftereachbrownandwhitestickhesuckedintohisbloodstreamandbrainandbowels,buthekeptknockingthepackagainsthishandstofreethesmoke,andfreethesmokeeachoutbreath,onandonandinandonandout…

FennyscratchedthebackofhisredGullahBowlhat.Underthathatageyserofanticipationwasneartoburstingthetopofhisheadcleanintosteam,butinhiscooleighteenandthree-quarteryearsoflifehehadfoundwaystokeepthingsundercontrol,keephislidon…butgoshgollygoshwashejustbrimmingtoshowBigJwhathepickedupyesterdayfromtheAsianfoodmarketwherehisstepmomWeiwentbi-monthlytogetthosefatoldwhiteradishesthatonlytheysell,cuzshe…well….Hewashardlyabletokeephismindonthejob,butsplishsplashsplatthereitwent.Andonaccountofhowthesummer’salmostthroughandI’llbequittingsometimesoon,Idon’tseewhyacouplaSummerJobberscan’thavealittlefuneveryonceandawhile…

‘BigJ,’Fennyhooted,‘youeverfeellikethisgumbo’salittlelightonthespice?Likemaybewe’remakingittoo…tame…onaccountofallthewimpsoutthereorderingthestuff?Youeverwannamakeitmore…authentic?’

BigJ,whosebasketballofafaceturnedtowardFennyrevealingtomato-splatterpolka-dotsonbrow,chin,cheeks,said,‘Whaddyamean,Fen?Putextrapepperinthegumbo?Whaddifsomeonecomplainsaboutitanditcomesbackonus?’

Earlierinthesummerwhenendlessdaysofgumbo-stirringstretchedinfrontofthem,BigJandFennywentdowntotheriveronedayafterwork,thesunstillhighandhot.Theyhoppedaroundonthestonesskippingflatdiscusesofrockintotheflow,chattinglowandkiddishlythewhile.Aroundasouthernbendintheriver,theycameuponarusted-outenginesomebody’ddumpedonthebank.Atinybirdflewoutofitasthetwoboysapproached.BigJgavethethinganexploratorykickandsaidtoFenny,whostoodtherescrapingsomeoftherustoffwithawindyoldtwig,‘IbetchaMonday’spayIcanliftthishereengineupovermyhead.’

Fennysizedhiscoworkerupandspatintothewater,threwtherust-tippedtwiginafter,andsaid‘Don’tthrowyerbackout,bigguy.There’splentyofpeoplewhoneedsworkattheGullahBowl,hehheh.’BigJrubbedhismittstogether,squattedlowtowraphisarmsaroundtheengine,andscoopedithighoverheadandwhooshing,thunking,splunkingrightintothewaterlikenowhoop.HedancedaroundlikeashowhorsecloppingonitstoesinfrontofacrowdofEquestrianswhileswipingrustyhandprintsalloverthefrontsofhisjeans.Fennyjustnoddedandstretchedhislipsoverhisteethlikeadehydratedlizard,decidingrightthenhe’dnevergetonBigJ’sbadside,orbetagainsthislifting.Thesunken,bubblingengine,meanwhile,wasbusysheddingaredribbonofrustdownstream,likealeakycapillary…

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AgustofsteamwaftedunderFenny’schin,bringinghimoutofthememory.‘Well,J,’hesaid,‘onaccountofthesummerbeingsoclosetofinishedandusbeingsoclosetoquittin,Ifiguredthat,youknow,maybeitwouldn’thurttodoalittlepracticalprankeryaroundhereto…lightenthemoodjustatouch,hmm?Spicethingsupabit,ehh?Hyuckhyuckhyuck.’

‘What’reyougettingonto,huh?’Hisdeep-seafishofarubber-glovedhanddartedintothefoldsofhisshirt.BigJ

stoppedstirringtowatchthehandsearcharoundamidtheredcotton.WhenFennypulleditoutitheldaclearplasticcontainerlikewhatsweetcherriescomein,buttheseweren’tcherries.Gnarledredbumpyboilypepperspeepedfromtheplasticlikepimple-swollentrolls.Atacertainangle,theyseemedtohavemillimeter-tallred-orangehaloesradiatingoffthem.

‘Gosh,’BigJsaid.‘Thoselookawfulmean.’‘Oh.Oh.These’remean,alright.Ghostpeppers,J.Ghostpeppers.They’ll

hauntyerpalateworsethanarealghosthaunts…uh…anoldmansion.’Hedaintilyunpoppedtheplasticlidandliftedoneofthebumpydevilsinbetweentwocautiousdigitsasifabouttopresentitasabouquettoagrievingwidow,and…whoops…tosseditintothegumbo,stemandall.BigJstaredwithwideeyes.

‘Oh,man.Fenny…maybe…Fenny…’‘Huh?Wha?’whoopsagain,thistimeintoBigJ’spot.Fenny’srubberhand

dartedwiththeplastictubbackunderhisshirt,andwhenitcamebackouthefoundhisbigspoon,andkeptstirring.SlowlyBigJ’seyessettledintohalf-liddedhomesandhetoostirred,nearlyforgetting.FennyeyedBigJoutofthereddenedcornerofhislefteyeandsaidslow:‘There’sjusttwo.Maybenobody’lleven…’butthehigh-pitchedbeeperatthedoor,signalingacustomer,interruptedhim.

ChapterThree–InWhichWeFloatSomeDistanceAbovePenobskaProperandOuterPenobskainaMulticoloredHotAirBalloon,andReceiveaHistoryLessononPixieTownanditsDiscontentedInhabitants

PenobskaPrefecturerestedtwenty-or-somilesinfromTheOceanalongthebanksoftheKatabasisRiverinaspotclearandcocoa-smooth,likethesurfaceofaglasswalnut.Alongthebanksred,brown,orange,greyboulderscrumbledingeodicclumpsandrolledgraduallysloughingintothewater.Tothenorth,forestsofmassivecedar,spruce,pineleanedintowardthetownlikeaneighty-year-oldmanleaningintohearhiswaitressaskwhatkindofsouphewants.Thetrees’mossybeardsbrushedagainsteachotherinthewind.Theyweredescendantsoftheoldloggingcompanies’requiredre-planting,someoftheoriginalshavingevenfallenoverwithage,rottednursesguardingwind-shiveredseedlings,andshadingdaytimenapperssuchasthesalamander,theshrew,thenewt,thechipmunk,thesquirrel.Nobodycaredmuchaboutallthatoldhooeythough.

PenobskaProper–whateveryoneinPenobskaknewmeantthecity–wasseparatedfromthedenserforestonallsidesbyafifteen-foottallsteelfencethat,afteryearsofincreasingporcupinetensionandsightings,Bozemandumpedfundinginorder

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toerect.Foot-widewoodentroughsfilledwithbrokenglasssatatthetopofthefence.Beforethetroughs’installation,thetownspeoplegottogethertopaintflowersandsunsetsonthesidesofthem.‘OperationBeautify’asthefliersBozemandistributedcalledit.

Inacommencementspeechfortheevent,Bozemansaid:‘Forheaven’ssake,people,we’vebeenlivinginfearfortoodanglong!Thepricklymenacewillfinallyremainatbay.Iknowthatthisfenceisn’tthemostaestheticoption,butdammit,it’llkeepPenobskaporcupine-free!We’vegatheredheretodaytobeautifyournewfoundsecurity;wecan’tbewalledinbyblandwoodplanksandsteel!Let’skeepourtownspruce,safe,andpretty!’shoutedBozemanashisfist,curledtightlyaroundapaintbrushrecentlydousedincanaryyellow,shotupintotheair.Hestoodononeofthetroughshe’dup-endedtouseasatemporarypodium,thecrowdbubblinghim.

Thetroughsofglassweretokeepinvadersandwildlifefromclimbingintothecity.Theglasswouldcuttheirhandsorfeetorpawsintoconfetti,wastheidea.Bozemanproclaimed:‘Porcupinesmaybedecentarborealists,butI’dliketoseethemtrygettingtheirlittlehands…or,uh…paws?...acrossthissystemhere.’Hetheatricallystompedonefootdownonhistroughpodiumforemphasis.Thenhehoppeddownandpaintedastartlinglyvividyellowcrocusonitssideinaconcentratedsilence.TheeventwasfunforeveryoneincludingTripdoe,upuntilherfoottendonsgotincisedbyashardofdroppedglassshesteppedon.Rogewhiskedherhometoblastthewoundwithanti-bacterialsprayandTripdoepoutedtheentirerestoftheday.She’dwantedtopaintafewgearsandwiresintotheotherwiseflower-ladenscenesherfellowPenobskanswerecontentwith.

ThePhanhouseholdsatrightontheedgebetweencityandforest.Theirbackyardoncewentfromlawntoscrubandgraduallymergedrightintothethickgrowthoftheforestitself.WhenBozemanproposedtheerectionofthetrough-toppedfence,someofthePhan’syardhadtobehackedbackandsetapartbymulchandlandscapingfortheinstallation.Roge,thoughuneasyaboutthefence,sighedwithreliefwhenitwasfinallyup.He’dhopedthefencewouldofferNikosipeaceofmindsothatshecouldgetbacktonormalandstopobsessingoverthepossibilityofporcupineinvasion.SheforcedRogetostopcuttingthegrassinthebackyardinhopesofitgrowingtallenoughtoblockouttheviewofallthatshiftinggreenerybehindthefence.

BesidesBozeman’sobsessive,sometimesworryingleadershipstyleandtheinclusionofthefenceintheirlittleworld,lifewasgenerallyfairlystraightforwardforpeopleinPenobska.Pavedroads,freshair,trimmedgreenyards.Thetapwatertastedfine(althoughthepipingwascorrodingandleadhadbeenrisinginthewater,worseinsomepartsoftownthanothers).EveryonehadtheirspotinthemachinethatwasafunctionalPrefecture:fromthetailorsandbakersandtreadmillrepairspecialiststoPrefectBozemanhimself.Therewereninerestaurants,threegrocerystores,threebanks,ninebarsand/ortaverns,acrematoriumandfuneralhome,asmallfishmarket,severalclothiers,apharmacy,abarbershop,asemi-functionalcarrepairgarage,asmallpoliceforceandfirebrigade,andhandfulsofindependentcontractors,includingTripdoe’sself-runtreadmillrepairbusinessthatreliedalmostsolelyonBozeman,Tripdoe’smostregularandwell-payingclient.

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TothesouthofPenobskaProper,theKatabasisRiverbentandcurledtotheeastsoastocradlethenestledPrefecturelikeaswaddledbabe,theriveraplumpandyieldingbrown-skinnedarm,foreverfingerless,foreverflowing.Fallentreesrimmedthebanks,erodingwallsofsandstonecrumbledannuallyintotheflow,makingnewembankments.Ifyoufollowedtheriverdownstreamitwoulddeposityouintotheocean,asmostenough-followedriversdo.Theretheoceanspreadacrossthehorizoninagreysmear,hardlydiscernablefromtheskythatitmirrored.

FromtheexhalingmouthofKatabasisRiverasturdy,lushdeltahunglikeachippedmossytooth.

Thisdeltawasoncethebedrockforthelurid,overpricedPixieTownII–OuterPenobska’soutlandishlypopularAdultThemeParkthathadonce–backwhenitwasjustPixieTown–beenanamusementparkforfamilies,repletewithrollercoasters,gameboothsandapettingzoo,buthadbeenboughtoutandconvertedintoanefarioussatireofitself:PixieTownII.

InPixieTownII’sprime,garishneon-ladenbridgesstraddledthesplitveinsofKatabasisandledintowardthemesmerizedwalkwaysofweekendersdrunkonneonFerrisWheels.Theveinsofthepatronsglowedwithliquor,cocaine,andanyothersubstanceonehopedtosuckorsnortorinjectintooneself.Forthoseseekingtheultimateweekenddeparture,asmallwoodencartinthebackcornerofthegroundswaitedforvisitors,litbyasingleoillamp.Initagnarled,swarthy,thick-accentedchemicalmaestrosatamidwallsdrapedinelegantTurkishrugs.ForasmallfeehegaveyoupomegranateswhosejeweledkernelswerelacedwithpureLSD.

ForeignersfromoutsidePenobskatravelledinorgiasticflockstoPixieTownIIinboatsorplanesorhelicopterstotakepartintheweekendrevelries,andoftenlefttheplaceravaged,vomited-on,exploited.Thesetupwasessentiallythatofanynightlifescene:rowsofvariously-themednightclubsthatpatronscycledamongasthenightworeon,gettinghigherorlowerdependingonyoursubstanceofchoice.Itwasabright,shimmeringcornucopiaoflustandexcess.

Weekendgarbagetossedinintoxicatedtorporwashedupinpestilent,rottingpiles–condoms,syringes,soggycigarettesbothtobaccoandotherwise,theoccasionaltoupee,socks,Vaseline,deadbirdsandsealifethathadconsumedtheaforementionedwastes,andanyothertypeofdebaucherousdebris–fortwentymilesupanddownthecoast,forminglinesofwastelikeplaqueontheunbrushedteethofapoor-dieteduncle.Onhot,wetdaysthebreezesighinginfromtheseacaughtthedecayingdebrisandwaftedthehalf-buriedodordeepinland–onnotabledaysalmostinasfarasPenobskaProper.Onsuchdaysthesidewalksweresparse,andthosethatdidwalkaboutdidsowithmildbutnoticeablegrimaces.

PixieTownIIwaswildlyprofitable,butshutdownafterastrikeledbythegrounds’lankyleadarboristLarryLawnyawnwho’dbeenrousedintoactiononedayafterwatchingapatronpukeatthebaseofthegrounds’oldestoaktree,Larry’sbestfriendandmentor.Larry,verymuchaccustomedtosuchsights,stoodbyandwaiteduntilthemanstumbledoffbeforehecouldhosethechunksintothesoil.Buttheman,straighteninghimselfoutandwipingoffhisstubbledmouth,litapost-pukecigarettewhilehisblack-leatherfeetstraddledhisrecentexpulsion.Hiswhiteshirt,Larryoftenrevisitsinhisdreams,wasspeckledwithaconstellationofpinkbile.

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Themanwassogorgedwithhigh-proofalcoholthatwhenhebroughtthematchtothecigarette,hisbreatheburstexplosivelyintoflames.Hisfacecaughtonfire,andthenhisclothes,andthenthebaseofthetreewherethepotentvomithadsoaked.He’dbeensloppingaroundPixieTownIIforseveraldaysandbythatpointhisveinsweretoofardrenchedwiththeflammablefluid:heranaroundinsloppycirclesuntilhecollapsedinasmolderingheapoutsidetheentrancetothebathrooms.

Peoplescreamed,pointed.Larrydidn’teventrytoputthewickofamanout,andhisattemptstodousethefireatthebaseofthetreeweremetwithdisagreeablehissesandleapingtonguesofflame.Hehadtostandbackasspark-speckledsmokeslowlywhirledintothesky.Thedramaticheat-drunkdanceofthetree’sarmslookedlikeredwavescomingdownoutofthesky.

Eventually,withthehelpofPixieTownII’son-callfirebrigade,thefirewasextinguished,butithadscarredthetreeirreparably;amonthlaterLarryhadtochainsawitintoremovablesegments.Sawdustclungtothesweatoneithersideofhisface,andthatnightashefinishedstackingupthemassivepileoflumberoutsidethegroundsheresignedhimselftoshuttingPixieTowndownbywhatevermeansnecessary.

ItturnedoutthatbasicallyeverysingleemployeeofPTIIthatwasn’tanownerorinvestorfeltthesamefed-up-ednessasLarry:lettheshitheapcrumble.Workingtherewaslikeworkingataverydangerouspre-school,wherethekidswerealldrugged-upadultsthatfuckedwhenevertheyhappenedtofindthemselvesinthecompanyofanother.Allitwasanywayswasahugepotofwasterichfolkstossedtheirmoneyintotoforgettheirmiserablecircumstancesoffortuneforahandfulofhours.YoucouldfeelthederisioninthestafflongbeforeLarryvocalizeditconcretely:peoplesloggedtoandfromtheparkinglotwithwhatlookedlikepoundsofweightontheirshoulders.Drawingonwhatthey’dalldeeplyknownandsawbutweretoofearfultofollowintoaction,LarryhadaneasytimegettinghisfellowPTIIworkersonboard,oroffit,dependingonyourposition.

Larry’sfirstmovewastorolloneofthesectionsofstout,freshstumpfromthecutoutintothestafflotwherefolksshuffledineachmorning.Onthatfirstmorningatricklingrainfellfromapuregraysky.Hecrouchedintheasphalthackingandcarvingthestumpintoacomfortableseatwhereheplannedtosituntilthestrikecaughton.Asitwent,hedidn’tevengethalfwaythroughthebackrestbeforehe’dspokenenoughofhiscoworkersintomutualstates.Notonlyweremostpeopleoutrightsickofthepracticesofthepark,butseeingamanburningaliveamidthegeneralglamoranddisinterestofthegroundsstruckadeepercordthananyworkplacetediumevercould.AndLarry’sstraight-eyed,seat-carvingstarespelledoutaconfidencetheotherworkersfeltcomfortablegatheringaround.

Soon,withoutanybodytheretoscrapetheplacetogetheraftereachchaoticnight,doingwhatneededtobedonetokeeptheplacerunningbecameimpossibleforthelastfewwhowereeithertoostubbornordesperatetoletgo.Thegeneraltiredness,thesicknessoverhavingtowatchtheweekendslurchbyinblurredformations,wassuitablekindlingforthestrike:peoplejustturnedtheirbacksontheplaceandstartedcarvingoutstoolsforthemselvesoutinthelotwithLarry.Managementcouldn’tfindreplacementsanywhere,andsentgrovelingemissariestothelottocutpitifuldollar-signedbargainswithLarry,thinkinghisstanceafinancialone.Afterseveralofthemcamebackdousedintarandslatheredinsawdust,managementrealizedtheyweren’t

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dealingwithsometemporarywage-increasingpushoverslikethey’dsonecktie-wringinglyhoped.

Justoneweekafterhavingsawedthetreedown,thelastgroupsofhorny,alcoholic,fiendingforeignersshowedupatthewind-blown,grey-skiedbridgeentrancetofindLarrysittingtherewithabigCLOSEDUNTILFUCKYOUsignthathe’dcarvedthatnightintoapieceofhisoldmentor.‘Gosomeplaceelse,’hesaidwithafatmeansmile,thatmonth-oldfireburninginhishead.‘We’renottoleratingyouradolescentfuck-for-allsaroundhereanymore.’

GrumblesandmeagerprotestsfromthedisappointedrevelersbubbledlazilyastheyrealizedPTwasn’tgoingtobeopeninganymore;someanonymousprotestertossedabeerbottleattheunlitPixieTownIIsign.Larrylaughedandyelled,‘Keepitcomin’,youbrainlessweeds!It’salreadyplentybroken.’

Theowners,afraidofthestrike’spotentialforviolence,skippedoutoftownandfledtowhoknewwhere,andwhothehellcaredanyway.Allthebetter,thoughtLarry.Theircancerousintentionscouldgooffandgetfuckedupandloadedonrichesinsomeotherdiseasedabscess,forallhecared.Theabandonedproperty,thenicotine-stainedskeletonoftheoldowners’vaingloriousdreams,ontheotherhand,wasasourceofwildinteresttoLarryandhisclosestsympathizerswho,ridinghighontheirseamlessandgleamingoustingandnowfreetomakeoflifewhattheywished,feltliketheycoulddosomegoodwithaplotoflushlandsuchastheonePTIIsaton.Yes,somethingwildlygood.

TogethertheyturnedthelimpcorpseofPixieTownIIintoanovergrownhaven.

---

WhenPixieTownIIwasstillopenforbusiness,theemployees–includingMr.Lawnyawn–commutedintoworkfromasprawlingnetworkofdilapidatedsuburbanneighborhoodsthatstretchedfromthesouthernbankofKatabasisRiveralongthecoastdownforaboutsevenmiles.Thenetworkwasorganizedintolooseconfederationsoffamilialunitsthatgrewmostoftheirownfoodintheyardsthathadbeenconvertedfromthestandardflat-greenaestheticintofecundyetdisorganizedecosystems.Larrytravelledaroundtheareatohostinformationalsessionsonhowtobesttendone’splotsandwasknownamongthearea’sinhabitantsasakindofJohnnyAppleseed;hecarriedalittlevelvetpoucharoundhisneckfilledwithvariousspecies’seeds,andthepetsalamanderheseemedtohaveinexplicablyalwayshadsatonhisshoulderlikeaparrot,observingthesceneswithsparklingjetblackeyeballs.He’dbestowrandomhandfulsofseedstofamiliesjuststartingout,andwouldmakeagreatcelebrationofthefirstsowing.

HispopularityamongthevariousconfederationspartlyinfluencedtheeasewithwhichhisstrikeshutPixieTowndownlateron,andsupportedhisbidforresidencyinthevacantgrounds.

Butbeforethestrike,Larrylivedalone.Whenhewasn’tmanagingandbeautifyingthelandscapesinsidePixieTownIIortravellingaroundthesuburbannetworksdispensingseedsandadvice,hemeticulouslytendedabonsaicollectionthat

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filledhisflakingyellow,sagged-sidinghousethatcrouchedfortunatelyinthearmpitofanovularovergrowncul-de-sac.

Hisyardwasawildtangleofbushes,shrubs,trees;hewoveforminutesthroughthetwistingorganiccorridorstogettohisporchanddoor;passedthroughlowcanopiesofbloomingfuschia,stucktotheroutethatwaskeptclearbyhisfeet’sroutinereturnsanddepartures.Onlyaroundthedoorwaydidhekeepthefeelerstrimmed,thoughheoftendreamtoflettingeventhisportalgrowover,trappinghimselfeitherwithinorwithout,dependingonwherehe’dbewhenthefinalgapknitteditselftogether.

Thestateofplantaenaffairsinsidethehomewasonlyslightlylessanarchic.Scatteredallaroundthebarely-habitablehousewerehundredsofseedlingsshiveringintheirblacksquareplasticplotsofearth.Theylinedthewindowsills,occupiedthebathtub,floodedthecabinets,andgorgedtheguestbedroomsandclosets.Thebonsaiwereallindifferentstagesofdevelopment,andallrequireddifferentseasonaltreatmentsbasedontheirspecies.Alongthewallofhislivingroom,oneven-spacedshelves,hisfavorite,mostmatureplantslivedouttheirmeticulouslymanagedminiaturelivesinhand-paintedpotsofincandescentblue,green,purple,deepspeckledred.Hetendedthemlateintothenightandonintomorningsippingwatered-downvodkaoutofacoffeemug,trimmingtinyleaveswithequallysizedscissors,upendingtherootstotiethemintoplacetopromotespecificcurvesofthebranches,balancesoftheboughs.

Onwateringdayshetookhisclothesoff,hungthemonthearmsandtwigsofhisyard’stangledoccupants,andranthroughthehousewithahoseinonehandandawateringcanintheother,sendingriversdownthestairs,damminglakesonthecarpet,makingoceansoutofarmchairs,sendingmonsoonsthroughthelivingroom.

Heusuallyfellasleeponhisbeigeplastic-coveredcouch,thefluorescentwhite-blueofthebonsailampsmixingwiththesingleredbulbthatglowedabovehissalamanderthatcurledlikeblackandgoldfireintotheridgesofadamplogLarryfoundinthetunnelofhisfrontyard.Theblue-white-redlightblendedintheearlyhoursofmorningtocasthissleepingbodyinanauranot-quite-spectral,not-quite-anything.Thesoundofhisneighbor’sgaragedoorslidingopenonitsrustytrackusuallywokehim.

ChapterFour–InWhichWeLearnaThingorTwoAbouttheGreen-thumbedLarryLawnyawn

Thatwasallbeforethestrike,ofcourse.SincetheabandonmentofPixieTownII’sgroundsbythemanagement,Larrycartedhiswholebonsaioperationfromhissaggyyellowhousetooneofthemirror-walleddancehalls.HelinedthemupintherustybedofalittlewagonandwentbackandforthbetweenPixieTownandhiscul-de-sac.Hisnewplace,thedancehall,lookedexactlyasithadonthelastnightofregularPixieTownoperations,minusallthepatronsandstaffandstrobelightsandbassthrobbing.Shimmeringdiscoballstwistedunlitfromtheceiling,thetanwooddancefloorshowedthedance-scuffsofthenightbeforethestrikethattheclub’sjanitorhadn’twaxedbrightbeforerealizinghewouldn’t’vebeenpaidto.Theplaceshutdownsoquickthateventhebarwasstillstockedwithbooze:Larryfoundcratesofunopenedbottlesinabackroom.Hedidn’twatervodkadownanymore.

Themainreasonformovingwasthenewarrangementthespaceaffordedhisbonsaiseedlingsonthedancefloor.He’dbuiltupashortborderaroundthedancefloor

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withtwo-by-foursandlinedtheareawithwaterproofsheetingthathefilledwithwater.Itlookedlikealarge,shallowbabypool.Hethenconstructedameshnetthatfittheindividualblackbonsaicontainersandorganizedthemintogrids.Themeshnetwasaslargeasthedancefloorandcouldbeloweredwithamakeshifthandcranksoastodiptheperforatedbottomsofthetubsintothewaterforoptimalsoaking.Hewouldthencrankthewinchupandthebonsai,intheirvaryingdegreesofgrowth,wouldfloatthereabovethepool,dripping.ItsavedLarrytime,andwatchingallhislittleplantsriseandfallatonceputtearsinhisalreadyvodka-shinyeyes.

Inthebackwherethemanagerusedtocounttheevening’searnings,Larrysleptonadarkgreen,stainedcot;hissalamander’stankwasonthebar.Theredheatlamp’strailingcordpluggedintotheoutletthatoncepoweredanautomaticmartinishaker.Severalemergencygeneratorswereleftbehindafterthestrike,andLarryclaimedoneforhisbonsaioperation,andtheotherfolkswhobeganlivingintheabandonedregionsofPTIImadecommunalareaswheretheothergeneratorswereusedforwhatevertheyneededthemfor.

SeveralotherfamiliesandindividualslivedwithinthegroundsofoldPixieTown,havingmigratedfromtheraggedsuburbiatotakeuptheirresidenceinthehusksofPixieTown’soldattractions.Overyears,theymorphedintoafood-production-centeredcommunity,guidedbytheseedyLarrystandinginastheirconstantly,tastefullyinebriatedfigurehead.WhereLarry’soakmentoroncestoodgrewavegetablepatchthatthefamiliesgatheredaroundtoexchangenewsandsharehomemadeliquor.Larrywasusuallythereexchangingoldtalesandimpartingadvice,gettingdrunkeranddrunkerthelongerhestoodaroundtalking.

Oftentimes,onthemorningsaftersuchgatherings,hewasfoundasleepinthegrass,aloosesmilehidingunderhisthickeningbeard.

WhichiswhereLarryfoundhimselfonthemorningofthedayofhisdeath,outthereinthecommunalvegetablepatch-cum-meetingarea.Dirtclumpedinhisbeardandhepushedhimselfupfromtheearthandstretchedhisarmsupintothesky.Becausehestillfeltslightlydrunk,theworldlifteditselfupwithakindofloosehumorthatwasparticulartohavingsleptthroughandthenwokengroggilyintointoxication.AseagulloverheadwobbledinsuchawaythatcausedLarrytothinkitmighthaveatoothache,butbecause,itslowlydawnedonhim,seagullsdon’thaveteeth,Larry’sloosemorningbrainreplacedit:beakache.Helaughedandchompedhisteethupatthebirdthatwasunawareheexisted,untilheshouted,‘Comeondownhere,littlefeather!I’vegotanoldbootthat’llfixyouuprealsweet!’Ondayslikethese,whenthespecterofhangoverandthespiritofhumorhoveredattheedgeofeachunfoldingmoment,simultaneouslyhauntingandticklinghim,LarryusuallydrovehisoldpatchworkVespathatcoughedlikeatuberculosispatientandshedrustlikealeperintoPenobskatoeathisfavoritehangoverremedy:gumbo.Hecouldn’tbuyitanywhereelsebutthere,andthoughhecouldcertainlymakeitforhimself,orcommissiononeoftheneighborfamiliestomakeit,thepleasureofhavingtojourneyalonetohaveitmadeforhiminaforeigntown–wherethefolkshadtheconsistencyofpapiermachestand-insforthetypesofpeoplehewasusedto–wasthemagicoftheritualonmorningsthatheknewwouldunfoldintoafternoonsandeveningsofheadacheifhestayedstilloratehisusualdailydietofcashewsandgreensandwarmvodka.Sohetookthedayofftodisappear

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intothethickouterreaches,toletthewindrufflethepaininhisforehead,gumbocalmhishunger,andthestrangehabitsofthePenobskansbubblehiseyeswithlaughter.

Hegotup,theplansettledinhishead,hisoldbonesgroaningasthemorning’shumiditypressedinonthem,andwalkedwithpepdownthecrumblingcobblestonepathwhoseflanksoncefeaturedbeercartsandwinewagonsandoldcarnival-stylegameswithsexualre-imaginings(insteadofthrowingasoftballatastackofmilkbottles,youthrewadisembodiedrubbertitatapyramidofrubberpenises…insteadofblastingawatergunintothemouthofaclowntowinastuffedbearyou…well,youcanimagine)andwhoseperimetersLarryoncesoakedwithweed-snufferfluidontheweekendstokeepthecracksclearoffeelers,andthepatrons’eyesfreefromanythingnotbeatenbackwiththerodofmechanizedmaintenance.Now,though,mostoftheboothshadbeendisassembledandreused;mostofLarry’sbonsaipool’sborder,infact,hadbeenconstructedwiththelumberfromthosebooths.Hehadn’tthefirstthoughtofordesiretoknowthelocationsofthephallicparaphernaliathatwouldhaveservedonlyahandfulofrecycledpurposes.

Everybooththatstillstoodhadgrownoverwithivyormoss,orcollapsedunderthesoggypressureoftheseasons,makingthewalkbacktohisheadquartersfreshandpleasant,likethefirstbiteintoanewpieceofpeppermintgum,ifnotatouchtoobrightforhisthrobbingskull.Butaclouddimmedtheharshmorningandbythetimehemadeitback,hisheadfeltnearlyclearoftheloopyremnantsoflastnight’sdrink,butnotofthismorning’sgumboyearnings.Hecreakedthefrontdoorsopenandsteppedintothehazyex-club,switchedonthediscoballforfun.Coinsoflightarcedthroughhishome.Thebonsaifilledthewholeplacewithamusty,earthyodor,andtheconstantmoisturebillowedaroundandsatlikeasecondskinonwhoeverentered.Heknewhislittlesalamanderbuddylovedit,themoisture,andoftentimesheletthecritterloosetowanderaroundtheplaceonitsown.Asheapproachedthebarwherethetanksat,hesawthesalamanderinhisusualspot,asleepunderthecurvedarmoftheoldsectionoflog,oneoftheonlyremainingrelicsofhisoldhouseinthesuburbs.Larrytappedattheglassandthesalamanderliftedoneeyelidandclosedit,lookingitselftobeinsomesalamanderlystateofpost-intoxicantdaze.

‘C’mon,lilbuddy.Let’sgogetussomegumbo,eh?’HealwaysbroughtthesalamanderalongwithhimonhisforaysintoPenobskatobreakupwhatLarryregardedastheotherwisemonotonouspaceofitslife.Hethoughtbrighterthingsabouthissalamander’sdailyschedulesincemoving,butstill…whatwastheretodoinanabandonednightclubforsomethingthesizeofatoothbrush,andasfragileasabunchoftoothpickswrappedinatissue?Larrylikedlettinghimsitonhisshoulderorcrawlintohisshirtwhilehecruiseddownthehighwayzig-zaggingalongtoavoidthelegionsofpotholesanddebris,scramblingoverLarry’sbodylikealoosebug.HetappedtheglassagainandthesalamanderopenedbotheyesandlookedupatLarry,yawned.‘Shakeitout,sucka!It’stimetoroll,’Larrychimed.Hetiltedthetopofthetankopenandreachedin,wrappinghiswrinkledfingersaroundtheshimmeringblackandyellowtorso.Liftingitout,dirtclungtothetinypadsofthesalamander’sfeet,butitotherwisedidnotresist,andseemedtobefiguringoutwhatLarrywasupto.Itwaggeditslittletail.

Larrysetitonhisshoulderandwentbehindthebarandpouredafewglugsofvodkaintoanelectricwaterboiler.Heturneditonandleaneduponthebar,lookingoutoverthegridofgrowingtreesasthediscoballspunabove,untilheheardalow

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gurglejustbeforeactualboiling,thenpouredthehotpungentliquidintoathermosthathesippedfrom.‘Wheew.That’sthestuff.’ThesalamandercaughtawhiffofthefumesandretreateddowntheneckofLarry’sshirt.Hescrewedthelidon,rummagedthroughapileofclothesandfoundhispatchyleathercoat,pullediton,andwentoutthebackdoor,scoopinguphisduct-tapedhelmetfromoffthebarstoolontheway,andcoaxedtherustyVespathatheparkednearthebackdoortolife.Hetuckedthethermosofhotvodkainthebasketstrappedtotheback,thenimmediatelyremovedittotakeanothersipbeforereplacingitagain.Alittleredgallonjugofgassatinthebaskettoo,alongwithasunsetorangeflaregunthathedidn’thaveanyflaresfor.He’dwrittenhisnameonitwithablackmarkerlikeakidmarkinghislunchboxonthefirstdayofschool.

Hefiredtheonlyflarehehadforitelevenyearsprioronthelongestnightofthatparticularyear,thewintersolstice,whichhimandhisneighborsalwayscelebratedwiththereservedsolemnitythataccompaniesthattimeofyear,andthatmuchdarkness.He’dhadmorevodkathanusualthatnightduringthefireceremony,whichforhimwasmorethanmostadultscoulddrinkandstillhavetheirvisionthenextday.Allhisneighborsgatheredaroundasizeablebonfirewithwishesorhopesforthecomingyearliterallyorfigurativelywrittenondriedleavesthey’dkeptpressedsincethepreviousfall.Whenitwastheirturnthey’dcasttheirleafintotheflamesandtrytoholdtheirwishesintheirmindsuntilithadbeenfullyincinerated.Ifanotherthoughtwedgeditswayinbetweenyourleafandthefirebeforeitwasburnt,thenthewish’scomingtruetookalotmorecosmicjuice,orsosaidthegnarled,swarthy,thick-accentedchemicalmaestrowhosesmallwoodencartstillsatwhereitalwayshadinthecornerofthegrounds,thoughinsteadofdealingouthisfamouspomegranateshedealtincosmologicaladviceandpractices.

WhenitwasLarry’sturn,hebotchedhisleaftossandthewindtookitintothedarkestskyoftheyear.Rememberingtheflaregunthathekeptwithhimforobscurereasons,hefumbleditoutofhiscoatpocketandfireditafterhisleafintotheskyhopingtoburnitupandreleasehiswishinhisownway.Thespark-trailedprojectileburstandilluminatedeverything.People’supturnedfaceslookedlitfromwithinastheflareslowlydriftedbacktowardthem.Hewouldneverbesureifhe’dhithisleaf,forhehadforgottenwhateverhe’dwrittenonitthemomentthewindflickeditintothedarkness.

SohekepttheflarelessguninhisVespa’sbasketasareminderthatanythinggoodthathappenedtohimmightbetheforgottenwishfromsolongagohavingonlythencometrue.Whereverthatleafflewoffto,helikedtothink,therewasthedistantchancethatitlandedinandhadbeenconsumedbysomeoneelse’sfarawayfire.

AsherodeoutofPixieTown,wavingtohisfriendsthathungoutonthefrontstepsoftheirhomesdrinkingteaorflossingteeth,theflaregunbouncedaroundinthebasketwithhisthermosofvodkaandjugofgasoline,andthesalamandersatonhisshoulderlookingattheroadbehindthem,watchingPixieTownshrinkandeventuallydisappearbehindahillpokywithconifers.

Afewmonthsago,ononesuchrideintoPenobskaProper,hestoppedbyarusted-out,hubcaplesssedantostretchouthisbackmuscles,shakefeelingbackintohishands,andpeeintothejaggedtearsinthepavement.Heleanedinthroughtheyawningwindow-holetolookintothesedanandsawbrokenglassonthegaping,

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stuffing-spewingseats,dustonthedashboard,thelittledomesticscuffsandscrapesonthesteeringwheelthatmust’vebeentherebeforethecar’dbeenditched,and,practicallygleamingagainstthegrimeofitall:ahumanjawboneonthefloormatbythecrookedbrakepedal.

Afterthinkingaboutit,andaftersearchingtherestofthecarforevidenceofwhatever’dlong-sinceelapsed,heliftedthejawbetweenthumbandforefingerandhelditclose,lookingattheteeththatsatinsuchanorderlyrowinthecurveofbone.Theirabandonmenthadcoloredthemyellow,andLarrynoticedalittleblackseedwedgedbetweentwomolars,oddlyintact,unscathedbythechewingthathadlodgeditthere.Hecouldn’tidentifywhatplantithadcomefrom.Heputitbackontothefloormat,bentoverintoafewmoreforwardfoldstolimberuphisback,androdetherestofthewayintoPenobska.Duringlunchhecouldn’tstopthatjaw-lodgedseedfromplantingitselfinhismind.Onhiswaybackthroughhestopped,freeditfrombetweentheteethwithatwig,andpocketedit.Notknowingthenwhattodowithit,heputitinajarnexttohissalamander’stank.

Larrygotintothehabitofaddressinghisdeepestconcernstoawomanhe’dseeninadreamafewnightsafterhavingreturnedhomewiththejaw-seed:inithedrivesdownthehighwayashealwaysdoes.Highnoonsunblastsshadowsoutoftheroad’spebbles.Theforestoneithersideblendsintoasolidgreenperipheryashespeedsbetween.Upahead,hecansee,awomanastallasatreeleansoutofthecurtainofgreen,herjawworkingonsomethingtough.She’spickingatherteethwithatoothpick,buthecan’tmakeouttheexpressiononherface.Hertongue–blackanddottedwithyellow–dartsfromhermouth.Ashegetscloser,heseesthatherskinissicklygreen.Herbreasts’widedarknipplesleakslowsmokeintotheair.Hergroinisamatoftangledgreenmoss.Heslowstoaskhersomething,butknowsshe’djustsinkintotheforestifhedid.Sohekeepson,knowingshewatcheshimrecede,andatsomepointdowntheroadhewokeup.

Sometimestheaddressesdevelopedintodrunkenlydistractedpleasthatheforgotaftermutteringthem.Onesuchlongforgottenwasthis:despiteperhapswhateachindividualpartymaybelieve,thebeastsandthehumansandwhosoeverinbetweenarethenockofthearrow.Thebowstring,whoseveritmaybe,istautandtrembling,thebowangledtowardthesky,theblank-bluetargetofthesky,angledtowardtheetherealblue.AtleastIhope.InmywildestwanderingsfromthemouthofKatabasistothefirstpavedstreetofPenobskaProperthishoperingsloudest.Thevectorsconverge.Butateitherendtheremaybeafewtoomanyloud-brainedfrictionsfillingtheairtoreallyhearit,tohearthishope,evenifyou’resayingittoyourself,overandover,louderandlouder,tonooneinparticularbutthecreaturesgrowing,knittingthemselvestogether,oneithersideoftheroad…

ChapterFive–InWhichGhostsareFoundintheGumbo

AtGullahBowlTripdoechewedhergumbostew.Ifshe’dbeencountingshewouldhaveknownthathernextchewwouldbethe144thsinceherfirstmouthfulofgumbo;shrimpexplodedbetweenhermolars.Abeadofsweatrolledbehindherear.SheheardFennyhootinganeworderbacktoBigJ.Twoorthreecarsdriftedbehindthewindows,reflectingthesun.

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Thebeardedoldmansittingattheboothinthecornerputhisspoonbackintohisbowlofgumbo.Tripdoethoughtofamassivemetallicbirdlandingbeak-firstintoalake;somethingabouttheformalityofthebeardedoldman’smovementscaughthereye.Hishandswereflat,flankingthegumbobowl,hesatupunnaturallystraightasifhisscalpwereconnectedtoawirethathungfromtheceiling,andbrieflyheappearedtoemitlight.Hebreathednormallyatfirst,butgraduallystartedpanting.Aloneathistable,hispantinglookedallthemoredesperateanduncontrolled.Histonguelurchedoutofhismouthlikeadrunkmanthrownthroughawetwindow,andhiseyespuffedoutoftheirsocketsandstaredlikesailorsatsomethingonthefloorthatTripdoetriedtoseebutwouldneversee.Hermouth–runningonitsownmotor–chewedatitsregularpaceevenasshepushedhertrayawaytogetup.

Theotherpatrons’eyesfollowedTripdoe,whohadgoneovertothemanandwascrouchingnexttohimnow.Shelookedaroundwide-eyedasiftosay,“Uh,help…or…something?”Histonguewhirledincirclesaroundhismouthlikearubbertreadmillmat,tearsandsweatrolledoffhiminrivulets.Thetablewasquiteslickwithitall,andTripdoemadethemistakeoflookingdirectlyintohiseyes,whosepupilsweredilatingandconstrictingrapidlylikeblackstrobelights.Athoughtwentthroughherheadfrictionlessly:thisman’sskull’sahummingbirdcage.Hiseyeswereflashingfrompoolstopinpoints–Tripdoestarted–orwait,maybeshejustthoughtshestarted–seeingdifferentshapesemergefromtheoscillatingirises:awheel,awire,atinytreewithcuredroots.Sheslappedhim,hopingtomaketheeyesstaystill,tobringhimbackintohisseat.Sheknewhowquietitmusthavebeenintherestaurant,butitwastheoccupiedsilenceofaHappening.Hersecondslapwashard;fearslippedintoher.Onthethirdfully-woundslaphisneckwentlimp,hisheadteetered,andhisfaceploppedintothebowl,splashinggumboalloverTripdoe’sshoesandshirt.Thespoonclatteredontotheground.

Silenceroaredintothevacuum.Thesoundofachairscootingcarefully,quicklybackwards.Abubblerosefromthegumbo.Therippleshenoticedearliertravelleduptheman’ssleeve,andatinysticky-slickblackfacepeepedoutfromunderthestretched-elasticcollarandcaughtTripdoe’seye.Tripdoestaredbackatthetiny,bulgy-eyedfaceforafullfourseconds,thinkingitaperson,anink-blackgnome.

Itstongueflickedout,eyelidsrosefrombeneathitsblankeyes.Itbrokethestaretolookuptheneckofthegumbo-gorgedmanwhoseshirtitwasnowhalfwayoutof.ItlookedbacktoTripdoe,thendoveintotheshirt(Iwasrummagingaroundintheshirt,tryingtofeelLarry’sheartbeat,hearthefamiliargurgleofhisguts.AllIheardwasaslowwringing-out,apeculiarlyhighwhine,so–)andemergedfranticallylikeaterror-blindhorsefleeingaburningbarn.Itrandowntheman’sleg–Tripdoecaughtaflashofyellow-goldshimmeroffitsblackslenderbody–ontothetilewhereitvanishedundertheshadowofthetable.

Theguy’sfacewasstillinthebowl.Horrified,shepulleditout.Hunksofcrawfishslidoffhisforeheadandcheeks,somecatchinginhisbeard,theredsaucesquirmedoffhisskin.Theeyeswereslack,lollingintheirsocketslikebilliardballsinafishbowl.

Tripdoelookedbewilderedtowardtheregister,whereshehopedtoseeFennycallingforhelp.

Instead:ametallicclangingfromthekitchen,apothitthefloorasthebackdoorwhipsopen,fillingthekitchenwithanall-overkindofshine.TripdoesawBigJ’ssilhouettefillthedoorway.

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HewatchedFennyzipoutintotheparkinglot,crossthestreetatafull,desperate,loosesprint.BigJpattedhisrighthandonthetopofhisownhattedhead,asifperhapsFenny’srapidexitwerethebizarreinitiationofanimpromptugameofDuck,Duck,Goose.

Fenny,redinthefaceandabsolutelyterrified,continuedchugginghiscigarette-scarredlungsdownafewblocksuntilhereachedthefencedouterlipoftown.HisGullahBowlhatflewoffbehindhim.ThewindrolledoverhisgreasyskinwhilesimultaneouslyrollinghishatdownthestreetandintothePhanfamilyyard.Itkeptrollinguntilittippedintothegurgling,algae-bloomedsyntheticpondthatRogehadinstalledfouryearsagotoincreasethepleasanceoftheiryard.Thehatsoakedinwaterthatdarkenedtherednessofit,andsunk.

ChapterSix–InWhichBozemanUnveilsHisNewLegalRestrictions,andRogeCasuallyHallucinates

‘AllPenobskansarerequiredbylawtoownahome.‘Correction:allPenobskanswithinthefenceofthePrefectureProperare

requiredbylawtoownahome.‘Exceptions:minors,thementallyunsound,thoseinanadvancedstateof

elderliness.‘Whenyouturn20yearsold,ifyoudonothavethemonetaryresourcesto

purchaseahome,thePrefecturewilllendyoutherequiredamountandestablishafixedpaymentsystembasedonyourincome.Ifyoudonothaveandshownosignsofobtaininganappropriatelylucrativejobbythesixthmonthofyour20thyear,yourcasewillbebroughttocourtandyoumaybeexpelledfromPenobskaProper,andyourrightsasacitizenrevoked.

‘InordertomaintaintheequilibriumofourUto–…eh…betterkeepitasPrefecturefornow…inordertomaintaintheequilibriumofourPrefecture,thesestatutesarenotnegotiable.AnydissentersmaybesummonedtocourtandhavetheircasesreviewedbyPrefectBozeman,perhisconvenience.

‘Nowreadthatbacktome,wouldyoupleaseRoge?’Roge,sittinginablackleatherswivelchairwithhiselbowsonhiskneesanda

laptopinfrontofhimontheglasscoffeetable,readthestatementbacktoBozeman.Heemphasizedthewordsrequired,purchase,Prefecture,fixed,expelled,stripped,andforBozeman’ssake,thephraseperhisconvenience.Theairconditionerunitturnedonfillingtheroomwithawombyhum,thebreezefromtheventbobbedthepottedferninthecorner.Bozeman’sbackwasupagainstthewall,hisfeetintheair,andhisheadpressedsolidlyintohisheadstandpillow.Hisfacewasaswollenredsunset.Oneachupturnedsoleofhisfeetbalancedoneplumpstrawberry.

‘ThankyouRoge,’hegasped.“Nowplease,dearGod,takethesestrawberriesoffmyfeetandhelpmedown.’

Rogepushedhislaptopawayandstoodup,pluckedthesinglestrawberriesoffthesolesofBozeman’swobblingfeet,theneasedhislegsdownbytheanklesuntil

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Bozemanrestedonallfoursonthecarpet,breathingsteadily,loudly.HecranedhisheaduptolookRogedeadinthenose,hisfacealreadylightening.

‘Ihavehighhopesforthissystem,’hesaid,doinghisbesttowranglehisraggedbreath.‘Myheadaches’vebeenlessintensethelastfewdays,andIhardlynoticeemwhenI’minvertedlikethat.I’vealsofeltthestirringsoflifedownthereinthemorning.Thefaintesthintofapossibleerection,perhaps?Ithinkso.Idosurelythinkso.NotreallysureIgetthewholestrawberrything.Symbolism?Orwaitwouldthatbemoreofametaphortypedeal?’

‘Notsure,sir.Ithinksymbolism…makesmoresense…?’Rogefoundhisswivelchairagain.Thestrawberriesrestedinhishands,oneineachpalm.Heimaginedsqueezingthemintoredpulpywads.HelookeddownatBozeman,stillonallfours,gettinghisbreathback.

Insteadofsmooshingthem,heplacedthestrawberriesontotheglasstabletopnexttohislaptop.HescannedthescreenandflickedthroughafewpagesuntilhefoundDr.Sassoon’shomeotherapyandtoxicologywebsite.HeclickedopentheprivatechatfeedheandBozemanhadsetupafewweekspriorandtypedin,‘Shouldtheberriesbedisposedofsomehowaftereachsession?Stilledibleor…?’andsentitofftoDr.S.withalittleclickedyclick.ThemessagepoppedupinthechatprofilethatRogehadcreatedforDr.Sassoon,andhetypedinaresponsetoit,makingsureBozemandidn’tnotice;themessageswentthroughdifferentidentitychannelssothatwhenBozemanreceivedthemessagesonhiscomputertheylookedlikethey’dcomefromtwodistinctaccounts–Dr.SassoonandRoge–asopposedtojustRoge…

Acoupleminuteslater,afterBozemanfoundhiswaybacktohisdeskwherehehaddrapedhisforeheadoverhisfoldedarm,andappearedtobesleeping,Dr.Sassoon’s,whichwasironicallyhisown,messagebeepedontoRoge’ssideofthechatfeed:‘Strawberriesshouldbefine.Mayberinseduetofeetcontactetc.…’Rogejuggledtheideainhishead,then,Bozeman’sfacestillwedgedinthecrookofhiselbow,tiptoedoutintothestaffloungewherehewashedthestrawberriesoffinthemug-ladensink,andatethemdowntotheirgreenleafycaps.Theoverheadlightsbuzzedbluely,andgnatsstumbledthroughtheairaroundthetrashcanthathethrewthecapsinto.

‘Roge…?’Bozemancalledfromhisoffice.‘Roge…?’Rogeleftthestafflounge,stoppingoutsideBozeman’soffice.Thirty-two

paintedportraitsofpastPrefectshungfromnailsimbeddedinthemauvewallsoftheOfficeofPrefecturalCommand.Roge,pretendingforafewminutesnottohearBozeman’snasalsummonses,regardedtheportraitswithtired,over-caffeinatedeyes.Inthesaggingfacesofthesemenandwomen,intheirwood-framedimperialgrins,theirfrizzy,smooth,bowl-like,non-existent,fluffy,flat,brown,white,black,goldhair,intheirpressedsuitsandpaisley-splatteredtiesandblouses,intherippledPenobskanFlagbehindtheirrightshoulders,itssingleblacksilhouetteofanevergreenonafieldofblueandgreenstripes,Rogefoundhisownscatteredappearancereflectedoffthegleamingly-renderedeyesthatonlyathoursliketheseshiftedundertheirstatic,pigmentedlids:hislopsidedafro,bloodshoteyes,thetwotinklingcoffee-stainedteeththatperpetually-peepedfromandpercheduponhislowerlipthatworeasquaresoul-patchlikeaChristmasornament,theroundchinlikearadishwithstubble,thenearly-opaque-with-scratchestortoiseshellglasses.Hewashandsomeinasortofnon-professionalway.

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Sometimes,afterlatehoursproppinghimselfupwiththericketycrutchesofcaffeine,theseportraitswhisperedtiredmonologuestoRoge.Talesoftheirtumults,proclamationsoflovefrombeyondthegrave,raggedregrets,andunfathomable,probablyimpossibleconspiraciesrelatingtothePrefectBozemanandhisquestionablepoliciesregardingeverythingfrompre-schoolstoporcupines.Onlyafterseveraldaysofnotsleeping,offorcedcaffeinating,havethesehushednarrativesactuallystartedsoundingplausible…andbegan–despiteRoge’sconstantattempteddismissals–accumulatingandcrystalizinginRoge’sbrainlikeacalciumdeposit,oratumor.

ThetangyflavorofstrawberrystillloungedonRoge’stongueasPenobska’s11thPrefect–MarcyMcMouty–winkedathimfrominsideherframe.Shewent:‘Psst.Hey,Roge.’Heusuallydidagoodjobatnotresponding,buttherewassomethinginherPsstthatperkedhisears.‘Psst.Roge.Overhere.It’sme,Marcy.’

Withoutmovinghislipstoomuch,Roge,whilefidgetingwithhishandsinawaythatmadeitlooklikehewaswashingthem,quietlysaid,‘Whatdoyouwant?’

‘Iwantyoutogotosleep.Youlooklikeadishtowelsomebodyusedtocleanupravioli.’

‘Longnightahead,Marcy.We’regettingtothebottomofsomereallytechnicalstuff.Thesewersystem’slookingnearlymapped-out.Can’tjustleaveBozemanalonewithitall.’

‘Sureyoucan.He’scapable.He’sthePrefectafterall.Plusthewhole“miniature-Penobska”thingishisgrandscheme.Lethimbearthebruntofit…Listen,Roge,whenIheldofficeIhadfourpeopledoingyourjob,andweweren’tmakingitaday-longhobbysession.WewereactuallymakingstuffhappeninPenobska,implementinginfrastructuraladvancementsandsoforth.Heworksyoutoohard,likeusingtwohorsestobuildthepyramidofGiza.Orcamels,whatever.’

‘Yeah,well…’Rogepulledhiseyesawayfromherportrait.SomeGiza.Shewasreferringtothethirtysquarefeetoffinely-detailed,down-to-scaleminiaturePenobska– veryclosetobeingfinished–thatsatonaraisedwoodenplatforminthemiddleofthebuilding’slobby.Hugerectangularzonesofbrownpaperstucktothefloorwithbluepainter’stapesurroundedthesloping,building-dottedterritory.HisandBozeman’sdarkshoeprintszig-zaggedaroundthepaper.

HeandBozemanhadbeenlaboringforthelasteightmonths,tryingtomirrorthemodelcityinthelobbywiththecitythatbreathedandpulsedoutsidetheOffice’sdoors.Everyscaledhousewasaboutthesizeofatissuebox.Thegeographicsslopedandswelled,everytreeoccupyingitsownplaceandeverystonesetonitsownlipoffabricatedland.Atfirst,thedioramaandthentheprecisionofthedioramawassolelyBozeman’sobsession:hebroughttheideaintofruitionafterhavingwatchedanepisodeofElitheEngine,afictionalchildren’sshowaboutamodeltraintownthatplaysthroughallhoursofthenightonalocalstation.He’dwatchedoneepisodeoftheshowataroundfourinthemorningwhilehighonheavy-dutypainkillers.

Hecameintotheofficelaterthatnextmorninghuge-pupiled,mute.Hewentimmediatelytohisoffice,satdownatorrathermergedwithhisdeskandcarvedaminiatureversionofPenobska’spubliclibrarywithasharpenedforkfromthestaffloungeandahunkofbalsawoodhe’dfoundsome-unknown-where.Theresemblance,Rogewasmildlyhesitanttoadmit,wasuncanny.

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Scaledcarvingsofhisownhomefollowed,thentheOfficeofPrefecturalCommand,bothmarkedincreasinglywithunsettlingandsimultaneouslyimpressiveaccuracy.AttheendofthedayRogecouldn’tgethimtoansweranyquestionsorsayanything,hejustsattherewithhischinrestingontheedgeofhisdesk,staringattheremarkablyrealisticminiatures.Finally,helookedupandtoldRogetocancelallofhisappointmentsforthatweek:‘I’vegotanideaintheidea-oven,Roge.’

Oh…uh…yikes?thoughtRoge.

Itdidn’ttakelongforthegravityoftheprojecttostartpullingRogein,beinginnear-constantproximitytoBozemanandall.Nowthetwofedoffeachother’sneedtoperfecttheminiaturePrefect,andthedioramahadadvancedconsiderably:theyhadbeenworkingonafunctionalsewersystemthattheydesignedtorunbeneaththescaled-streets,withtinylittlesteelpipesandremovablemanholes,evenafewcoloniesofratsaddedinforaccuracyand,asBozemansaid,‘flavor’.

Also:anelectricalgridforlightingupthelittleneighborhoodsduringeveningsimulations.RogehadTripdoeteachinghimthebasicsofcircuitryforthis,andshe’devenbeenintwicetohelpthemwiresomeofitup,butshealwaysfoundareasontoleaveaftertwentyorsominutes:‘Idon’tknow,Pappy-O…something’salittleweirdaboutthewholethingtome…Bozemangetsthis…eh…twitchwhenhe’sstaringatPenobskaPetitefortoolong,I’venoticed.Youguyssittingintheregettingitcloserandclosertotherealtown…there’ssomething,Idon’tknow,freakyaboutthewholething,’sheexplained.ButRoge,toodeepinBozeman’stinytown,couldn’tquitemakesenseofher.

WhenRogelookedbackatMarcy,sheresumedherexistenceasdriedpaintandframe.Scanningtherowofportraits,RogesawoneofBozemanhehadn’tnoticedbefore…butthisonewasdifferent,hisheadwascantedoffatanangle,hardlyaspolishedorimperialastheothersand,ohgood,thisonestartedtalkingtohimagainhere…Rogejumped:itwastherealBozemanpokinghisheadoutofhisofficedoor,staringathim.

‘Roge?Uh,whatthefuck?’Bozeman’srectangularmustachedancedwhenhetalked,usinghisthin,straightupperlipasacabaretstage.Hisearsweretheshapeandsizeofquarters,andflutedoutwardoffhistoaster-shaped,pompadour-crownedhead.Slope-shouldered,swarthy,bowling-ballroundlikeanauto-body-repairshop’sofficemanager,withaglarethatwhenstaringseemedimpassiveanduncaringbut–atthemomentitlookedaway–betrayedadeep,sharpintelligence,liketheglancegaveyouatasteofwhatBozemanactuallythoughtaboutyou,allinaflash,likeamuggerflashingaglimmeringrazorbladefrominsideaflapinaleathertrenchcoat.

Rogestuttered:‘Oh,uh,justthinkingoutloudhere,sir.’Bozeman’sfacecompressedinasquint.Hiseyesflittedovertotheminiature

Penobska,lingeredtherebeforeturningbacktoRoge.‘Right.Well.Knockitoffandgetyourassinhere.Ijustfoundsomething

groundbreaking.’Bozeman’slittlehandshotoutfrombehindthedoor,armedwithathumbs-upwhichthen,inablur,transformedintoabeckoninggesture.Backinsidehisoffice,doorclosedbehindthemdespitethembeingtheonlytwointhebuilding,clutteredwithdiscardedmodels,unusedmaterials,unwashedcoffeemugs,pottedferns,andglossyphotographsofrandompartsofPenobska,BozemansatbehindhisdeskandturnedhiscomputerscreenaroundsoRogecouldseewhathe’dbeenlooking

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at.Itwassomeone’swebsite,whatlookedlikeabunchoftrees.‘They’rebonsaitrees,Roge.Littleminiaturetrees.Thisguy,LarryLawnyawn,heusedtodolandscapingtypestufffortheoldPixieTown,growsandsellsbonsaitreesonthesidenowadays.He’sbeendoingitforyears,probablythelastlivingbonsaispecialistinthispartoftheworld…Imeanchecksomeofthisshitout…alittletiger-shapedmaple,huh?Huh?Prettysweet.YouthinkingwhatI’mthinking?’

Roge,doingmoreblinkingthanthinking,nodded.‘Theintegrationofafunctional,miniaturebiome.Forgettheselittlepipe

cleanerandpaintforests,’heflickedafewin-progresstreesoffthedeskthattappedandclatteredsomewhereoverbythedoor.‘Wecouldhaveareal-time,small-scaleecosystematworkhereRoge.Tinyplants,weesquirrels,perhaps,maybeevenaflockofthumbnail-sizegeese?’BozemanstillangledthescreentowardRoge.Heshookitrhetoricallytomatchtherhythmofwhathesaid.‘Ifwecangetthisscaletobalanceoutperfectly,imaginewhatwecandoforPenobska…imaginethechangethatwillhappeninourlifetimes,Roge.Justimagineit.Imagineit.’

Rogehaddevelopedtheperfectbalanceoffaciallaxityandexertion,towherehecouldstareintoBozeman’swatery,unsleepingeyes,andbesomewherefaroffdoingmentalcartwheelsdowntheunpavedavenueofmemory.AsBozemanrattledrhythmintothebonsai-filledscreen,RogethoughtbacktowhenhefirstbecameBozeman’sassistant,someseventeenyearsago.TheOfficebustledwithhealthyactivity.Rogestilldrankcoffeeasanantemeridiemtreat.Bozemanbumbledabout,forearmsexposedinthatbizarremixofstudiousnessandlaboriousnessthatsometimespeepsitswayintobusyofficedays,winkingatsecretariesandbanteringlikeahighschoolfootballcoachwiththeotherguys,keepingthemachismojustshyofslapstothemalestaff’skhakirumps.Ageneralwarmthfloatedontheair,alightliveliness,asolidpurposefulness;nobodytooktheirjobsveryseriously,justenoughtogetthingsdone,butnotenoughtowhereanythingactuallyhappened.

Thinkingbackonthosefirstyears,theyblendedintoawarmpulpyfluidthatseepedandbrieflycloggedRoge’smemory.Ashismindreturnedandreconstituteditselfamidthevisualdataitseyeswerefeedingit,thememorydissolvedlikeasweetpieceofcandyonthetongueofhismind.Now,well.Now.AllhewantedwastogohomeandfindNikosiasleeponthecouchandTripdoewaist-deepinsomebodyelse’streadmilloreatingabowlofleftovermicrowavedgumbo.Hewantedtheirquiet,warm,compositepresencetositdownnexttohimbythekitchentableandholdhishandfirmlyandhearexactlywhatheneededtosay,whichwassomethingsobeyondhistongueandbrainthatsometimesitfeltlikeabunchofredhotspringsrollinglooselyaroundtheinsideofhisskull,fusinghissynapsestogether,burningthebacksofhiseyes.

RogestareddeeplyatBozeman.Hiseyelidshungunmovinglikecurtainsovertheirwinteredwindows.Bozemankeptrattlingon,theroomacurveddioramaonthegleamingsurfaceofhiseyes.

‘Mr.Bozeman,’Rogeaddedwhensilencesatintheroomforlongenough,‘Aminiatureforest…is…anexcellentidea.’BehindBozeman’semergingsmile,somethingbloomed.

ChapterSeven–InWhichTripdoeIsSurprisedBySomethinginHerPants

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Tripdoe’slongbonyfingersfiddledthemselvesnervouslyinherlap.ShesatinthePenobskaMedicalCenter’semergencywaitingroomwatchingathinbaldtwelve-year-oldboyplaywithanemptyboxofcandyonthefloornexttohisterminal-lookingmother’swheelchair.Themother’swispybrownhaircloakedpatchesofherscalpunevenly.WatchingthemputTripdoeinahollowmood.Thetwelve-year-old’ssharpfeaturesweresharpenedbyhisbaldness,andhiswiryhandshoveredthecandyboxoverthemouthofthetrashcanthatthemother’swheelchairwasparkedinfrontof.Shecranedherneckwheneverhehoveredtheboxandsaidshrilly,‘Don’tyouthrowthatinthere.Waituntilwefindtherecycling.Hey!Youhearme?’Thekidsmiledcrookedlyandbroughtitbacktohisfeetwherehepusheditaroundlikeatoycar,then,seemingtorememberhisrecurrentplan,hovereditagainoverthetrashcan.Anewstringofwordsamountingtothesamemessage,theemptyboxrosethensunklikearectangularmulticoloredwhalecomingupforair.

Tripdoehadtocalltoday’sonlyotherscheduledclienttocancel.Sheusedthehospital’sphone,pullingitscoiledtanwireoverthecounterbehindwhichaturquoisenursepenciledinsquaresonaclipboardandtypedvisitor’snamesintoagreyboxycomputer:‘Justmakeitquick,’shesaid,soTripdoemadeitquick.

Theladyontheotherendoftheconnectionsoundeduninterestedinthecancellation,andaskedtorescheduleforthesametimenextweek.WhenTripdoementionedshewasatthehospital,theladysaid,‘Ihopeeveryone’sOK.’Well.

Theguywasdefinitelydead,despitetheparamedic’sproceduraleffortstorevivehim.AndbecauseshewastheonlypersonbesidesBigJleftinGullahBowlbythetimetheyarrived(seeingFennyrunoutintandemwiththeimageofTripdoeholdingaloftagumbo-drippingheadstirredarobustathleticisminthepatronsthatpropelledthemintotheparkinglot),shefeltobligedtokeepthecorpsecompanyonitsrockyridetothehospital.Theentirewaytheretheblack-latex-glovedparamedicsslidneedlesintoLou’sdeflatedveinsandsuckedhisstomachdrywithawhitecorrugatedtube.Theycuthisweirdhen-on-a-pool-tablet-shirtdownthemiddleofthefront,lettingitdrapeopenoverthesidesofthegurneyliketheopenflapsofacardboardboxintherain,exposingalittlevelvetbagstrungaroundhisneck.Theparamedicsremoveditandsetitinaclearplastictub.LimpLoulolledthroughthevariousprobingsandwardrobealterationsuninterested.Tripdoe,too,watchedthedramaunfoldfromwhatfeltlikebehindathickpaneofglass,thesturdygreyplasticfold-downpassengerseatnumbingherlegs.Shethoughtherlackofemotionalresponsemightbeevidenceofpost-traumaticshock,butthoughtthatifshecouldsittherediagnosingherselfwithpost-traumaticshockwhilethetwomenpokedandtubedandthuddedtheflimsycorpseofastranger,thatitcouldn’tpossiblybepost-traumaticshock.Plusshefeltfine,calm,serene,just…faroff,behindathickpaneofglass,orontheotherendofabrokentelephonewire.

Sittinginthewaitingroom,thememoryofhowrawtheman’sheadfeltasshepulleditfromthegumbobowlstucktoherhandslikepeanutbutter.Heavy,wet,theenergyofhispersondrainingoutofhimlikethegumbodrainingoffhisface,thepassivesheddingofsomeessentialheatthatevennow,afterhavingfeltitslipbetweenherfingers,shecouldn’tpindownorrecallwithanythingshefeelshalfwaycomfortableconsideringcomplete.Thedifficultyoftryingtorememberthatfeelingflyingthrough

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herhandswasreplacedbyhowthedoorFennyfledfromswungshut,bouncingoffitsframe,lettinglessandlesslightinaftereachbounceuntilitfilledtheframefullywithdarkness.

Thegumboonhershoeshadsincedriedbutonlyafterithadsoakedthroughtohersockswhichclungdrylytoherankles.Whenshemovedherfeetthecakedgumbopulledonheranklehairandsentzingyzapsofitchypainupherleg.Shegotup,scratchedthebaseofherdisorganizedbraidofblackhair,andwalkedpastthetwelve-year-oldwho,finallyignoringhismother’sproclamations,loweredtheemptyboxofcandycompletelyintothetrashcan’smouthandletgo.‘Oh,thisisjusttoomuch!Isaiditeightytimesnottotossthatinthere.Goodluckgettinanymoretreatstoday,mister.’

Inthelemonybathroom,sheremovedhershoesandpainfullypeeledhercrustedsocksoffherfeetandstuffedthemintoherpockets,rolledeachnavypantlegupafewinches,andhoistedherleftfootupontothecounterandhalfwayintothesink,runninghotwatertoscrubthedriedgumbooff.Shefeltweirdwatchingherselfinthemirror,andnoticedhowzappedshelooked.Eyesheavyinthesockets,frazzledhairlikefrozenblacklightningbolts.Shefeltsomethinginherpantlegmove(Iwasgettingverythirstyupthere,myskinstartingtotightenandshrivellikeaslicedcucumberinsunlight.WhenIfeltherlegjostleandsawlightpouring,IknewI’dhavetosplitforit…thenthesoundoftumblingwatermadeholdingstillanotherminutefullyintolerable.I’dhoppedouttoomanyarticlesofclothinginthelastday,butI’dhavetomakeitonemoreifIdidn’twanttojustdryrightupinthepoorgirl’strousers.SoImadeasplitforit,runningtowardthelight…)andthenfeltmuchweirderasasmallblack-yellowtorpedolaunchedfromunderherrolledupcufflandingsplashinginthesink.Tripdoegaveahighfrightenedhootandscoot-trippingbackwardswithherleftfootstillinthesinkfellassfirstontothebathroom’stile.Watertrailedfromherfootdownherleg.Thesink’shotwaterran,shewatchedthesteamcurltowardtheceiling.

Breathingheavilysheelbowedherselfbackupandinchedherwayovertolookinthroughthesteam.Fromthehotswirlingbasinamidnight-blackandsunlight-yellowsalamandercamescreaminglikeabottlerocket.Wet-toedTripdoeleapedaloosehopbackagainasthecritterscamperedindisorganizedzig-zagsalongthecountertop,tinyfeetpattering,andthenhaltedattheedgeofanotherofthecountertop’sthreeidenticalsinks.Tripdoe,heartquickening,movedforwardagainandturnedthefaucetoff.

Thesalamandersatattheedgeoftheotherbasin,itsfrontfeetfullyextendingitsuppertorsointotheair,headraisedupandrighteyeangledtowardher,watchingandwaiting.Thesidesofitsslickblackbodyvibratedupanddown.Thesalamanderblinked.

Aspossiblechoices,explanations,considerationskaleidoscopedtheirwayaroundTripdoe’smind,anotherwomanwalkedintotherestroom.Sheworeatanblousewithtightblackleggings,makeup.Blondetousledhairinatop-of-the-headwadleaningtotheright.Shedidn’tseethesalamanderatfirst.Atfirstit’sallTripdoe,standinginfrontofthesinkmildlycrouched,stillasastone,wet,staringatwhatseemstobethecornerofthebathroom.

Thewoman’seyecaughtatwitchinthesalamander,andshelockedupashereyesfounditrestingthereontheedgeofthesink.

Theywerethethreepointsinanacutetriangleofstares.Tripdoeandthewomandartedtheireyesbackandforthbetweeneachotherandthesalamander,

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whosemarbledeyeseemedtobelookingatboth,neither,allatonce.Itopeneditsmouth,exposingrowsofsandgrainteeth.Tripdoewasn’treallyfreakedoutbythelittleguy,but…uh…whatthefuck?

Thenthefreshmemorymaterialized:thesamecurvydarkfacepoppingupoutofthedeadguy’sshirt’sneck-holebackinGullahBowl...theunder-the-shirt-ripple…itwasthislittlecritter.

Thethird-point-on-the-triangle-womanwhispered:‘ShouldI…shouldIgetajanitor…?’throughlittlesquareteeth.Tripdoecouldtellbythewayshestood,balancingweightfromonelegtotheother,thatthewomanneededtopee,badly.

Thesalamander,nowstaringdirectlyatTripdoe,shookitsheadbackandforth.Tripdoeshookherheadtoo.Shewalkedovertoitandputherhanddowninfrontofitshead,herfingernailspressingagainstthecoldcounter.Itwalkedforwardandplacedonelittlewetfour-fingeredhandontothetipofherpointerfinger,lightlyflexedit,anddrewitschinuptolookherintheeye.Ahandshake.Atinysincerehandshake.Thenitquietly,calmly,walkeditswayupthestaircaseofherfingers,intoherpalm.Itwaswet,mildlywarm,itslittleheartpulsingthroughitsskin.

Sheturnedandsaidtothewoman,‘Hemust’vejust…slippedoutofmygripthere,’tackingonachuckleforgoodmeasure,‘Littleguy’sgettingrestless,Iguess.Wantstogethome.Don’tyou,huh?Don’tyou?’Sheaddressedthesalamanderasonewouldababyordog,tryingtoaffectapet-type-relationshiptothewoman,thoughTripdoedidn’tquiteknowwhy.Asshetriedshimmyingpastherthroughthedoorthewomanasked,‘Wha…what’sitsname?Yourlizardthere.’

‘Eh,oh.Well,uh.’Whatfeltlikeanopenhandtravelledintohermind.Intheopenpalmofitasmallwordsat,shepickeditupandsaidit.‘Tap.HisnameisTap.AndIdon’tthinkhe’sa,uh,lizard...?’TripdoeshescoopeduphershoesintothecrookofherleftarmlikeprematureSiamesetwins.Sheslippedbythewomanbackintothehallway,shieldingthesalamanderfromtheoverheadfluorescence.

Halfwaydownthehallwayshestoppedandslowlypeeledherfingersawaytotakeapeepathernewpassenger…or,sheguessed,ifnotexactlynewthenatleastexposed.Shealmostfelttheheatofthefluorescentbulbsonthedownturnedbackofherhead.Thecrustysocksgotbunchedintoherpockets,butsheslippedherfeetintotheroughshoes.Taprestedinthecalmcloudsofherhands:somethingabouthisstillnesssuggestedanexpressionofadeeper,abnormalsentiencethatflowedthroughthecontacthislittlefeetmakewithherskin;hewasn’tclamberingaboutinblindterrorasotherenclosedamphibiansmight.Thesalamandermaintainedanunusualpresencethatpersistedasshefoundherseatinthewaitingroom.Thetwelve-year-oldkidlayonhissideinfrontofhismother’swheelssuckinghisthumbwithhiskneescurledupintohischest.Busyhospitalnoisesflutteredaboutlikeinvisiblemoths.

WithTapinherhandsshefeltasuddenrushofexhaustion.Hislittleheartbeattickedinherpalmandspreadthroughoutherbody,makingherfeelwarmandsafe.Soonherheartratemirroredhis,andthetwodriftedoffintoadeep,identical,sleep.Tripdoe’slegssprawledoutintothespaceinfrontofherasshesloucheddeeperanddeeperintotheuncomfortableplasticchair.Tap’stailwoundclosearoundhisbody,soclosetohismouththatwhenhewokeupanhourlaterhewouldalmostbiteit,mistakingitforaworm.

---

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TheturquoisenursetappedTripdoeawake.Thesalamandershudderedinherhands.‘Sorrytowakeyou,sweetheart.’Hermooningfaceblockedouttheoverheadlight,akindofwhitehaloformedaroundherface.Sheasked:‘AreyouandMr.Lawnyawnrelated?’

Scoopingherselfbackintoasittingposition,rubbingsleepfromhereyes,Tripdoeshookherhead.‘Who?No,no.Ijust…Ijustwasthereattherestaurantwhenhenose-divedintothegumbo.’

‘Oh…uh…well,Iguessthatsavesmefromhavingtobesoftaroundtheedgeshere.He’sdead.Heartfailure.Attemptstorevivewereunsuccessful.’

‘Yeah,yeah.Iknow.Wasitjustaheartattackorwhat?’Anawkwardseveralsecondspassed.‘I’msorry,sweetheart.Wecan’treleasethatinformationtoyouifyouaren’t

relatedtothedeceased.’Tripdoeloweredhereyebrowsandsighed.ShefeltTapshift.Sheraisedher

cuppedhandstothenurseandsaid,‘WhatifItoldyouIhadhissalamander?’‘Whosesalamander?’‘Mr.Lawnyawn’ssalamander.’‘HowdidyougetMr.Lawnyawn’ssalamander?’‘Ithinkitcrawledintomypants.’‘YoungladyIthinkyouneedtoleave.’Anotherfewsecondspassed.Tripdoeretractedherhands.‘Ifyou’renotgonnatellmehowhecroaked,canyouatleastletmeuseyour

phoneagain?’Tripdoeasked.‘Sure…butyouhavetoshowmethesalamanderfirst.’‘Why?’‘IguessI’vejustneverseenonebefore.’Shewhispered:‘Ithinkhemightbeasleepactually.’Theturquoisenurse’seyesflickedleftandright.‘Showme.’‘Letmeuseyourphone.’‘Fine.Butyouhavetoshowmefirst.’Tripdoeextendedherhandsagainanduncuppedthem.Theturquoisenurse,as

ifbeingreeledinbyaverymeticulousfisherman,leanedslowlyintopeeratthesalamander.

‘Ithoughtsalamandershadscales.Areyousurethisisasalamander?‘HisnameisTap,’saidTripdoe.‘Andyes.’Shewhistledlikeanoldmanmightwhistleataveryniceautomobile.‘Helooks

likehe’slistening.’‘CanIuseyourphonenow?Please?’Entranced,theturquoisenurse’smouthopened.‘Lookatthosespots.Like

neonmustardstains.’

Rogedidn’tpickup,bigsurprise,soTripdoecalledLambo,whowasathomeplayingcheckerswithhisblindGramaw.Thestomach-lining-pinkphoneontheendtablerungaggressively.Lambo,scratchinghissparsechinshairsinnext-movecontemplation,lookedupatGramawtoseeifshewasgoingtomakeamovetoanswerit.Shoulder-shawled,sheangledherheadtowardthephone.Shesaid,‘Iwouldn’tanswerthatifIwereyou.’Hegotuphesitantly,pushedhisthick-framedglassesupthebridgeofhisnose,pickedupthephone.

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‘Heylow?’‘HeyLamb.It’sme.Trip.What’reyouupto?’‘PlayingagamewithGramaw.’‘She’sbeatingyouagain,huh.’‘Noshitsheis.I’mdoomed.I’vebeendoomedonthisboardforever.What’s

up?’‘Nothingmuch.I’vegotquitealittletaleforyouthough.Canyoupickmeup?’‘Oohh.MysteriousMadamePhanwithabigstory.Whereabouts?’‘Thehospital.’‘Oh.Whoa.Uh,you’renot...eh…’heglancedoveratGramaw.Sheheard

everythinganyway,sohedidn’tbotherloweringhisvoice,‘…pregnantoranythingareyou?’

‘Wha?Jesus,Lambo.No.Peoplegotothehospitalforotherreasonsbesides,like,babies,ok?I’llhavetojusttellyouinperson.It’sweird.Tooweirdforthephone.’

‘Well,alright.IgottawrapthisgameupbutI’llheadoverrightafter.’‘Okiedoke.Don’tbeasoreloser.Thanksandbye.’Shehungup.

LambolivedwithGramawinherweirdlittleblind-woman’shouse.Shepaidhimtwentydollarsaweektohelpherkeepthingsinorder.Hebasicallyjustfollowedheraroundsweepingupforgottenpilesofrefuseandmakingsureshedidn’tlighthernightgownonfirewhilemakingfoodonthestovetop.Oldlampsscatteredaroundthelivingroombathedthewallsinsoftgolddreamylight.Quiltsandmagazinesdrapedthecouchesandrecliners.Itwascleaninthekindofwayavintageshopisclean,butmadeLambofeellikehewasalreadyasoldashisGram.Sometimes,sittinginoneofthevelvetgreenreclinershefelttimewaftoverhim.Itfeltlike,heoftenthought,standingunderaveryslowwaterfallofwarmmilk.

‘HeyGram,thatwasTripdoe.Myfriendfromschool.Sheneedsmetogiveheraliftfromthehospital.Let’sfinishthisoneupsoIcangether,yeah?’

‘Uh-oh.Uh-oh.Thegame’salreadyfinished,youjustdon’tseehowyet,’shesang,rubbingthefaceofablackcheckerwiththepadofherbentrightthumb.

Lambosatbackdownandinlessthanfiveminuteslost,andwaspullinghisbootson,snatchingupthekeys,andheadingacrosstheyardtounlockandstartthetruck.

Tripdoesteppedonlittlebitsoftrashthatthewindpushedtoherfeetfromtheedgesoftheparkinglot.Acrumplypileamassed.ShestoodundertheawningoutsidethehospitalwhenLambopulledupinthetruck,hissoft,boyishfeaturesblurredthenclarifiedthroughthewindshield.

Thetiresdisruptedthebrightcoinsofparkinglotpuddlesthatfilledtheusually-imperceptibledipsintheasphalt.She’dsetTapdownnexttoonesohecouldmoisturizehimselfandtakeafewsipsbeforeclimbingbackintoherhandswhichwerenowcuppedaroundhisbody.ShekeptalittlegapbetweenherfingerssoTapcouldlookaround.Hisheadpeepedthroughherfingers,andhisoddattentivenessscannedthespaceinfrontofthem.Theysharedanon-verbalizedagreement.Tripdoedidn’tknowhowitgotthere,likeamuleonanairplane.

LambostoppedandTripdoeopenedthedoorandhoppedintothewarmdrywombofthetruck.Theyleanedintoexchangeaquickkiss.Tripdoecuppedherhands

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awayfromherlean,butoncethebriefnessofthepeckconcludedshepulledherhandsovertoLambo’slap.‘Checkitout,’shesaid,smiling,openingherhands.‘Tap,Lambo.Lambo,Tap.’

‘Oh.Uh,hey?’Lambosaid,shooingTripdoe’ssalamander-filledhandsawaytowigglethetruckintogear.

‘IinheritedhimfromthisguywhodiedinfrontofmeatGullahBowl.Usualdeal,Fennygettingallchattyandshit,’shesawLambo’scheeksflushwithannoyance.Anymentionofanotherguyevenremotelyintheirage-rangesomuchasglancingatherdidittohim.‘Andpow,thisdudeI’veneverseenbeforestartsflailingandsputteringthereathistableandIgetuptoseewhat’supandwhamhe’sfacedown,deadasadoginhisgumbo.IthinkTapwashis,andheclimbedintomypantlegattherestaurantandwaitedthereuntilIgottothehospital.We’refriendsnowthough.IthinkhecanunderstandwhatIsay.OhandtakemebacktoGullahBowl.Mytruck’sstillthere.’

Lambofoundithardtokeephiseyesontheroad,lookingbackandforthbetweenitandTripdoe’squickunfolding.Hispalearmsstucktothesteeringwheelliketwomeltedplasticchopsticksstickingtoaforgottenstovetop.

‘I’veknownyouforallthistimeandyoustillfindwaystojust,like,makemefeeltotallyboringandcrazy.Areyougoingtokeephim?Doyouknowanythingaboutsalamanders?Andaren’tthoseyellowsplotchesbasicallysaying,like,“Hey,ifyoutouchme,you’llstartvomitingblood,”orsomething?Imean,shit,whatifthatthing’sthereasonthedudedied?Maybeit’snothispetatallanditjustclimbedontohimand,like,bithimor,uh,rubbeduponhimorwhatever…?’Lambo’sbasestatewasnervousness.CheckersorironingGramaw’snightgownsusuallytoppedthelevelofexcitementinhisday-to-daylife,sothiswas,well...

TripdoelaughedandbroughtTapuptoherface.‘Youwon’tmakemevomitblood,willyou?Willyou?Ha!’thengavehimatinykissonthetopofhishead.Tap’stailwaggedslightlyandLambo,thoughhe’dneveradmitit,feltthesharpprickofjealousy.‘Ijusthavethisfeeling,Lamb.Tapisagoodguy.Hemaybeamuteamphibianbut,dammit,he’sagoodguy.IfhelivedintheWildWesthe’dbethetypeofdudetokickreallydrunkbanditsoutofsaloonsandshooemoutoftown.Ifhewasgonnadosemeupwithneurotoxinshewould’vedoneitalready,anyways.’

‘What,nowlizardscanchoosewhotheykillwiththeirneurotoxins.Ok.’‘Amphibian,Lambodear.Amphibian.’‘What’sol’Pappy-ORogegonnathinkaboutthis,youthink?’‘Nothing.Heprobablywon’tevennotice.It’smymom’seyesI’llhavetopull

shadesover.ButI’mthinkingofjustmakinghimhisownspecialpenintheyard.Likeaslimylittledog.Maybewecanmakealeashoutofarubberbandandsomestringforhim.’TapswiveledaroundtolookupatTripdoeandthenhissed.Tripdoelaughedandsaid,‘Fine,fine.Noleash.Geez.’

LambolookedoveratTripdoewithwideeyes.‘Areyouandhim,like,communicating?’

‘LikeIsaid,IthinkTapcanunderstandEnglish.’‘TryspeakingtohiminSpanish.’‘Hola,senorTap.Comoestas?’TaphissedandTripdoeshrugged.‘Englishitis.’

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LambopulledintotheGullahBowlparkinglotandTripdoegavehimanotherkissasshegotout.‘Thanks,Lamb.WannacomeoverlatertonightandhelpmeputTap’shabitattogether?’

‘I’dloveto.OnceGram’sinbedI’llheadover.’‘Soundsgood.Seeyouthen.’HeblewakisstowardTripdoeassheturnedtowatchhimleaveafterslamming

thedoor.Sherespondedthusly:delicatelypinchedoneofTap’slittlehandsandlifteditwavinginLambo’sdirection.Sheturnedtowardhertruck,fumblinginherpocketforthekeys,laughing.

Lambopushedhisglassesupthebridgeofhisnoseanddrovehome.

ChapterEight–InWhichErethizonMisinterpretsaVarietyofStimuli

ThemaleporcupinesoutsidethefenceofPenobskaProperweredrivenwildbyanodoremanatingfrominsidethetown.Severaltimesayear,whenseasonalwindsgustedthemuskyairhitherandyon,theporcupinemalesgathered‘roundthetowninhormonally-angstythrongs.ThisseasonalgatheringwasthecauseforBozeman’spanic…hewatchedtheirarrivalfromhissecond-storybalcony,wringingoutwhateverarticleofclothinghehappenedtobewearing,hisdisheveledAMpompadourteeteringlikeaweddingcakeonabrokenbicycle,hismindhardatworkingcomingupwithaschemeshortofgunfiretodispelthehorriblemob...hismindwandered,comingsteadilyback,magnetizedtothatOneThing…he’dseenthiswholescenebeforesomewhere…thefeelingwasindescribablebuthewassosure,thememorydancedstubbornlyontheedgeofthedivingboardabovethepoolofhisbrain…

Buttoday,justoutsideofthefenceontheroughfringeoftheforest,nowrithingcrowdsofporcupines,justthestillsunandfar-offsoundsoftown.AmileorsoawayLarryLawnyawnwascasuallydyinginsidethegumborestaurant.Theglassshardsinthetroughsatopthefenceglinted.Thelateafternoonairwasfeatherywithlight,cloudshunglikefrozenmilkstainsinthesky,astormbrewedtothewest.Upinthearmsofanoakthatoverlookedthissideofthefence,asingleporcupinerested,watchingthetownasthedayslowlypassedoverit.Hishugegrey-blackbodyslungoverabough,hisstriatedtan-whitequillspressedpermanentlyflatagainsthisback,hislittleclawedhandslazilyfoldingandcrammingleavesintohismouth.Erethizon,thePokyProphet,onhisparapetofoakbough.

DonotletErethizon’slethargyfoolyou.Hesmelledittoo,andwasalsodrivenmadbyit,buthadlearnedtocurbwhatthemuskstirredaboutinhisblood.Hesatinthesametreedayafterday.Hesmelledthemuskwaftinonthewind,lettingitflowintohim,knowingwhatitdidtohimandwhatitwoulddotohiskind.Butknowing,hetookcarenevertomovebecauseofit,tonevergrantitinfluenceoverhisactions.

Whenthemuskfirstdrewhimtothefenceyearsagoheactedasalltheothersdidwhentheyfirstsmelledit.Hepaced,screamed,clawedatandbitthesteel,turnedinsideoutbytheair’sthickmusk.Others,hearingthescreams,arrivedandpacedinever-thickeningmobs.Someonebumpedsomeoneelse.Quillswerebared,andblindorgiesofviolencereleasedintothegatheringlikepoisoninblood.AnunluckyquilldroveitselfthroughthebridgeofErethizon’ssnoutandintothenervebehindhisright

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eye.Herememberedwhitepainlikeapermanentflashoflightning,thenwakinguphalf-blindinthegrass,thequillstillrosefromhisfacelikeabrokenpoolcue,thelastinstantofvisionburnedintotherightsideofhisvisualmemory,aconstantghostlyreminderthatrefusedtofade.

Now,though,heknew.Andhemetthemuskinthemiddlegroundofhismindwithanofferingofpeace,anoathofunwaveringindifference.Heknewitasasignfromthepeoplebehindthesteel,buthealsoknewthelegionsofhisbrethrenweredrawntothefencebecauseofthemusk’sdeceptivequality,andhehadtakenituponhimselftoredirecttheirenergies.Hemarkedthemonthsbywatchingtheinevitablegatheringofthosewhohadcomebeforeandthosewhosefirsttimetopaceandfightarrived.Hecalledtothosewhowouldlistentohearhisproclamations.

‘Brothers:thesmellfrombehindthesteelhasluredyou,otherwiseyouwouldnotbehere.Iseethecrazeinyourpacing,inyoureyes.Takeadeepbreathandlettheairrusharoundinsideofyourblood.Lookatme.Donotletthecrazemanifestinyouractions!Ifyouletthemuskoverpoweryourminds,thenyourmindswilloverpoweryourbodies!Seetheblindingquill!Itwillblindyouasithasmeifbypacingherealongthesteelyousearchforresolutiontothesensationsoftheair!’AtaroundthispointinErethizon’sspeechhecametorecognizethegatheredporcupinesbelowbecomingstirredbyhiswords.Someyelpedout,otherbalancedontheirhindlegs,butinevitablysomeonebumpedintoandquilledsomeoneelse,andameleebrokegraduallyloose,scatteringthegatheringbackintothewoods,leavingsomepermanentlycrippled,othersdead.

Herewaswhathewantedtosay,herewaswhathehadbeenplanningtosay,herewaswhattheeruptionsofviolencekepthimfromsaying:‘Beatpeacewiththestirrings.Letthemstir.Letthemsettle.Thenknowthatourplace,beingcalledherebythemusk,isfornowontheoutside!Togatherandcelebratethepungencyoftheair,yettodenyitsswayoverourbodies!Wemustgiveourthankstothepeopleinsidethesteelfortheirdifficultproposition,theirbrutalchallenge,andgatherhereinpeacetoshowthemourunderstanding!Forwhenweallcomehereasawhole,whenwehaveproventothepeoplebehindthesteelthatwehavequenchedourthirstanddriedupourreservesofviolence,thenshallwebegrantedentrancetothislandofinfinitemusk.Thenweshallhaveourdeliverance.Buttodosowemustleaveourviolence,andourlustforthemusk,behind.Onthissideofthefence.Completely,andForever.’Butheneversaiditallbeforethecrowdcollided.Oneortwoindividualssometimestookheed,havingperhapsbeentherebefore,havingseentheeruptionsofviolencebefore,butafterthedustsettledErethizonfoundthefieldbeneathhimempty,eventhosewearyenoughtohearhimhadscatteredinthecloudofcombat.Hewaited.

Erethizon,doominghimselftostayaboveandwatch,thecrierwithhisbrokenbell,didsowithhalfhisvision,theotherhalfhoveringdisembodiedoverthelastcriticalmomentthatdaysolongagowhenhisvisionhalfleft.Whenthetwoconverged,whenthelingeringghost-imageofthepastmergedwiththepresentcarnage,heknewitwastoolatetostoptheviolentseepage.Brieflyhesawtheworldwholeagain,unitedbybloodshed,andheweptinthetreeabovehisbrothers.

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Today,however,thewindrestedandthemuskrested.Erethizonwasalonewiththeheat.Distantcloudsthreatenedtodisruptthecalmafternoon,butfornowhesimplybreathedandchewedleaveslazily.

Heheardtherhythmicpatteroffootfalls.AboyinredranpantingunderErethizon’streeintotheforest.Hewatchedhimthroughtremblingveilsofleaves.Rarelydidheseepeoplepassthroughfromtheirplacetotheforestonfoot,andneverdidtheywaverfromtheroad.Butthisgallopingboyweavedcarelesslythroughthebrush.Erethizonturnedtowatchhimleapoverdownedlogsandsnaptwigsashedisappearedheadlongintothetreesthatknittedthemselvesclosedbehindhim.Histime-numbed,time-boredbrainthought:Asign.Howcouldthisbeanythingotherthananexchange?Oneinsiderforoneoutsider?Hesatverystillthinking.

ChapterNine–InWhichNikosiDeparts,andErethizonCrossesOver

WhenTripdoeopenedthedoorNikosicranedhernecktolookather.‘Wheretheheckhaveyoubeen?’Nikosiasked.Shehadacanoflimabeans

openonherlap.Aspoonpokedfromtheopenmouthofthecan.TheTV,perusual,wason.Thescreenshowedalong-hairedblondewomanwalkingbyasunburntmanasleeponthebeach.Nikosilookedbackatthescreenjustintimetolaugh.‘He’ssurecrispy!Ohboy!’Tripdoeimaginedthatifshewasn’tholdingthecanoflimabeans,hermotherwouldbeslappingherthigh.

ShecuppedTapclosertomakesureNikosididn’tseehim,butTripdoewalkedovertohermom’seasychair.Tripdoepattedthebrowntopofhermother’sheadwiththehandshewasn’tholdingTapwith.‘WellMa,ifyoumustknow,Iwasatthehospitalbasicallyallday.ThisguydiedrightinfrontofmewhenIwasatGullahBowlandIfeltlikeIhadtoaccompanyhimintotheafterlife,orthemorgue,Iguess.Liketheboatguyinhellorwhatever.Hewasallalone,oratleastkindaallalone.’

Nikosilaughedagain,stillgluedtothescreen.Thesunburntmanwokeupandtriedtostandupwithoutbendinganypartofhisfull-frontalsunburn.‘Youshouldausedsunlotion,fool!Oh,what’sthatyousaid?Hospital?You’renotdyingareyou?Doyoudrinkenoughmilk?How’rethosebonesofyours?’

Tripdoeopenedhermouthandclosedit.Thesunburntman’sslowstruggleabsorbedNikosi’sattentionagain.‘I’mnotdying,Ma.Justacheckup.Makesureeverything’stickingalrightinside,youknow?TheysaidmybonesareOD’ingoncalcium.TheysaidI’mhealthyasafuckinhorse.Betterthanahorse,actually.TheysaidifIgotanyhealthierImightjustigniteandturnintosomekindofverybrightandhotsentientjelly.ThentheygavemealittleyellowlollipopandIskippedmywayhome.And,well,voila.’

‘Great,great.Listen,darlin’wouldyoumindtossingthiscaninthegarbageforme?And,andwashingoffthisspoonandstickinitbackintothedrawerthere?Thankssomuch.’

TripdoeslackenedhergriparoundmeasshespoketotheLargeMother.Iwiggledfreewithouthernoticingandclimbeddowntheplushbackofthereclinedchairandontothewarm,dampshoulderthatrosebeforeme.TheLargeMotherexudedanappealingheatandIcurledclosertoherneck.

Tripdoe,havingforgottenTapamidthefamiliarhomeyrituals,tossedtheemptylimabeancanintothewhiteplastictrashbininthekitchen.Sheturnedonthefaucettowashthespoon,andhalfwaythroughthelatheringstagesheinhaledsharplyandfelta

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rustyknife-edgeofpanicasshelookeddownintoherTap-less,soap-whitepalms.SheheardNikosisay,‘Tripdoe,whatintheheckareyoudoing?Quiteticklin’…I’mtryingtowatchmyprogramhere...wha?AHHHHHHHHH!’

Tripdoeranbacktohermom:NikosiheldTapinthewrappedgripofherhand.ShescreamedandTapscreamedandNikosiscreamedandthrewTapattheTV.Hebouncedoffwithaterriblehollowglassythudandcartwheeledlikeatoyintotheshadowedcorneroftheroom.Nikosi’sscreamsdevelopedfurtheruntilsheemittedasinglehighpitch,herbodyundulatinginterriblegroaningwavesinherchairthatwobbledandtiltedbackandforthunstably,shestillheldsomethingdarkinherhandoutinfrontofherfaceandwhateveritwasevolvedherterrorintosomekindofexponentofregularterror.Tripdoestartedmovingintwodirections:towardthecornerwhereTaphadhurdledandtowardhermotherwhoseuncontrolledpanicrockedthechairlikeastorm-drunkboat.Tripdoetookonestepleft,onestepright,onestepleft,onesteprightintheinfernaltangoofindecision,theroomtornintwo,untilNikosi’sflailingrocketedherbackwardoutofhereasychairandthroughthebaywindowbehindher.Shelandedinthedarkenedovergrownyard,herhighpitchraisedabovetheshatteringglassbeneathher,andherbodycurvedintoaterribleballthatrolledandgatheredmomentumasshetumbleddownhill,throughthegrass,burstingayawningholeinthefence,screamingthatsingleterribletoneasshedisappearedinastraightlineintothedarkquietforestthatmuffledthepitchgraduallyuntilTripdoestaredinsilencethroughtheMa-sizedholeinthewindow,theTVbehindherchattingwithitself.

ShesteppedquietlyawayfromthewindowandfoundtheTVremote.Sheturnedthescreenoff,andtheroomsunkintosilentdimness,theonlylightbleedinginfromthekitchen.Sherightedthetipped-overchairandlowereditsfootrestsoshecouldsitdowneasily.Somethinglike…relief?Couldn’tbe.Majustrolledass-firstintothevoid.

Sheinhaledslowly,herbreathshakyandweak.Ifthiswasn’trelief,thenwasatleastrelief’swell-manneredeldercousin.

Intothecalmlakeofhermind,aforeigncallforhelpsplashedlikeasmoothstone.ItcamefromTap,anditwasn’tsound,itwasanactualthought,aimedatTripdoe’swakingmindlikethestonyarrowofhomoneanderthalensisaimedattheunsuspectingvitalsofsomekindofwoolybeast.Help,please.Forheaven’ssake,help.

Tripdoegotupandfumbledalongthewalllookingforthelightswitch.Shefounditandflickediton,revealingthestuffedroom:towersofRoge’sworkpapersswayedlikethebranchesofawillowtree,andTripdoesawthatoverinthecornerwhereTaphadcartwheeledapileofpapershadcollapsed.Sheshuffledoverandstarteddiggingthroughthesheetsgently,afraidthatanythingmorethancautionmightdisruptthedelicate,andnowpotentiallyharmed,anatomyofherslimylittlefriend.

Atthebottomofthepile,shelocatedhim.AforgottenStyrofoamcuponceusedtoshuttlecoffeeintoRoge’swork-drownedmouthhadlandedcrosswiseoverhistorso,andthefallingpagescrumpledthecupandpinnedhimtothecarpet.Tripdoepeeledhimdelicatelyfromthefloorlikeatoddlerremovingaband-aidefromathree-day-oldscab.Histailwasmissing,andlittledropsofblooddrippedintoherhands.Sherushedtothesink,turnedthefauceton,makingsurethewaterwashotbeforeshesplashedTap’smotionlessbodywithsomeofit.Thebloodcurledandswirleddownthedrain,dilutedbythewater.

‘Heytherelittlefella.Comeon.Comeon.’

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Hesquirmedinresponse,andanotherthought-arrowflewintotheflankofTripdoe’smind:Turnthetemperatureofthatwaterdownabit,please.It’sscaldingme.

Shereciprocated.ThesteamfadedandTapshookhisnow-much-shorterbodylikeadog.Tripdoe

turnedthefaucetoffandunwoundafewrectanglesofpapertoweltodryhimoff.Heshiveredmildly,butthelittledribbletsofbloodhadstoppedpipette-ingoutfromhisstumpofatail.Tripdoerememberedherwaddedupgumbo-crustedsocksandyankedthemoutofherpocketsandthrewthemlikeundesirableevidenceintothetrashcan.

Shedabbedathiswetbodyuntilhewasdry,thensethimdownonthecounterandcrouchedtolookathimateyelevel.‘Y’alright?CanIleaveyoualoneforasecond?’

Henodded.Sheranovertothebackdoorandopenedit.Sheranoutsideoverthenight-

sparkledglasstotheraggedholeinthefence.Shecrawledthroughandstartedyellingforhermom.Thenightchewedupheryellswithitsdark,mossygums.Afaint,meanderingtrailthathermother’sswiftlyrollingbodyhadcompressedwoveawayfromwhereTripdoestood,onintotheforestwhereitdisappearedbehindtheshiftingshadowsoftrees.Shecalledhermother’snameagain,thenduckedbackthroughthetornfence.Thenight’scoldwindfumbledwithherforeheadlikeadrunkmanfumblingwiththedoorofataxicab.

WhenTripdoecamebackinside,LambowasstandinginthekitchenpettingthetopofTap’sheadwithathinoutstretchedindexfinger.HewasbentoveratthewaistlookingattheyellowsplotchydesignsonTap’sbackandhead.Inthewhiteoverheadlight,hispaleskinlookedalmosttranslucent–Tripdoethoughtshecouldseehisveins,hisbones.Helookedup.

‘Yo.Thoughtyouwereinthebathroom.Whatinthehoothappenedtothelittlegeek’stail?’Hemust’venoticedthevacantshockonTripdoe’sface:hestoppedpettingTap’shead,steppedforwardclumsily,stopped,thenwalkedtowardher,wrappingherinathinfullhugthatshecrumpledinto.Hercheekrubbedagainstthewirywhiskersthatpokedoutofhischinandsheblubbered:

‘Bomjahbucketedbahhlunkpettedfrumbbandoh!’‘Wha?’‘Momjustfuckinrocketedoutofherchairoutofthewindow!’Sheslackedall

hermusclesandLambostruggledtokeepherintheembracethathadgonefromhigh-budgetromancepivotalscenetoemergencyrespondertrainingvideoblooper.Hiswiryarmsshookunderherarmpits,andhiskneesquakedlikeunevenbarstools.

‘Uh,hey,don’tquiteknowwhatyou’re…uh…’hisgripslipped.Tripdoeslumpedintoapileonthecrumb-strewnlinoleumfloorwhereshestartedcryingquietlyintothespreadopenpalmsofherhands.Itlookedlikeshewasreadingaveryfinely-printedpamphletaboutsomethingverysad.Lambostoodthere,feetspreadwide,lookingdownather,glassesslidingdownthegrease-slickbridgeofhisnose.Hepushedthemupobliviously.

Thequietcryingwentonandon,andLambo’sfeetslidfartherapartuntilhewasdoingthesplitsrighttherebyher,hisoverwhelmedhandsrestingonhershakingshoulder.TapclimbeddownoffthecounterandstarteddrinkingfromthesaltypooloftearsthatpuddledaroundTripdoe’sfloor-pressedface.Lambo,inhisusualstate,

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freebasingcompassionoffthecrinkledtinfoilofhisinstincts,hadnothinginhisheadtodobutrubherbackandstareatthejaggedwindow’syawn.

EventuallyTripdoedriftedfromtearstoacoldshallowsleep,andLambo,lulledbyherdeepbreathing,slumpedoverandcurledhiskneesinlikeachild,hisheadhalfwayinsidethecabinetthatthePhanfamily’sskilletsoccupied.Tap,beingnocturnal,foundtherightcrookbetweenthem,notunlikethegroovesofashadowedsectionoflog,andkeptavigilanteyeopentothekitchenaroundthesleepingyouths.

Meanwhile,Erethizon,huddlingunderanovergrownrhododendroninthePhanfamily’sbackyard,tookadeepbreath.HehadjustfinishedwigglinghiswaythroughtheholehehadbeendiggingbeneaththefenceforafewhourswhenNikosibrokethroughthewindowintotheyard.Herrollingbodyhadalmostcrushedhim.Sherolledjusttotheleftandscaredhimhalftodeath.Hefledviainstinctintotherhododendronwhereheshookuntilthehousequieteddown,anduntilhisnervessettledandheregainedhisusualserenitythathenowregardedbrieflywithconfusion,asithadbeendismantledsoeffortlesslybythethreatofbeingcrushedbytherollingwoman’sbody.Perhapshiscomposurewasn’tasthoroughlyrootedinhimashe,inhistree,hadthought.Butthenagain,wouldn’tanyporcupine,wiseorotherwise,beshakenbysuchacloseencounterwithsuchstrangedanger?

Neverhadheseenthemexpelthemselvesfromtheirterritorywithsomuchmomentum,orsuchalackofceremony;itwouldbeawhileyetbeforeeitherofthetwohe’dseenstopped,hethoughtasheshooktheclingingdirtfromhisquills.Firsttheredboy,nowtheroundwoman.

Hewaddledbacktotheholehehaddugandkickedandpaweddirtintoituntilitwasmostlyfilledonthisside.Heknewhisbrotherswouldsoonfindthewoundinthefencethough,andwhentheydidtheywouldfileintothetownlikeantsafterspilledwine.Indeedtothemthemuskwasascompelling.Hedidn’tknowwhatwouldcomeofhisbrothersiftheyenteredthetownwithoutthepurityofheartthathadallowedhimentrance.Nothinggood,certainly,butifwhatwouldfalluponthemfromenteringwasmoredisastrousthanwhattheyenactedoneachotheralongtheoutskirtsoftown,then,hethought,heneededtofindsomewaytostopthemfrombringingsucheventsuponthemselves.Hehadtoclogthatfence-hole.

Keepingquiet,hewaddledaroundthebackyard,throughdensethicketsofentangledgrass,lookingformaterialstoobscureorclogthegapinthesteel.Hetriedbitingthetallgrassdownandpilingitupinfrontofthehole,butthescantprogresshemadeafterafewminutessenthimofftofindalternatives.WhileclawingatthepadlockeddoorofthesmallpeelingshedthatRogehadn’topenedinmonths,andthatTripdoeoccasionallysmokedpotin,aflipped-overneonorangebabypoolbeneaththeshed’scloudedwindowglowedintheevening,catchingErethizon’sonlyeye.Repeatingbluecartoonwhalesswamthedentedorangeoceanandthebowingfaceheavywithrainwaterreflectedthenightasitblinkedalivewithstars.Leavesandotherwindsweptdebrissatstillanddarkinathinfilmofmudatthebottomoftheshallowwater.Grasshadgrownperfectlyaroundit,formingaslightcanopy.Heruffledthegrasstopokehisheadthroughtoseetheentirepool,anddecideditwouldhavetodo.

Erethizongnawedthecanopiedgrass,clearingapathtothefence.Heateafewmouthfulstofuelthelaboriousextraction.Whenheclearedaway,heclampedhisjaws

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aroundthecurledplasticedgeandupturnedthepooltosloshthewaterofftheoppositesideinchunkysplashes.

Thebabypoolhadsatthere,bottomup,forseveralseasons.Itsrimhadsunkintothesoil,butwhenErethizonfinallyfreedthebulgingplastictub,itleftaperfectcircleofdampmudthathescuffedwithhisclawsashepulledbackwardtowardthefence.Wherethebabypoolhadbeen,agrasslesscirclesat.Squirmytracksofearthwormscrossedandrecrosseditsdiameterandtraceditscircumferencelikeaschoolchild’swilddarkcrayon.Thespilledrainwaterfilledtheshadowedtracksanddisappeared.Staleearthenscentrosefromtheflatarealikeafterrain.

Overbythefence,Erethizonstruggledtotiltthebabypoolonitssidetopropagainstthehole.Itwouldn’tblockitpermanentlybutitsbrightnesscouldwardoffhisbrothers’curiositylongenoughforErethizontolocatethemusk’ssourceandcomeback.Hedugmoredirtupwithhispawsandpackeditaroundthebaseofthepooltobolsteritagainstthewind,andjammedbunchesofloosegrassnearitsedgeswherethepoolmettheearth.Theoddnessofthetaskstruckhim:attemptingtopreservethesoulsofhisbrotherswithanupturnedwhale-dottedtubstreakedwiththewetslidingdetritusofpreviousseasons.Behindhimahingecreaked,thehouseclearingitsrustythroat.Turningawayfromthetiltedpool,ErethizonsawTripdoe’sdarkenedcutoutstaringintothenight,armscrossedoveroneanotherlikefoldednapkins,Tapsittingonhershoulder.

Hefroze,hopingthathereyeshadn’tadjustedtothedark.Thenavoicewhirledintohishead:Shehasn’tseenyou.Shewon’tifyoubackslowlyupandtakeshelterbehindtheshed.Shehasbeensleepingandisnotyetfullyawake,butthenightwillwakehershortlyifshestaysinit.Staythereforatimeandyouwillhearmeagain.Almostimmediatelyafterthevoicewentquiet,abreezeblewafresh,intoxicatinggustofmuskintoErethizonnose.Heshiveredandbackedupashehadheardtodo,andconcentratedtosettlehisquillsflatontohisbackagain.

Tripdoe,too,shiveredinthebreeze,thoughthesubtletiesofwhathaddrawnErethizonintoPenobskadriftedthroughherundetected.Shesquintedhereyestomakeoutheroldbabypoolleaningagainstthefence.Thinkingittheoddcoincidentalfaultofthewind,shewentbackinsideandcollapsedontothecouchwhereshefellintoadeepsleep.Lambowashuddledinaballonthekitchen’slinoleum,dreamingaboutcheckerswhileTappaddedhisdarkwaybackoutside.

ChapterTen–InWhichWeReceiveaFewBitsAboutDoctorSassoon

Rogehadacomplicatedrelationshipwithparenting.Beinguncomfortablewithhisroleasauthoritarianandrule-enforcer,he’ddevelopedasystemofTripdoe-teachinginordertoimpartimportantyetsternlessonswithouthavingtobetheoneTripdoeassociatedwiththepunishmentorlesson-imparting.TakingseriouslyattemptstoalterherbehaviororcoerceherintocompliancewasnotsomethingTripdoedidverywell.AndRogefearedretributionifheshouldmakeanegative-enoughimpression:he’dseenhowdeftlyshehandledascrewdriverwhileopeningupatreadmill,andwasnotunreasonablywaryofconfrontingherwithanythingclosetoparentalcriticism,notthathereallythoughtshewouldeverdoanythingtohim…but,well…hersurpassingknowledgeofallthingselectricandmechanicalopenedupawidefieldofpaybackforherthatRoge,inhisignorance,wouldhaveahardtimeprovingshe’dactuallyhad

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anythingtodowith.Hewasmuchlessonedgeifhejustclosedthedooronthepossibilityofherhavinganythingtoholdagainsthiminthefirstplace.

Once,duringTripdoe’ssecondyearinhighschool,thebodaciousfragranceofcannabisseepeditswayfromunderneaththeupstairshallwaybathroom’slockeddoor,abathroomthatwasTripdoe’sinformalterritoryandwhereshetookhour-spanningshowersthatdrainedthewaterheater.Therobustsmelldiffusedevenlythroughouttherestofthehouse.AtfirstRogetriedtoignoreit,thinkingitsufficienttomerelylookupfromhislaptopeveryfiveorsominuteswithaconfusedexpressiononhisface,addinginafewpuzzledsniffstocompletetheemptyacknowledgement.IncaseNikosismelledanythingfromherseatandbroughtituphecouldatleastsay,‘Yeah,youknow,Ismelledsomethingweirdtoo…?’andthenanglehisheaddowntoworkagainuntilshedemandedfurtherinvestigationwhich,nowthatthesmellwasgrowingeverthickerandmoreobvious,lookedinevitable.

Sureenough,inthegapbetweenherprogramandthestation’sadvertisements,Nikosihollered:‘Roge,whatthefuck?Ismellsomethingstinky.AndIdon’tlikeit.Smellslikepot.’Hesighed.

‘Yeah,uh,Ithinkmaybetheovengotlefton?’Helefthislaptopscreenandwentintothekitchentofiddlewithafewoftheovenknobsloudly,openandclosethedoor.‘Hmm…’hesaid,glancingbacktoseeNikosi’sTV-haloedheadre-absorbedinarecycledporcupineidentificationcommercial.Hewentquietlybacktohiscomputer.

AfterawhileNikosifellasleep,andthesmellgraduallyfaded.RogeheardthebathroomdoorwheezeopenandTripdoe’swetfeetpatteredintoherroom.WorriedthatifeitherheorNikosifailedtoacknowledgetheobviousnessofwhatwasgoingoninthere,Tripdoewouldcontinuegettingstonedinthesteamybathroom.Andthemoreshegotstonedinthesteamybathroom,themorelikelythepossibilityofNikosimakingRogebringitupwithTripdoe.Andhedidn’twanttodothat.

Soforthenexttwoandahalfhours,Rogeutilizedhisdigitaldesignprowesstoforgearesearcharticleaboutthenegativeside-effectsofmarijuanausage.Heconflatedsomenumbers,inventedafewdiseases,madesomeveryvisually-appealinggraphsandcharts,andfoundahi-defpictureonlineofanovercookedmeatloaftouseasphotographicevidenceofalong-termmarijuanauser’slungs.Whenhe’dpolishedthearticleandsigneditoffwiththepseudonymhe’dcloakedhimselfwithasBozeman’spersonalhometherapistDr.LeonardSassoon,PhDinComplementaryHealth-UptakeMethods,heleanedbackinhischair,foundhisStyrofoamcupofcoldcoffee,raiseditinsilenthonortoDr.Sassoon,andtookabiggulp.

ThirtyorsominuteslaterTripdoecamedownstairs,herhairacomplicatedtowersecuredmysteriouslyatopherhead.Shedidn’tstoptoacknowledgeRogesittingatthetableasshewentintothekitchen.FromthecornerofhiseyeRogewatchedheropenthefridgeandstareintoitforaverylongtime.Sheseemedtohaveforgottenwhyshe’dopenedituntilshepulledoutajugofcranberryjuicewhichshetwistedopenanddrank.Shegazedlonginglyatthetoasterassheloweredthejugtowipehermouthwiththesleeveofthemagentabathrobeshehadon.

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‘HeyTripster.IfoundaninterestingarticleonlineIthoughtyou’dlike.Actually,uh,Bozemantoldmetopassitalongtoyou.Hethoughtyou’dbeinterestedinit,Iguess.Noideawhy,but,hey,uh…Ihaveithereifyouwannareadit.OrIcouldsendittoyou…?’

Shewalkedoverwiththecranberryjuginhand,bentdowntolookatthescreen,smellinglikeshampoo,and,havingreadthearticle’stitle,immediatelystartedlaughing.Rogeslumpedintothechair,sensingdefeat.Shecouldn’tstop,andhadtosetthejugonthetablenexttoRoge’slaptop,andflunghertorsoontothetable.BecauseofTripdoe’spersistentlaughter,Rogestartedlaughingtoo,untilbothofthemwerehunchedoverinhysterictears,Roge’smoretheresultofconfusionthandelight.NikosiheardthelaughterovertheTV,butcouldn’ttwistherneckfarenoughtoseewhatwasgoingon,andthentheTVgathereditselfabouther.Theyjustsattherelaughing,Tripdoedrapedoverthetable,armsflapping,Roge’schinburiedinhisslouch,hisafrowigglinglikealoafofbreadonarunawayfreighttrain.Shortlyaftertheystopped,andafterTripdoepattedRogeonthebackandgavehimatheatricalkissonthetopofthehead,shemadeherslowwaybackupstairstoherroom.Thecranberryjugsatopenonthetablesweating,andthefridgedoorhungopen,itsbarebulbbathingthekitcheninwhitelight.

Rogeneverdetectedtheseepingodorofcombustedcannabisinthehouseeveragain,butTripdoewouldoccasionallycallhimDr.Sassoonwithawrysmirkonherface.

Thatwasn’tthefirsttimeRogehadusedthepseudonym;he’dfirstcoinedityearsago,whenTripdoewasfiveorsix,aroundthetimeofthefirstfewporcupinesightingsinresponsetoBozeman’sdemandtohireapersonaltherapisttohelphimremedyhissexualimpotencethathadrenderedhislovelifeflaccidandunappealing,likeacelerystalkexiledatthebottomofthevegetablecrisper.TheOfficeofPrefecturalCommandstillhadafewemployeesbesidesjustRogeandBozemanatthetime,andtheconstructionofmini-PenobskawasnotyetevenamoistgleamontherimofBozeman’seyelids.

SeveraldaysbeforeBozemantaskedRogewithfindingapersonaltherapist,BozemanhadembarrassedRogeinfrontofbasicallyeveryoneattheOfficeduringameetinghecalledapparentlyinordertomerelysingleRogeout.Roge’safrosportedexcessfrizzthatday,mainlybecausehe’dsleptunderhisdeskthepreviousnight.He’dusedafewfeetofwaddedupbrownpapertowelsfromthebathroomasapillowandblanket,andhetweakedoutastripeofmuscleinhislowerbackthatjitteredlikeanarcotizedlabrateverytimehebentortwisted.Whenhewokeup,he’dforgottentotendtohisfro,whichBozemannoticedandconsideredaviablesubjectofpublicmockery.Bozeman,addressingeveryoneintheofficefromthecounterinthestaffloungethathe’dconvertedbrieflyintoastagebyclimbingontoitlikeapowerfultoddler,said,‘AndtheemployeeofthemonthawardgoestoRogePhan,whoseemstohaveforgonemedicalattentiontocomeintoworkafterhavingbeenstruckbyalightningbolt,orperhapsaseriesoflightningbolts!Nowthat’sdedication,people!NowRoge,makesuretodischargealltheelectricityyou’recarryingaroundupthereby,uh,rubbingyourselfupagainstalightswitchorsomething.’Heledasarcastic,ebullientroundofapplause,hisfacewarmasanoven’sglowingcoils,hislegsvictoriouslystraddlingthecoffee-stainedsinkandthelegionofunwashedmugsandsilverwaretherein.Everyonelaughedandapplaudedexcept,ofcourse,Roge,who’donlyslept

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underhisdeskbecauseBozemandemandedhestayovernighttomakesurethebuilding’snewlyinstalledautomaticlightsturnedoffpreciselyatteno’clockPMandthenbackonatseveno’clockAM.Which,bytheway,theydid.

ThecoworkerswhopattedRoge’sbackbuddy-buddilyinresponsetothepublicstingnoticedhisrighteyetwitchingrapidlyashestaredsomewhereveryfaroffinthedistance,orperhapssomewhereimpossiblyclose.Hestoodthereinthatsamesquare-footofspaceinthestaffloungeuntilBozemancameoverandwavedhishandinfrontofRoge’sface.‘Hey,anybodyhome,eh?’RogeshiftedhisbloodshoteyesandsmiledatBozeman.‘Oh,I’mhomealright,’hemumbled.‘Littlehomeonthefucking…prairie.’

WhenBozemancalledRogeintohisofficeafewdayslater,glimmeringgatescreakedopentograntRogeaccesstovengeance.‘Roge,dearRoge,’Bozeman’smeatyfacebarelymoved.Hewas,asusual,hunchedbehindhisdesk,hiselbowsproppinghisroundtorsoup,thickbaseball-mitt-likehandscradlinghistoasterskull,hisshinypompadourdippingandreflectingcoinsoflightaroundtheroomlikethefaceofawristwatch.‘Ihaveaverysensitivetaskforyou.Iwouldn’ttrustanyofthesesewerratsaroundherewiththeinformationI’mabouttotrustyouwith,’hespat,gesturingdisgustedlytowardthedoor.Healwaysseemedsoconvivialaroundtherestoftheoffice,untilhehadRogealoneinhisofficewithhim.‘Andthat’showIwantit.Itrustyoulikeapoliticalprisonertruststhesharpenedspoonheplanstoslashthenightguard’sjugularwith.’Rogesatintheleatherguestchairwithhishandssweatinginhislap,notsureifBozemanwasabouttolungeathimwithasharpenedspoonorofferhimsomekindofraise,orperhapssomeuniquecombinationofthetwo.Hehadn’tsleptmuchsincethelightning-commentincident.‘Ihopeyoucanreadbetweenthelineshere,Roge.OverthelastfewmonthsI’vebeennoticingsomeuncharacteristicslacknesswithregardstoacertainmemberofmyfamily.Youdig?’HestaredatRoge,buthisforeheadwasalmostparalleltothefloor,soRogecouldbarelyseeBozeman’seyesfromunderneathhisridgedeyebrows.HeentertainedthenotionthatBozemanwasaddressingthedesktop.‘WhatI’msayingis,Roge,isthatmeandmygirlfriendKandyhaven’tbeentotheparkinawhile.Wehaven’tbeenwalkingourdog.Andhe’sstartingtogetalittlerestless.’ItwastruethatBozeman’sgirlfriend’snamewasKandy,butthiswholeeuphemismthingstartedcreepingRogeout,buthesawBozeman’sevasivenessasanopportunitytoexchangesomeofhisownsimmeringembarrassment.

RogeleanedforwardandknockedapenoffBozeman’sdesk.Bozemanbroughthisheadupslightly.Rogebentdowntopickitupandsaid,‘Sir,IthinkI’m…pickingup…whatyou’reputtingdown.’Bozemanburstintohystericlaughter,slappingthedesktopwiththeflattenedpalmsofhishandsoverandoverlikesomeonetenderizingprimerib.Whenheregainedhiscomposure,hefacedRogeandsaid,‘ThisiswhyItrustyou.Youdealinthesubtleraspectsofhumancommunication.Somemightcallyouanartist.Notliketherestoftheseswine.’Heleanedbackinhischair,apparentlypleasedwithhisdeclaration.‘Yourtask,then,istoresearchprofessionalsnearbywhosespecialtyisrepairingsuchsituations.Bywhatevermeansnecessary,betheytonics,salves,inhalants,’heloweredhisvoice,‘Legal,illegal.Itmattersnot.Thissituationis,shallwesay,ofimmediateimportance.’TheconversationwentoninasimilarlyvaguefashionuntilRogeandBozemanshookhands.RogewouldconsiderthathandshakethebeginningofwhatwouldbecometheirclosecorrespondencethatwouldeventuallyleadtothereductionoftherestoftheOffice’spoolofemployees,untiljustheandBozemanremained,lockedinmutualdependence.

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Backathisdeskafterthehandshake,hissimmeringthirstforvengeancecombinedwithhavingbeendeprivedofsleepseveraldaysinarowpromptedRogetodevelopanimmaculatelyfraudulentwebsiteandpersonaforaoneDr.LeonardSassoon,PhDinCHUM(ComplementaryHealth-UptakeMethods).HisinitialplanwastodiagnoseBozeman’ssexualailmentvicariouslythroughDr.Sassoonasanimbalanceofchemicalsandenergies.

HegotmostoftheterminologyheendedupusinginhisfirstofficialStatementofAilmentfromanoldbrochurehefoundinoneofthekitchendrawersbackathome,adrawerthatalsoheldonespoolofoldtwine,bluesafetyscissors,glue,pencilerasers,aredplasticteaspoon,andtwooldbrowncoins.ThebrochurewasforoneofPixieTownII’smostpopularnightclubsthatclaimedtoofferafullstaffof‘chakra-alignmentspecialists’whowould‘rebalanceyourenergies’and‘bringyourconsciousnessinlinewithitsidealcosmologicalcoordinates’.ToddlerTripdoehadcasuallysabotagedthepamphletsbydrawingtwirlingmustachesontheupperlipsofallthefeaturedemployeesandpatrons,maleorfemale,itmatterednottotheindiscriminatehandofTripdoe.

Dr.SassoonasRogeborrowedheavilyfromthepamphlet,and,afterhavingconvincedBozemanofhiscompetencyandcareer-longeffectiveness,eventuallystartedprescribingBozemanweekendforaystoPixieTownIIinorderforhimtoattendthe‘cleansingretreats’thatwereessentiallyjustthirty-hour-longdrug-fueleddanceparties.

RogethoughthesawBozemansighwithreliefwhen,ayearlater,PixieTownIIgottakenoverandconvertedbyitsex-staff.ThedruggeddancingthatwassupposedtobalancehischakraswasstartingtomakeallofhisthoughtsfeellikeaSlinkeygoingdownaninfinitestaircase,nottomentionallthepricklyparanoiaoftravellingthroughthewildernesseveryweekend.However,hedidclaimtofeelanawakeninginhisloins.

Thoughthemonthswentby,thesparksofelectricangerthatsunkirrationallydeepintoRogethatdayinthestaffloungeglowedbright,andcastoddshadowsonlyhecouldseeonBozeman.Dr.SassoonasRogeeventuallyabandonedthepamphlettocomeupwithhisownregimenofsexualhealingmethodsthatbecameincreasinglypatronizing,butthatBozemanadoptedwithincreasingenthusiasmandpraise.Afewofhisregularrecommendationsincludedbalancingupsidedownforfiveminutesatatimewithripenedstrawberriesonthebaresolesofthefeetinhisownoffice,contemplativewalksthroughforests,monosyllabicchantsessions,therapeuticcrayonworkshops,and,asanextensionofhiswantingNikosi’sobsessionwithporcupinestoendandhishomelifetosettlebackintonormalcy,adietoffreshfemaleporcupinereproductivesecretionswhoseharvestingBozemanwould,withoutRogeknowing,expandmarvelouslyasthenextfewyearswentby.

Bozeman’ssustainedandfaithfulpracticeinwhicheverfictionaltherapiesRogepuppetedovertheinternetbecameatiresomeresponsibilityforRogeasthemonthsandyearsworeon.NotonlydidhehavetorespondtoBozeman’sconstantfeedbackthathemessagedtoSassoon’sfakeaccount,hehadtodosoclandestinelywhilealsoperformingthedutiesofhispublicstationasBozeman’snowsingularemployee,apositionthatcamewiththeloftytitleofPrefecturalObservator.Hisvengefulscheme

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hadblossomedwithflowerswhoseperplexingfragranceattractedtheloudandaggravatingbirdsofBozeman’senthusiasm,butnowthathehadletitgrowtosuchproportions,hehadnootheroptionbuttocontinuehistwo-prongedlifeasglorifiedsecretaryandshamsexualtherapist.

ChapterEleven–InWhichBozemanDrinksaFertilitySmoothie,andKandyTakesYetAnotherBath

Bozemandrankabananafertilitysmoothie,likehealwaysdid,asearlylightcrackedlikeaneggoverPenobskatheFridaymorningafterNikosirolledintotheforest.Hestoodonhissecond-floorbalconywithonehandonthechilledmetalrailingandtheothergrippingaceramicjarthatheceremoniouslydrankfertilitysmoothiesfrom.ThejarwasstoutandcoveredwithtinyscenesfromPenobskanhistorythatBozemanhadpaintedonhimself.Thesceneslookedlikesomethingfoundscratchedintoacavewall,andonlysomeofthemcouldbeverifiedasdefactohistoricalevents,theothersbeingBozeman’spersonalelaborations.Hesavoredeachswig,eventhebitteraftertastethatlingeredlikeabruiseonhistongueforhalfanhour.Thecloudyeveninghadburnedawayinthemorning.Thinmustachesofcloudslookedlikethey’dsoonbeshavedoffthelipofthesky’spowderedface.Bozemanwasn’twearingslippersorsocks,sothesmoothmarblefloorsuckedheatfromhissoles,andhisthickleghairruffledinthelightbreeze.

Bozeman’shousesatonseveralacresattheheartofPenobskaandwassecludedfromtherestoftownbyathicksurroundingofoldtrees.Visitorsoftendescribedthehouseas‘gorgeous’,‘magisterial’,‘amonumenttosimplertimes’,and/or‘plantational’.TripdoehadbeenovertoBozeman’satleastonceeverytwoweekssincetheseventhgradetorepairortuneuponeofhismanyantiquetreadmillsthatwerealwaysfallingintosomekindofdisrepairandthenbeingmysteriouslydiscardedandreplacedbydifferenttreadmillsthatweresomehowalsoinbadconditionandinneedofherexpert(andexpensive)care.WhensheaskedBozemanabouttheappearanceofthesenewmachines,hewouldstartsneezingrepetitivelyuntilshewentaway.

ShesawBozeman’splacemoreasarenovatedmausoleum,whatwithitsmarblefloors,corrugatedpillars,antiquesconcesthatifyankedmayormaynothaveactivatedwinchesandexposeddustystaircasesleadingtosubterraneanvaultsand/orchambers,paintingsofwaterfallsandsailboats,andhugeleatherarmchairsthatlurkedinthecornersofeverysoftly-litroom.Bozeman’sexerciseroomimpressedandmystifiedherquiteabit.Theyweremodelsshe’dneverseenanywhereelse,fromdistantlandsandtimes,allofwhichimpressedandintriguedhermechanizedcuriosities.Shesuspectedsomehowthereasonheowned,consistentlydamaged,andreplacedsomanydifferentexoticmodelswasrelatedsomehowtoRoge’srelationshipwithBozeman,wherebyhesinglehandedlyemployedTripdoeassomekindoffavortoRoge,orperhapsasawayofincentivizingRoge’sotherwisecumbersomepositionashispersonalassistant.RegardlessofRoge’sinvolvement,TripdoemadewadsofmoneyfromBozeman’sconspicuouslyandconsistentlydamagedtreadmills,evenifitmeant,fromtimetotime,havingtodealpersonallywithBozeman,somethingTripdoedidn’tmuchcarefor.

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Bozeman’sgirlfriendKandy–afewyearsolderthanhe–playedtheaccordioninsidetheirbedroomwhichwasthroughopendoubledoorswitheightsquarewindowseachsectionedoffbydarkstainedwoodbars.Shelaynakedonthedisheveledbedfacingtheceiling,herarmspumpingtheoldinstrument,acigarettedanglingbetweenherlips.HerhairwasthesamecolorasBozeman’sbananafertilitysmoothie,andherskinsometimesblendedwiththemarblefloor.Whenevershehummedpartofthesongsheplayed,ashwouldflutterofftheendofthecigaretteandpepperherfaceandthesheetsbeneathher.She’dbeenplayingallmorning,andignoredBozemanwhenheofferedtomakeherbreakfast,insteadoptingforcigaretteaftercigaretteandaccordionsongafteraccordionsong.

Bozemangulpeddownthelastthickmouthfulofsmoothieandwentbackinside,swingingthedoorsshutbehindhim.Thestouthistory-depictingjarfoundaspotonthebedsidetableandbeganexportingitsringofmoistureontoit.Bozemanstrippedoffhisbathrobeandstoodatthefootofthebed,feetspreadwide,waitingforKandytoglanceupfromhermusicalreverie,whichsherefusedtodo,knowingthathestoodthere.Hethoughthefeltastirbetweenhislegs,butwhenhelookeddowntoinvestigate,hispenisonlyremindedhimofafieldmouseinasnowstorm:stubborn,still,patient,andtotheuntrainedeye,dead.Hesighed,andKandyexhaledacloudintotheroomthatsettleddownoverthembothslowly.Themigratingcloudslowlyoccupiedthesixteenangledbeamsofsunlightthatpassedthroughthedoor’ssquarewindows.

‘Kandy,baby,’hesaidcoveringhisunresponsivegenitalswithafloral-embroideredpillowhe’dpickedupfromthefloor,‘yousureyoudon’twantanybreakfast?Youlookhungry.Baby,youlookhungry.’Kandycompressedanothertiredsongintotheroom.

Bozemandroppedthepillowandre-cloakedhimselfwiththebathrobe,andgrabbedtheemptysmoothiejar.Kandysatup,floppedtheaccordionbesideher,tookthecigaretteoutofhermouthwithherlefthand.Shebrushedherbangsoutofhereyeswiththebackofthehandthatheldthecigaretteandexhaled.Sherolledoffthebed,slappedbothherfeetdownonthemarblesimultaneously,andstoodup.Herarmswentstretchingintotheair,andBozemanwatchedherfulllengthexpandupwards,hermusclesinherbackandinherbuttocksandinherlegstensing,herhairhanginglooseoffhertiltedhead,thecigaretteheldhighintheairlikeatorch,herwholebodynowbalancingonthetipsofhertoes.Shesunkbacktonormalsizeandwalkedintothebathroomafterreplacingthecigarettebetweenherlips,shuttingandlockingthedoorbehindher,neverlookingbackatBozeman.

Theemptysmoothiejarfeltlightinhishands,andithadwarmedtothemafterhavingbeendrainedofitsthickcontents.

Hestoodthereforaminutequietly,therisingsunlickingthebacksofhislegs.Fromthebathroomhecouldhearsmallsounds,thenthebathtub’sknobstwisting,thenthewhitenoiseoffalling,poolingwater.

Hewentdownstairstothekitchenwhereherinsedoutthejarcarefullysoastonotscrubofforchipanyofthedelicatescenes.Whenthejarwasclean,hestaredatthefaucet.Heturnedthecoldwateroffandturnedthehotwateron.Heletitrunashesetthejarinthedryingrackandfoundhalfabagelinthefridgethathemicrowavedwithoutaplateforforty-fiveseconds.Whenthemicrowavebeeped,hepulledthenakedbageloutandateit,exhaledthroughhisnosewhilechewing,thesteamfromthe

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hotwaterswirlingaroundthemarbleislandthesinksunkinto.Wetglobsofhalf-chewedbagelcrownedhisbackteeth.

Inarutted,grasslesspenbehindhishouse,Bozemankeptacrowd–30or40–offemaleporcupines.Onceaweekhesprayedafluidintothepenwhosesmellimitatedahornymaleporcupine’surine.Thefemaleswouldreactastheywouldinthewildifpresentedwithsuchafluid:theysecretedreproductivefluidsoftheirownthat,inthewild,wouldbethego-aheadsignalformating.Bozeman,inastateofself-deludedpersonaldependenceonthesecretions,wearingstitched-togetherporcupinepelts,dousedintheimitationurine,wouldlumberslowlyintothepenonallfoursandapproachoneofthefemalesthatpresenteditself,andcollecthersecretionsviaspecializedswabandjar.Oncehe’dfilledthejarhewouldbackslowlyoutofthepenandlockthelittlemetalgatebehindhim.Hekepttheporcupinepelthangingfromasmallhookontheinsideofthekitchendoor,andalwaysmadesuretokeepitonuntilhewasoutofsightofthefemales.Thenhe’demptyalittlebitofthejarintoarefrigeratedtubinhisgaragethathedrewhisdailydosagesfrom,andpouredtherestintoahugestoragetankthathe’dinstalledonthesideofthehouse.Hehadmorethanenoughofthefluidintherefrigeratedtubinside,butsomecompulsiondrovehimtohordethethick,mucoidsubstanceenmasse.Thismassivestoragetankwaswhatdrovethemaleporcupines–who’dbeenatashortageoffemaleseversinceBozemanroundedupdozensofthemyearsagoinordertofilltheprescriptionSassoonhadfilledoutforhim–absolutelymadoutsidethePenobskanperimeter.Thecrowdoffemaleshadbeenhealthyandproductive,thoughinthelastfewmonthsthey’dbeendyingoffonebyonegradually.

SomeoftheolderfemalesthathadstoppedproducingthereproductivesecretionsweretakenintoBozeman’sbasement’sbasement,accessedviaconcealedhatchinthefloorofhisexercisestudiowherehe’dbeenstoringallthetreadmillsTripdoehadrepairedforhimovertheyears.He’dboughtthemused,intentionallydamaged,sothatTripdoewouldcomeovertofixthemupendlesslyinorderforhimtogarneranimpressivesubterraneancollection.There,inthisdismalsub-studio,theolderfemaleporcupinesranouttheremainderoftheirlives,chasingscent-enhancedvideosofbabyporcupinestheywerechemicallyinducedtothinkofastheirown,generatingtheelectricityneededtopowerthetelevisionswiththeirendless,desperatetrotting.

OftentimesKandywatchedthewholesecretioncollectionritualfromtheupstairsbathroomwindowasshebathed,whichshedidfrequently,sometimesasmanyasfourtimesaday.ShereferredtothesedaysasPruneDays.Thewindowbythetubwastoohighforhertowatchwhileremaininginhercomfortabletub-slouch,soshewouldgetuponherkneestopeekovertheedgeofthewindowintothepen.Bozeman’slumbering,all-foursshuffletowardoneofthebaredporcupinesremindedherofamovieshe’dbeenhorrifiedbyasachildandthatherfatherwatchedrituallyeveryweekend.Theonlyscenesheremembered–oratleastthescenethatburneditselfdeepenoughintoherpsychetobeabletorecallinanydetailnow–wastheonewhereTheCreatureemergesfromaswampdrippingalgaeandmud.Itseyesglow,andallthatcanbemadeoutofitisitssilhouette,butthewetsoundsitmakesclimbingoutoftheswampstuckwithherthroughalltheseyears.Slowlyshewouldsinkbackdown

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intothebathtub,usuallyaddingmoresoapforbubbles,lightingafewmorescentedcandlesandcigarettes.

Todayonherkneesshepeekedoutside.Severalfemaleporcupinesscratchingatthedirt.Anotherchewingonthefencepost.Someoutofsight,probablyinthecorrugated-steel-roofenclosuretheyallsharedandinwinterhuddledunder.Bozemannowheretobeseen.Thewaterwasaboutuptothetopsofherkneesbynow,luke-warm.Thewaterspewingfromthetub’sspoutwaveredbetweencoldandsemi-cold.Shegotoutofthetubdrippingandstompedonthefloorfortwentyseconds.Herreflectioninthemirrorbouncedandblurred.Sheheardthepipesgroan,andsteamswirledonceagainfromtherenewedheatofthewater.Thewarmwatergreetedherasshesunkbackintoit,andshelitanothercigaretteoffatub-sidecandle’stwitchingflame.

Bozeman,downstairs,watchedthevisibleporcupinesthroughthekitchenwindowafterhavingturnedthefaucetoff.FuckingKandy.

Bythesideofthepenayoungtreegrew.Infall,theporcupinescaughttheyoungtree’sfallingleavesintheirmouthsuntiltherewerenomoretocatch.Theleaf-catchingthrilledBozeman,whothoughtofitasakindofgamethattheporcupineshadcomeupwithtoentertainthemselves.Generationsofporcupinesseemedtore-learnitwithoutinstruction,asifcatchingleavesintheirmouthswasaninstinctualremnantthateachporcupineluggedaroundwiththemastheyluggedaroundtheinstincttosecrete,ortohuddleinthecoldshelterwitheachother,orbristletheirquillswhenflocksofdarkmigratingbirdslandedinacontinuousborderalongthefence’srimandsquawkedceaselesslyuntilmovingontowarmerwinds.Onthedaythefinalleaffell,BozemanhadbeguncelebratingbypoppingopenabottleofchardonnayanddrinkingitwithKandy,andsplashingsomeintothewatertubfortheporcupinesthatheregardedonlyinthatmomentofemptytreeasvictorious.

Hedidn’tknowit,standingtherewithslackhandscradledinthepocketsofhisrobe,fertilitysmoothieworkingitswaythroughhisstomach,thatoneoftheporcupines,onenotgnawingonthefencepostorclawingthedirt,laycurledanddeadinthecorneroftheshelter.Kandyhadinsertedameanshardofglassinaheadoflettucethattheporcupinehadeaten,andwhichincisedherinsidesandfloodedherwithherownblood,overwhelminganddrowningher.KillingtheporcupinessporadicallyhadbecomeahobbyforKandy;ratpoisoninthefeed,strangulationsbeforesunrise,shootingtheirownpoison-tippedquillsintovitalregionswithablowdartgunfromaperchontheroof,anythingthatBozemanwouldn’tfigureshe’dhadanythingtodowith.SittinghotinthebathshedreamtupmorequietandconsequencelesswaystobringdeathintoBozeman’sporcupinepen.Curlicuesofsmokeleakedfromthetipsofherfingersandcandlescastedtheirblurryshadowsontotheceilingwhereshepretendedtoreadthemlikelinesofpoetry.

ChapterTwelve–InWhichRogeFiguresOutThatHisWifeisGone,LosesHisFuckingMind,andTripdoeGoesonaWalk

Roge,standinginthePhanfamilykitchen,shriekedandtoretwotuftsoflopsidedafrofreefromhisscalpandstuffedthemintohispockets,shriekedagain.Tripdoe,sittinguponthekitchencounterincleanclothesshe’dchangedintoafterRoge

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wokeherupfromherthicknightofcouchsleep,shudderedandsunkherheadintohershriek-shruggedshoulders.Lambo,nervouslybutteringacrispysquareoftoast,fumbledanddroppedthetoastontothefloor.‘Sorry,’Lambosaidtonooneinparticular,referringtothenow-butterykitchenfloor.Hepickedupthetoastandthrewitintothetrashandstarteddiggingaroundinadrawerforsomethingtocleanthebutterupwith.Tripdoecarefullyslidoffthecounterandinchedtowardhermanic-eyedfather.Shesetaneutralhandonhisshoulder.‘We’llfindher?Imean,shecouldn’t’verolledthatfar,right?Theforest’sprettythickafterall…lotsatreesandshrubstoslowherdown,right?’

RogeshriekedagainforprobablythethirtiethtimesinceTripdoehadtoldhimwhatshe’dseen…he’djustcomehomefromsevenstraightdaysofmini-Penobskaconstructionduringwhichtimehe’dbarelysleptatall.Tofindhisdaughtercoveredincrustysoupasleeponthecouch,hisdaughter’sboyfriendfetal-positionedonthekitchenfloorwithhisheadinaskillet,abrokenwindow,andmissingwifewasaweighttoogreatforRoge’swork-weakenedconstitution.WhenTripdoe,havingbeenyankedfromsleepbyRoge’sinitialshriek,triedtogentlyexplainthepreviousdaytohim,heshriekedandkeptshriekingeveryfewminutes,standingperfectlystillexceptfortheswiftjourneysoffiststohairthatwerestartingtoreallyworryTripdoe,andfreakLamboout.Lambo,unsureofhowtoengage,decidedtobusyhimselfbymakingbreakfast,hencethetoast,ofwhichhehadpreparedaprecariousandfragranttower.Tripdoefeltawarmanddamppaininsideherhead.

Roge’smind,whichlet’snotgetintotoomuch,wasintheprocessofsomeveryseriousrenovationsthatitwasn’treallyincontrolof.Theself-constructedpersonaofDr.Sassoonwasbusyransacking,burning,andthenre-populatingtheusuallysafeandsettledterritorythatthelivedandestablishedselfofRogePhanhadoccupied.Notunlikeaninvadinghordeofwarmongers,theself-constructedpersonaofDr.SassoonwasreducingmostofRoge’sidentitytofine,unrecognizablepowder,inthehazeofwhichthepersonaseemedallthemorevalidandhabitable.Theshriekingandhair-pullingwasRoge’sbodygoingintoakindofmindlessstateofautomaticpanic;withhismindfullyoccupiedwiththemutinoustakeoverofDr.Sassoon,itsbodily-expressiongeargotbrieflyjammedinpanic-mode.Unfortunately,TripdoeandLambohadtostandbyandwatchRogerebootthesameshriek-and-yankoverandover,withoutrealizingitwasasautomaticandtimedas,say,thetoasterpoppinganewcrispysquareintotheroom.

Eventuallyhepulledallofhishairout.Hispocketsbulgedwiththetotalityofhisafro-extraction.Theself-constructedpersonaofDr.SassoonhadplastereditselffullyontoRoge’sneuralpathways,assumingcontrol.

Hestoppedshriekingandexhaled,lookingaroundthroughneweyes.Herecognizedthehouseashishouse,Tripdoeashisdaughter,andallthevariousotherrelationsthat,asRoge,hadgivenhislifestructureasakindofworldlyscaffolding.Now,though,thefleshydrapesofhispersonalityfitthescaffoldingdifferently,andpromptedhimtorespondfromtheseatofhisinventedpersona.‘Sorryaboutthat,darling.Abitoverworked,Iguess.Wheredidyousayyourmotherwent?’

Tripdoe,withherneutralhandstillsittinglikeaclammyparrotonRoge’sshoulder,said,‘Uh…outthewindow?Sherolled…throughthefenceanddisappeared…?’

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‘Disappeared,huh?Well.Nothingreallydisappears,darling.Matterisonlyrearrangedandretransmuted.Nothingtobeafraidoforangryabout.Mommyissomewhere.Wejustdon’tknowwhere.PerhapsI’llmeditateonit.’Roge/Sassoonscratchedhispasty,lightly-bleedingscalpandwanderedquietlyintothelivingroomwherehesatdownonthecouch.TripdoeandLamboexchangedastiffglance.Thewarm,damppainstillthrobbedlikeachicken’sheartinthecenterofTripdoe’sskull.FromtheirspotinthekitchentheysawthemottledbackofRoge’sheadashesatstaringintothestacksofpaperworkhe’daccumulatedoverthelastfewyears.

Lambobackedcautiouslyawayfromtheswayingtoweroftoasthe’dprepared.Havingglancedatthegreenanalogclockonthemicrowave,LambohadavisionofGramawaccidentallyeatingthumbtackswithmilkinsteadofcereal,orpoppingovenmittsintothetoaster.HewhisperedtoTripdoethathehadtogetbacktoher,andshruggedapologeticallyafewtimes.AllthishadbecometoomuchforLambo.Hethrivedonpredictability.ThepacificprospectofgoingbacktohisGramaw’shousetoplaycheckersandnaponherquiltedcouchwasirresistibleincontrastwiththeastringentsituationunfoldingforthePhans.HethoughthelovedTripdoe,buthowcouldheloveherunderthisroof,amidsuchfluctuatingandterrifyingcircumstances?Plus,whatwasthereforhimtodo?Gravitypulledmomsoneway,downhill,towardtheriver,andnothinghecouldsayordowouldchangethat.Hewondered,drivingbacktoGramaw’shouse,whetherheandTripdoewouldstillseeCalypsoCometIItogetheronSaturday.Somehoweventhethoughtofnotgoing,ofnothavingthatsimple,comfortablenormalcyrestored,piercedhisheart,andhesat,gray-mindedanddeflated,forawhileinhisparkedtruckinGramaw’sdriveway,hisforeheadpressedontotheplasticcurveofthesteeringwheel.

Tripdoe,meanwhile,hadtakenthreepartsoftheroofofLambo’stoasttowerdownandsatatthekitchentableeatingthem.Shehadn’tnoticedhowhungryshewas.Sheatetheroofquickly,lickingherfingersafterward.Tapwasgonenow,oratleastshecouldn’tseehimorhearhisvoiceinherhead.Adeepfeeling,maybeinthesameplaceasthedamppain,gaveherasmallwordaboutTap:return.Whichsomehow,atleastsittingthereatthetableforonepassingbreath,sheknewwasmeanttomeansomethinggood.Maybehe’dgonetotheforestwhilesheslept,onsomenocturnalmissionobscuretoher,whichwouldprobablybeforthebest.Hermind,suddenlyunencumberedbyTaporNikosi,orthethinpassingsoulshe’dfeltdrainfromLarry,wandered.Itwanderedintothebackyardwhereherchildhoodhadoncepassedlikeamigratingbird.Itwanderedincirclesaroundtheshedanditunscrewedallthescrewsholdingittogetheruntilitwasnothingmorethanapileofplywood.Hermindwanderedtinkeringfurthertilithaddisassembledallthetoolsintheshedandlaidouttheirpartsinrowsontopoftheflatwallsofthesheditself.Itsweptupalltheanonymouspilesofmarijuanaashshe’dscatteredthereandsetthepile,nolargerthanagolfball,nexttoapalms-uppairoffadedworkgloves.Itwanderedintotheskytolookstraightdownontheorganizationofherwork,theprecisecurveoftheclipper’sonesharptooth,theformlesssplotchdesignontheplywood,howeachheavywall’sunevenbalancesuggestedthegrassunderneathpushingupintoitinlopsidedforce,likesomeonewithoutteethchewingonastalebiscuit.Itwanderedfurther,separatingthelayersoftheplywood,pullingapartthetoolsintotheirelements,andorganizingthemallinevenrows,pressingdownthewavygrass,untiltheyarditselfbalancedlooselyuponitselfin

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twoimaginedpiles:themoleculesandthespacebetweenmolecules.Thenslowly,absently,asitalwaysdidaftershe’dpulledtreadmillsapart,Tripdoe’smindbroughteverythingbacktowarditselfuntilshesatstaringonceagainatthebackyard,theredpaintpeelingfromthemeetingwallsoftheshed,andatthewheelingbirdthatflewaboveit.Shenoticedforthefirsttimeheroldbabypoolleaningconspicuouslyasitwas,securedbyahastymoundofmudpatteddownbysomeclawedpaw,blockingthejaggedtearinthefencehermotherhadrolledthrough.

Shewentouttolook.Grasshadbeengnawedandpressedintothemoundthatproppedupthebabypool.Sheeasilyremoveditfromitsdivot,andlookedintotheun-fencedmouthofforestthatfilledwhatthepoolhadbeenblocking.Greycloudsmovedhesitantlyinthelightwindaboveher.Sheturnedawayandsawhowtheprintspacedabouttheyard.Theprintslookedlikealosthelix.Shefollowedthembackwardupuntiltheyseemedtoemergefromtheearth,whichshenoticedhadbeenatunnelcoveredoveronthisside.Theopeningofthetunnelontheforestsideofthefencesatopen,andshesteppedthroughthefenceholehermotherhadmadetotheotherside.Theprintsgrewhardertofollow,butshesawtheyledupintoatree.Patchesofbarkwerefreshlyscraped.Shestoodforsometimewatchingthetree,tryingtoreaditslimbs.Shelookedbackatthehouseandcouldseethepaledomeofherfather’sheadthroughthebrokenwindow.He’dfallenasleep,hismouthgapingopen.Shefollowedtheprintsbackthroughthefenceandcontinuedtodosountilshe’dwalkedoffheryard,theprintsleadingheraroundthesideofthehouse,pastthegurglingpondthatFenny’shatsatintheslimybottomof.

Whenthepawprintscrossedthestreet,Tripdoestoppedandimaginedwhereontheothersidetheywouldresume.Shelookeddowntheroadtotheleftwherehousesstrungaftereachotherlikepearlsonanecklace.Totheright,thesame.Shecrossedthestreet,butcouldn’tfindwheretheprintspickedbackup,soshejustwalkedalongthesidewalkpastallthehousesstrungoutlikepearls,leavingthepawtrailtoitshelicalwandering.Theshadesonsomedrawn,othersopen.Acardrovepast,thebackofsomeneighbor’sheadshiningthroughtherearwindow,theeyesframedintherearviewmirrorglancingbackbrieflytolookather,thenwhentheysawherlookingbackturnedquicklyawaytowardtheroadwhichafterafewlongsecondsthecardisappeareddown.Shekeptwalking,onlythennoticingthatshehadn’tputonanyshoes.Thecementfeltgoodonherbarefeet,thelightsolidduststickingtohersolesaftereachstep,thecoldofnightyettobefilledwiththeafternoonsun’sheat.Wet,almost.

Shehookedaleftatastopsignandwalkedfurtherintowardthecenteroftownwheremostoftherestaurantsandshopswere.Firehydrantsnobody’dusedinyearsandprobablycouldn’tevenbewrenchedintouse,streetlightswhosebulbsflickeredonhesitantlyattwilight,barelylightinganythingotherthantwoorthreefeetaroundthemselvesinakindofdimwhiteaurathatremained,sometimes,forhoursafterthey’dturnedoff.Amanwithabaseballhatwalkinghisblackdogpassed,bothhimandthedogkeepingtheirheadslowtothegrounduntilTripdoepassedthem,onlythendidthedog,seeingherbarefeet,lookuptowatchhergoby,itsnosetwitchinglazily.Ontheothersideofthestreet,intheparkinglotofGullahBowl,Tripdoesawacopcarparkedneartheentrance.Twobarely-uniformedcopssatonthehoodofthecarwiththeirfeetswingingbeneaththem.Neitherworeabelt,andoneofthemhadapairofsweatpantson.Tripdoecrossedthestreetandtriedtogointhroughthemainentrance.

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‘Hey,uh,place’sclosed,lady.Investigationinprogress,’thesweatpants-wearingcopsaid.Theybothhadhugebowlsofgumbocradledintheirhands.Theonewithsweatpantswasjabbingcrawfishoutofhisbowlwithacoal-coloredknife.Theother,whohadn’tseemedtonoticeTripdoeyet,atewithaspooninbigslurpingbites.Shelookedinthroughtheglassdoorandsawthelightswereonbackinthekitchen,afewshadowsmovingaround,andsteam.‘Waitasecond,Iknowwhoyouare,’hesaid,pullingherattentionback.Tripdoecouldtellhewascarryinghisguninthepocketofhissweatpants,itbulgedawkwardlyandpartofthegrippokedout.‘You’reBozeman’sguy’sdaughter,huh?Youwerehereyesterday?’Hesethisgumbobowldownandhoppedoffthehood.‘Hey,youthinkyoucouldhelpusout?We’retryingtofindthelittleguywhoworkshere?AMr.FennyJoils?Heseemsto’vesplittown.’HelookeddownatTripdoe’sbarefeet.‘Uh?’

‘Mypetsalamanderatethem.AndFenny?LastIsawhim,hewashandingmeabowlofwhatyou’vegotthere,’shesaid,gesturingtowardthebowlanglingonthehoodofthecar.Theothercop,absorbedinhismeal,stilldidn’tseemtonoticeher.‘Except,see,itwasshrimp?Notcrawfish.And,uh,doyouthinkImightbeableto…?’

‘Huh.Ohsure,sure.’HegrabbedthebowlandhandedittoTripdoewhostabbedafewchunksofcrawfishwiththeknifeandatethemup.‘WehavesomequestionsforMr.Joils.’

‘Ibet.’‘Bozeman,asitturnsout,wasstrickentohearaboutMr.Lawnyawn’s

unfortunatelunchforreasonsuncleartous.He’snotevenacitizenofPenobska.ButBozeman’syearningtoshedsomelightonthedeceased’ssituation.’

‘AndyouthinkFennyhadsomethingtodowithit?Ha.HatetocutyourleadsbutFenny’snotjustlikeanearthwormbecauseofhowhelooks,orwhathispersonality’slike.He’salsobasicallyjustharmless,too.Youtalktohis,what,coworker?Heseemslikemoreofthekillertype.’

Theothercopfinallylookedupfromhisgumboandexchangedafunnyglancewithhispartner.‘Yeah,wetalkedtohim.’

Infact,they’djustbeenovertoBigJ’smom’shousethatmorninglookingforhim.Hismom–ahomelywomancladmostlyinflour-dusteddenim–answeredthedoorwithherarmscrossed,onehandclutchingawoodenspoon,andaskedthemtocomebackanothertime.Whentheyinsisted,shesighed,disappeared,leavingthemwithaslightgapbetweenthedooranditsframethatthefragranceoffreshbreadwaftedthrough,andafewminuteslaterahuge,shiveringBigJfilledupthedoorway,failingtoprovideeithercopwithanyeyecontact.Onequestionin,andBigJthrewupnervouslyalloverthefrontofoneofthecop’spants.

Heranahanddownthesideofhissweatpants,‘Hence,’hesaidtoTripdoe,‘Ifoundthesebadboyswaddedupatthebottomofmylockerbackatthestation.Afterwehosedoffmyshoes,andafterthebigguycalmeddownalittle,hebabbledsomeinterestinginformationaboutacoupleofpeppersthatmayberesponsible,andsaidFenny’dknowmoreaboutit.’

‘Yeah,well,gross.Ican’tsayIknowanythingaboutallthat,boys.Hey,youguysknowwhathappenstodeadpeoplewhodon’thaveanyonetopickemup?’

Thecopslookedateachother,andaftertheytoldher,shehandedthebowlbackandwalkedfurtherdownthestreet,turnedleftatthelaundromatandwalked

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anothercoupleofblocks.Sheendedupoutsidethebrickcrematorium.Shewalkedinandintwentyminutes,duringwhichtimeayellowbirdhadflowndownoutoftheskytodigaroundinthemulchbythesideofentrance’ssmallhuckleberryshrub,andcloudspassedoverandoffthesun,andwindscatteredtrashsomeofthewaydowntheroad,shewalkedbackoutwithablacksquarethesizeofatissueboxfilledwithLarry’sashes.Onitssideinembossedgoldlettersread,HEREINRESTTHEREMAINSOF(andintheballpointscribbleofthecrematoriumclerk)LaurenceFernandoLawnyawn.Then,bored,shewalkedallthewayhomewhere,inthefrontyard,sheopenedthebox,splittheplasticliningthatcontainedtheashes,anddumpedthemintothegurglingpond.Sheshruggedandsaid,‘Idon’tknowwhattosay.Goodluck,overthere.Inthelandofdeathorwhatever.Ihopeit’snice.Sunny,maybe.Quiet.Ifit’snotthen,well,IguessIhopeitdoesn’tlastforeverlikewhatpeopleseemtothink.Andthattherearen’tabunchofmeanskeletonsyellingatyou,orpokingyouwithhotspoons,orsomethinglikethat.’

SinceTripdoe’dleftonherwalk,Fenny’shathadgottensuckedhalfwayintothepond’sintakeventilationtubethatcycledoxygenthroughthewater,andthetinymotorthatkeptthewatergurglinghadshutdown.Thewater’sstagnantsurfaceheldthenewlydumpedashes.Tripdoeusedherbarerightfoottostirthesolutionarounduntiltheashesthatsatontopofthewaterhadeitherclumpedtogetherinsoggywadsorsunktothebottom.

Tripdoewentinsidetorinseoffherfootandfindanicespotinherroomtokeeptheblackbox.

Thestagnantpondsatcalmandfreeofgurgles.Lawnyawn’spowderheatedinthesunthatcloudspassedoverandoffof,overandoffof,andsanktothebottom,settlingwetlyoverthebrimofFenny’sGullahBowlhat.

ChapterThirteen–InWhichErethizonMisinterpretsYetMoreStimuli

Onbrightdays,thesheetmetalroofontheshelterintheporcupinepenbehindBozeman’shouselookedwhitefromitsreflectionofthesun.Erethizon,onwhoseforeheadTaprodesleepily,caughtahugeeyefulofwhitelightashecrestedahillsometwo-hundredyardsfromBozeman’sproperty,havinghonedinonitwithhisnose,usingtheday’slazybreezeheavywithmuskasalead.Hestoppedatthetopofthehill,ashiverrunningthroughhimasheblinkedthebrightsquareoutofhisonegoodeye.Theburnt-inimageofthedayhelosthisothereyecameoutinreliefasheturnedawayfromthereflection,remindinghim.

Tap’seyesightfailedhiminthedaylight.HedriftedinandoutofsleepashebouncedatopErethizon’shead.ThetwohadcommunedbehindtheshedafterTripdoehadfallenasleep,allowingTaptoslideaway.TaptransferredthoughtsintoErethizon’smind,introducinghimself.ErethizonrecognizedthesoundofTap’sthoughtsimmediately;Tapwasawidely-knowntravelerintheforest.Heoftenfoundhiswayintoothercreatures’dreamsandcommunicatedwiththemthatway,thoughthecontentofhiscommunicationswereoftendifficulttoholdontoafterhavingwoken.Whatremainedwasthebrightremnantofanimportanttruththatlituptheday,butcouldn’tbeentirelygrasped.MostlyeverycreaturelivingintheforestforlongenoughmetTapintheirdreamsatsomepoint,butnonecouldbesureheactuallyexistedoutsideofthem,forhefailedtoexistasanysingleentityinthedreams,atoncea

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mollusk,thenextablackbird,andthenabear,agoose,afinch,afungus.Heresistedrecognitionintherealworld.Thoughnow,withhimsleepingontopofhishead,Erethizonknewthattheelusivepresencehe’dmetinhissleepwasalsoaliving,breathinganimal,asalamander,buthefeltthatifheweretolosesightofhim,hemightreturnassomethingelse,thoughimmediatelyrecognizable.

ErethizonhadgivenTapallofwhatheknewofthemusk,andofthemoraldroughtitseemedtobecausingforhisbrothers.Heshowedhimthejaggedquillthathadlodgedinhiseyeandblindedhim,andexplainedhowhesawthatfinalmomentofhisfullvisionconstantly,thoughmostclearlybeforemoreinstancesofinter-porcupineviolence.Hetoldfullyandhonestlyofhisself-directedtaskoflocatingandidentifyingthemusk,andofthereclamationofpeacehethoughtitwouldallow.Tapsatquietlyandunmovinginthenightandlistened,thesymmetricalyellowsplotchesonhisbackandheadglowing.Tap’slackoftailgaveErethizontheoddimpressionoffamiliarity,asifhemightrollaroundonthegrassandproducethemissingappendagefrominbetweenhisquills.

TapthenfloodedErethizonwithadream,oraseriesofinterrelatedscenes,ofhislastfewdays.Thebonsaigrid,Larry’sdeath,windofthehighway,seeds,thebeach.Erethizondidn’tsomuchasunderstanditascompletelyinhabitit.InthedreamhebecameTap,andonlywhenTappulledhimoutofitdidheregainhimselffully,whilesimultaneouslyretainingtheexperienceshe’dbeengivenasagiftbythesmallamphibian.Theyunderstood,insomeinexplicableway,theirplace,andTapclimbedontotheflattenedquilledheadofErethizonwhoaimedhisnoseintotheairandwalkedofftowardthewindthatcarriedthemusklikeaheavybag.

Morninghadbrokenopenlikeahoteggbythetimethey’dfoundBozeman’shouse.Erethizon’snoseswelledwiththemusk’sproximity,butintheoverwhelmingthicknessofithefeltincontrolofhisurges.Acoolserenityfelloverhislikealoosesilkcurtain.Theenclosure,stilltoofarforeitherofthemtoidentify,winkedinthemorninglightinbetweenthetreesthatframedthemeadowthatslopeddownbeneaththem,andthehousewasawhitepillarblockstuckinthewavinggreensummergrass.Betweenthemthetreelessgreenfieldwavedinthewind,thegrasslightgreenanddryfromhavinggrownthroughthesummer.AmowedovalencapsulatedBozeman’shousefromthetallgrassandthepavedroadthatwoundfromtheclosedgaragecameinandoutofviewfrombehindtheslopingrisingmeadowasErethizonandTapwalkedthroughit.Erethizonsatuponhisbacklegstoseeabovethegrasseverytwentyyardsorsotomakesurehewasn’twalkingincircles.Theproximitytothesourcedrovehimnearlytotears,andtheinsideofhisheadfeltlikearunawayFerrisWheel.

Eventuallytheypassedfromthetallgrassintothemowedoval,Bozeman’shouseawhiteboxcutoutoftheskyandfield,itsrhombicshadowfallenonthem.

Inside,Kandysatonthekitchencountercross-leggedeatingastrawberrywithafork.Shedippeditintoasmallwhitedishfullofhoneyandbroughtittohermouth.Shehummedtoherselfasshechewedandthoughtshemightwatchamovie,ormaybegoonawalkintotown,oraroundtheproperty,orplayanothersuper-glumtuneonheraccordion.ShefeltdisappointedthatBozemanhadn’tfoundtheporcupine’sbodybeforeherushedintotheoffice.Someonehadcalledhim,andwithoutsayinganythingtoKandyhe’dthrownonclothes,combedhispompadourintofullattentionandzoomedoffdowntheroadto,presumably,theoffice.

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Shehadn’tgottendressed,andplannednottounlessshedidactuallywalkintotown.Oftentimesshewalkedloopsaroundthehouse,theloopsgettingprogressivelylargeruntilsheskirtedtheedgeofthewoods,rarelyclothed,nevershoed.Theplasticcontainerofstrawberriessatopenbyherrighthip.They’dbeengrownundergroundinaproductionfacility,neverhavingfedonactualsunlight,anddidn’ttasteanythinglikewildstrawberries,whichKandy’dnevereatenanyways,soshedidn’tcaremuch.Sheforkedanotherfromthecontainer,chewedoffthegreencapandspatitintothesinkbehindher.

WatchingBozemandragthedeadporcupinesoutofthepenwhenheinvariablyfoundthemfilledKandywithopaquehappiness,mainlybecauseofhowhepuffedandpanted,andhowhisforehead’sfleshycrumplesformedashewrackedhisbraintryingtodiagnoseyetanotherofthem.Heinterrogatedeverycornerofthepen,asifinsomehollowhemightfindanestofpoison-toothedvipers.HeeventookwatersamplesandsentthemoffforanalysistoDr.Sassoon,who’sconclusionsBozemanhadahardtimeunderstandingthedetailsofbutalwaysseemedtooffsetthepossibilityofcontamination.‘However,’typedSassooninanemail,‘thereisapossiblesolution,ifthefemalescontinueperishinginsuchmysteriousandunsolicitedmanners.Imustwarnyouthough.Itisn’tpretty,andhasn’tbeendoneinafewdecades.Iftheissuepersists,contactmeandI’lldiscusstheprocedureinfurtherdetail.’

Kandylistenedtohimhypothesize,usuallyoverdinner,ashisaccusationsbecameincreasinglyparanoidandgrandiose…falconsdroppingoutoftheskywithcyanidesyringesinsteadoftalons,viciouslittletunnelpeoplewholivedbeneaththepenandwereafterhisporcupinesasameansofdestabilizinghisself-healingefforts,therebytighteningtheirplantotoppleBozemanandtakecontrolofPenobskaforever.Hisforeheadlookedlikeapublicparkafteraterriblestorm,sittingthereworkinghimselfupoverthefancifulpossibilitiesbehindthedeadporcupinesandhisownpersonalinabilitytocometotermswithlifeoutsideofhisfertilityritual,despitethefactthathehadn’ttheleastbitofevidencethatitdidanythingforhiserectileissuewhatsoever.

Insideherownhead,Kandylaughedandlaughedandplottedthenextmysteriousdeath,whileoutwardlychewinghermealquietly,takinglittlepuckeredsipsofwhitewineeveryotherbiteorso.

Shethoughthe’dfindthelettuce-glass-slicedporcupinethatmorning,butafterBozemanrushedoutlikehedid,Kandyresignedherselftowaitingforhimtoreturntogetherglumfix.Bozemanwouldfigurethewholeplotouteventually,Kandyknew.Itwasonlyamatteroftimebeforehestartedrightlyaccusingher,andthenhe’dcatchhersneakingintothependuringtheday,andwhoknewwhatwouldhappenthen.Kandydidn’treallycare.She’dprobablyjusttakeoffaloneintothewoods,naked,andwalkandwalk.Oratleastthat’swhatshealwaystoldherself,butsheknewnothingaboutlivingaloneoutside,whichwasallforthebetter.Atleastforherfantasy’ssake.

Kandyhadgottenweirdlyfamousasatelevisionactress.HermostrenownedrolewasastheunnamedprotagonistinBozeman’sself-directedPricklyMenacefilmsthathemadeintheearlydaysofhisporcupineobsessionasawayof“edutaining”thePenobskanpeopleaboutthedangersofextra-Penobskanlife.Thefilmsweren’twhatyou’dcalltasteful,orparticularlyeducationalorevenhalfwayrealistic,featuringalotofsemi-nudity,goryviolence,swearwords,andsceneswhereporcupineshadinexplicably

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hijackedvehiclesinordertowreakhavocwiththem.Theirsentienceandabilitytopilotvehicleshasneverbeenexplained.ButhewroteandfilmedthemfranticallyforafewyearsandpaidKandyexorbitantlyinordertokeepheraroundastherunningstar.BozemanhadastrongfeelingthatKandywasthemainreasonpeoplekepttuninginforeachnewchapterofthePricklyMenacesaga.

Publicfundspulledfromtheinfrastructurebudgetfinancedthetelevisedfilms.Theyairedonpublicaccesschannels,whichhadessentiallybecomethePrefecture’sprivateporcupine-themedpropagandanetwork.ButafterPricklyMenacegotgoing,peoplebarelynoticedthattheywerebeingsubtlyinfluencedintofearinganythingoutsidethefence,justsolongasKandy’sone-linerspewingcharacterkeptdeliveringclimaxesviaviolenceandflashesofcleavagethatBozemanhadbecomeadeptatsneakingartisticallyintoalmosteveryshot.Buttheover-the-topplotsandviolence,nottomentionscenesthatsuggestedporcupinesbeingresponsibleforthecommoncold,slippedlittlefragmentsoffearintothepocketsofviewersuntil,gradually,theycouldhardlycopewiththethoughtofanythingoutsidethesafetyoftheirhometown.

---ThetwoofthemhookedupforthefirsttimeduringPricklyMenaceIV:Hell

Quill’sextravagantunveilingpartythatBozemanhosted,onceagainviadivertedpublicfunds,athishouse.Anybodywhowasanybodyattended;RogeDJ’dandTripdoesetupmulti-coloreddancelightsbeforefleeingintothedepthsofBozeman’shousetoavoidinteractingwithanybody,aswipedbottleofchardonnaytuckedunderthezippypartofhersweatshirtandadevilishtwinklesittinginthecornerofhereyelikeaseveredbuoybobbinginthecornerofalake.

BozemanandKandyhadbothjabbedatthesamecubeofcheesewiththeirtoothpicksatthehorsd’oeuvretableatthesametime.Beingasdrunkashewas,Bozemanjabbedwithmorevigorthanwasperhapsnecessary,accidentallypiercingKandy’srightthumb.Shebledalloverthecheese,andBozemanrushedherintohisbathroomwherehesloppilyappliedpressuretothewoundwithwadded-uptoiletpaper.Whenthebleedingstopped,theylookedintoeachother’sglassyeyes,reallyseeingeachotherforthefirsttimeasindividuals,insteadofasdirectorandactress.Secondslatertheywererollingaroundonthebathroomfloordisregardingtheirlaboriously-assembledoutfits,diamondringsandearringsandbraceletsflyingleftandright,sometolandinthetoilet,othersdownthebathtubdrain,andfallingintoabriefboutofhalf-clothedlovemaking.ItwasthefirstfullerectionBozemanhadfoundhimselfinpossessionofinseveralyears,andwouldprovetobeoneoffewbeforesaggingbackintoanotherlapseofflaccidness.

Afterwards,theylayineachother’sarms,curledatthefootofthetoilet,thelittlebathroomrugwaddeduncomfortablyupinbetweenBozeman’ssweatyshoulderblades,buthecouldn’thavecaredlessinthemoment,blissed-outashewasonthefragrantpost-coitalhumiditytheylanguishedin.

Eventuallytheyfellasleep,andwhentheywokeupafewhourslater,thepartyhadendedandthehousewasempty.Downstairswherealltheguestshadbeen,sattheremnantsoftheirgoodtime:shimmeringballoonswiththePricklyMenacelogoprintedonthem,half-drunkglassesofclearalcohol,syncopatinglightswithoutmusic,plateswithhunksofbitten,expensiveappetizers.BozemanandKandyskippednakedthroughtheaftermath,flingingpaperplatesateachotherlikeFrisbeesandthrowinghugemouthfulsofabandonedwinedowntheirthroats.Theystaggeredclosetooneanother

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andagainmadeloveonapileofguests’coatsthathadbeeninexplicablyleftbehindinaheapbytheentrancetothekitchen.Theydidn’t–andneverwould–knowthatTripdoe’dpasseddrunkenlyoutinthebasementworkoutroom,half-reclinedononeofherfavoritetreadmills.

Hewouldalwaysregardthatnightwithnostalgichopefulness,andafterBozemanfellbackintofrustratedsexlessness,heandKandytriedtore-enacttheexactsceneinanattempttospuranidenticalblendofexcitement.Butsomethingjustwasn’trighteachtime,andtheyendedupstormingoutofthebathroomhalf-dressed,embarrassed,andexhaustedwitheachother.Bozemanaccusedherofnottryingherhardestatactingasherpastself,andKandyyelledback,sayinghe’dneverstoppedthinkingofherasthestarinhismovie,onlynowhewasthesolecastandaudiencemember,acreepyweirdojerkingoffintheabandonedtheaterofhisowndreamsandgettingupsetwhensecuritycametokickhimout.

ThiscausticroutinedeflatedKandyalittlemoreeachtime,untilshefinallyjuststoppedrespondingtohim,orreallypayingmuchattentiontohimatall.Theywereneverdestinedfortruelove,sosettledfortruedisinterestinstead.

Induetime,BozemancancelledthePricklyMenacesagainordertodevoteallhistimetotheminiaturePenobska,andKandywasonceagainoutofajob,thoughkeptlivingwithhimintheunspokenlimbooflover/stranger.HelikedhavingsomeonearoundtotalkabouttheevolutionofMini-Penobskaat,andKandytolerateditforaccesstothesmallrecordingstudiointhebasementthatBozemanrecordedthebroadcastsforthePorcupinePreparednessProgramin.Kandywastryingtorecordanalbumofaccordionmusic,andonceshefinishededitingitsheplannedtohittheroadandplayheraccordionwherevershefoundherself,sellingCDsoutofthebackofthetruckshewasplanningtostealfromBozeman.

Aroundthefourthstrawberry,KandywatchedasacluelessErethizonandsleepyTapcamewaddlingintoviewbythesideofthepen.Theskewered,honey-shinystrawberrystoppedinfrontofKandy’steethlikeanervoussalesmanatthedoorofahauntedshackwhoseaddresshadshoweduponhislist.Erethizon’snosewaspointedupintotheairashesteppedcautiouslyuptothepen.Thefemalesstartedactingfunny,movingaroundinquickcirclesandexhalingforcefully,keepingoneeyeontherarevisitor.Kandyhadaweirdfeelingthatroseupfromthebottomofherstomach.Sherushedintothelaundryroomanddugaroundintheclosetuntilshefoundahugethickquiltwithsymmetricalmulti-coloredstarsarrangedinagridallupanddownitsfrontthatshehadnoideaBozeman’slong-deadgrandmotherhadmadewhilehisownmotherwasfiveyearsold.Sheranbacktothewindowwiththequiltbunchedupagainstherbarebreasts,clutchingthecornerswithherhands,andwatchedasErethizongentlyleanedhisheadintothepen’sfence.Thefemalessloweddown,andeventuallysteppedcloserandclosertoErethizonuntiltheyformedakindofdensetrianglewiththeirbodies.Shecouldn’tbesure,buttoKandyitlookedasiftheywerehavingsomekindofconversation,orprayer.Shegrippedthequiltinherhandasshereachedforthedoor.

Sniffingthebrowsofthefemaleporcupines,Erethizonexpecteddeliverance.Herefusedtoanswertheirquestions,barely-intelligibleastheyweretohim.Hethoughthe’dfindsomekindofarkatthecenterofthemusk,oraholyeggspunwithcloudsandgoldthread,thathe’dbeable–becauseofhischosenstatus–tocrackinto

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anddrinktruthfrom.Butherehewas,ontheothersideofyetanotherfence,throughthediamondgapsofwhichseeminglydeaf,mutefemalesstaredbackathimwithakindofraw,insensatecuriosity.

Hepressedhisquillsflatagainsthisbackandwardedoffthearousaltheproximitystirredwithinhimandwaitedforsomethingtohappen,forsomeinfusionoftheplacetoinsistactionorrevelationuponhim.Theporcupinesontheothersideofthefencesniffedandpuffed,pawedthepressedearth.

Taptriedtospeakintotheirminds,buthisattemptsfilledemptyspacesomehow,asifinthinkingtohearanechoheheardonlysilence.Helookeddeeplyatthembutcouldhearnothing.Hestrainedhissmallblackeyestoseethepackedearthoftheirenclosure,themottledsteeldrumthatheldtheirwater,thesparsepatchesofbrowngrassthatshotupintuftsaroundthemandforonceinhisverylonglifefeltavoicelessabsencethatheentreatedwithmoreandmoreattemptsatcommunication.

Erethizon,whoseself-imposedsexualasceticismwasintheprocessofdissolvingthroughitsownvicariouswilltoresistitself,lostcontrolofhisactionsandbeganclawingatthegroundinanefforttotunnelunderyetanotherfence.Hisheadbobbedfranticallyasheattackedtheearth,andTapstruggledwithhislittlefingerstomaintainhisgriponthequillshe’dbeenusingashandlebarsofsorts.Hisbacklegsgaveoutandheflippedforwardoverhimself,stillbarelyholdingonwithhisfronthands,ontothebridgeofErethizon’snose.Withouthistail,hehadahardtimestayingbalanced,andafterafewmoregoodjostleshehadtoletgo,droppingtothegroundwithalittlethud.ThedryscrapingofErethizon’sdiggingfilledhishead,andhetriedtofillErethizon’swithcalmness,evengoingsofarastoaimhisbeadyeyesupintohisthatTapcouldtellwerefilledwiththeirownself-consumingcontent.HisdiggingwentnowhereinthishardsoilthathadbeentampeddownbyyearsofBozemanpacingaroundthepen’sperimeter,afarwayfromtheeasehe’dfeltgoingundertheouterperimeterfenceintothePhan’sbackyard,butherakedhisclawsoveritdesperatelyanyway.

AndthenKandy,emergingfromthehouseinafullsprint,chargedErethizonwiththequiltheldforthlikeasailorshield,lettingoutanimprovisedbattle-howlassheleapttowardhimtocatchhiminthequilt.Shebracedherselfforatusslebyjammingherbareheelsintotheground.

ThelastthingErethizonsawwerethequilt’smulti-coloredsymmetricalstarsfillinguptheskyaroundhishead.Timeslowedastheyclosedinandtightenedaroundhim.Thenonlydarkness.This,hethoughtheheardhimselfsay,thisisdeliverance!Ithadtobe…right?Allthesestars,floodinghisvision,abstractingandgeometricizinghisknownworld.Althoughasmallsuggestioninthebackofhisheadtoldhimthatitwasn’thimthinkingthis,butTap,who’dfledbehindatuftofdrygrassasKandywrappedErethizontightlyintothequilt,thoughhecouldn’tbesure,anddidn’tknowhowtofindout.Thecrowdofstunned,obliviousporcupineswatchedunaffectedlyfrominsidethepen,andhadresumedchewingonwhattheyfoundnearby.

KandytookverylittletimewrappingErethizonuptightlysothathisquillswouldn’trise,butwassurprisedathowlittlestrugglehegaveher.Infact,sheloosenedhergriponhistorsotoseeifthequillsmoved,andwhentheydidn’tsheworriedthatshe’dscaredthepoorbeasttodeath.Butno.Throughthethickquiltshefelthislungsriseandfall,thesteadyquickbeatofhisheart.Shekeptthequiltwrappedtightaroundhisheadasshesatonhisback,tryingtothinkclearly.Hereshewasinthemid-morningstraddlinganadultmaleporcupinewrappedlikeaburritoinahandmadequilt,naked.Shehadnowheretogo,noonewhoexpectedhertodoanything,justtheskinandsun

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onherbodyandthispoor,disorientedcreatureinbetweenherlegs.Briefly,sheimaginedBozemancominghomeseeingherlikethis,allherpettyattemptsatconcealingthehollowcoreofherdaysexposedinsuchaway,itallbecametoomuchforher.Shestartedlaughing,andlaughedforquitesometimeuntiltearsrandownherfaceanddrippedontothequiltedbackofErethizon’shead,who,feelingthevibrationsofKandy’slaughterfeltwarm,welcome,hisshakydeterminationtobecomeholymomentarilyjustified,bolstered.Hethoughthimselfwalkingthroughtheentrancetoheaven,andthatKandy’slaughterwasthesongofarrival,andthemoistureofhertearssoakingthroughthequiltsomekindofanointment.Asingleshiverseemedtotravelfromthecenteroftheearthupintohisfeet,turninghisbrainandeyesintopurelight.Whenthisfeelingsubsided,theimprintedscenethathadbeenburnedintohisrighteyesincehe’dhaditstabbedandblindedbyhisbrother’squillfadedanddissolvedintodarkness.AllhewasleftwithwasdarknessandthevibrationsofKandy’slaughter–hetooktheseassignsofnewfreedom.

Whichwas,however,anopinionthatfellveryfarfromwhatwasactuallygoingon,beingthatKandywasalready,thoughstillstraddlingthepoorawakenedErethizon,planninghowtobestusehimasanimplementinhernever-endingquesttodriveBozemaninsane.Sensingthecreature’sslackwillingness,sheledhiminside,keepingthequiltclampedtightaroundhishead,downintothebasement,andintothetreadmillroomKandyknewBozemanneversetfootin.

ChapterFourteen–InWhichSouvenirsAreAcquired

Afterwashingoffherashybarefoot,Tripdoecleanedupthekitchen.Shedidn’tknowwhattodowithallthecrispytoastLambo’dmadesosheendedupjustcrammingitintotheplasticcontainerstheykepttoleftofthesink,andstackedthoseinsidethefridge.Thenshesweptupthebrokenglassbythewindowandthecurlsofherfather’shairthathehadn’tmanagedtostuffintohispocketsandtosseditall–glassandhair–inabrightandtangledpileintothetrashcan.Rogewasstillsleepingsoundlyonthecouch.Tripdoedidn’tyetknowthathewouldnowbethinkingofhimselfasDr.Sassoon.StandingtherewatchinghimsleepshedecidedtogointotheOfficeofPrefecturalCommandtoaskBozemantogiveRogeaweekofpaidvacationtime.Helookedlikeheneededit.Sheshoweredintheupstairsbathroom,scrubbedthecrustygumbofromyesterdayoffherself.Shebrushedherhairandbraideditintwodarkropes,oneoneithersideofherhead,thathungdownandfelloverthefrontofhershoulders.Shetweezedhereyebrowsandbrushedherteeth.Allinallshelookedlikeareasonableyounglady,andshegaveherselfacurt,self-approvingnodasshestaredintothesemi-steamedmirrorbeforeflickingthelightoff.

Backinherroomsheputonhernicestpairofjeans–theoneswithrhinestonebutterfliesstitchedontothebackpockets–andalightbluesweatershe’dforgottenaboutinthebottombackcornerofthethirddrawerinherdresser.Itsmelledlikerainandsoilasshepulleditoverherhead.Asshetookonestepoutofherroom,sherememberedabottleofoldrumshehadunderherbed.Sheflippedthelightbackonandrooteditout,unscrewedthecap,andtookahugegulpfromthelittlelessthanhalf

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ofabottle.Sheshivered,wentdownstairs.Rogewasstillagapeonthecouch,snoringassheshutthedoorgingerlybehindher.

Asalways,theglassfrontdoorsoftheOPCwereunlocked,andallthelights–exceptforthespotlightsthatshonedownlikemiddaysunsonthesprawlingmini-Penobska–hungdarklyintheirunlitcavesintheceilinglikesmoothwhitebats.Nobodysatatthelittlereceptiondesktogreether.

Tripdoestrolledaroundthedioramaafewtimes,findingherownhouse,notingthespotinthefenceNikosihadrippedthrough.Shekneltdownandpokedalittleholeinthesideofthecardboardfencewiththepointofaballpointpenshepulledfromherpocket.Shesquintedoneeyetolookintothelittlewindows.Asmallcarvedstatueofherselfstoodinthelivingroomofhershrunkenhome.Itdidn’tlookmuchlikeher–jumbledyolkofaface,carelesscoiffureofblackpaintrunninginastripehalfwaydownherbackendinginanabruptswipeaboveherflatbuttocks–butthewonkywrenchin-hand,thenavy-blueslacks,theangleoftheheadandplacementnexttowhatRogeandBozemanhadobviouslytriedtomakelooklikethatoldwood-paneledtreadmillofheryouth…itwasdefinitelyher.Sheknewit,andcouldn’thelpbuttaketheminorunmistakabledetailstheymanagedtotranslateontothisreplicaasacomplimentoftheir,eitherBozeman’sorherfather’s,attention.Shethoughtshe’daskRogenexttimeshesawhimwhichofthemhadcarvedheroutlikethis.Arounded,awkwardNikosisatinablockychairbyanunpaintedTV.Outsidethehouse,beyondthepaperfence,thePrefecturedroppedofftheedgeofthetableintodarkness,maybeBozeman’shintthateverythingbeyondPenobskamightaswelljustevaporate.Tripdoekneltthereimagininghowdeadhermotherwouldbeifthiswashowthingsreallywere–hoveringoverapaper-coveredoblivion-carpet.Hermindtrailedoffforthethree-hundred-billionthtimeinthelastfiveminutestohermother.Nikosi’sabsenceterrifiedherinanew,particularlyunsettlingway.

ShelocatedthemodeloftheOPCandstartedtopulltheroofofftolookinside.Butasherfingersgrippedtheoverhangingedges,athoughtstoppedher.Whatif,inthetinyuncoveredinterior,shefoundasmallerdioramasittingonascaledwoodenplatformwithscuffedbrownpapertapedarounditsborder,floodedinlight?Thissmallworld’sownsmallworld.Andworse,whatifkneelingtherebythesideofthediorama’sdioramashefoundherselfpeeringdownintotheopenedroofoftheOPCthat,oh,haditsownmaniacallysmalldiorama?Surely,theycouldn’thavegottenthatfarintothisthing…eh…right?Shethoughtofherfather’sdarkcurledhairmixedwiththebrokenglassinthetrashcan.Thepossibilitybalancedintheairandverylightlybrushedeachoneofherfingertipsastheyreleasedtheirslightgripontheroof.Closethatdoorandlockit,thepossibilityseemedtosay.Shestoodupandswipedherhandsagainstherjeansandlookedaroundthelobby,overatBozeman’sofficedoors.

Nolightcrackedunderthem.ThoughtheportraitsofpastPrefectsthatflankedandstretchedfromeitherwallbythedoorsoccupiedadimglowthatmadeherfeelliketheywerewatchingher.Theirpaintedeyesdidn’tquitestaystillintheirsockets.Tripdoewentovertotheofficedoorsandknockedsoftly,thenpressedherearagainstthecold,smoothwood.Bozemanwasn’there.

Shetriedthehandleandwassurprisedtofindthatitturnedwithasatisfyingamountofresistance;sheopenedthedoorjustenoughtosqueezeintotheofficeandflipthelightsonbeforeshuttingthedoorbehindher.Everythingsprungupatherfromthismessofaroom,oneofthelastthreefrequently-usedroomsbesidesthestaff

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loungeandthehugeroominthebackwhereRoge’sclutteredcubiclesatamidthelabyrinthofotheremptycubicles.

Blueprintsthatcould’vebeenforthedioramaorforactualstructuresscatteredeverywhere,askewphotographsfromBozeman’svariouspubliceventsandannouncementsfromhistimeasPrefect,whatlookedlikearottingstrawberryintheshadowyundersideofthecoffeetableinthecorneroftheroom,oldwrinkleddocumentswiththicklinesofinked-outsentencesandparagraphsthatsomeonehaddunkedintoanunpluggedandwaterlessfishtank,franticcartoonsthatTripdoecouldn’tandquicklyrealizedshouldn’tdecipher,andbehinditallthestrangesmellofcurryminglingwithnailpolishremover.Shefiguredthatsnoopingaroundinhereforlongenoughwouldprobablyyieldaragcoveredinthosetwospecificsubstances.

Theoffice’slackofawindowmadeitfeellikeabrokenrefrigeratororaconvertedgarage,andasshesiftedcuriouslythroughthepaperpilesonhisdesk,floor,chairs,athinsheenofsweatformedonherforehead.Shefoundnothingofanyparticularvaluebeyondtheitemsandarticlesthatpiquedtheghoulish,rustedportionofhercuriosity.Butthen,offthecornerofanotepadthatsatontopofapileofhalf-carvedminiaturehomesthathadn’tmadeittothefinalPrefecturefortheflawsBozemanfoundinthem,thenameLarryLawnyawnjumpedoutatherinBozeman’sjuvenilepencilpenmanship.Shegrabbedthenotepadandscanneditcarefully.

ByLawnyawn’sname,Bozemanhadscribbledandthenunderlinedtwonearly-illegiblewords.

‘Huh,’shesaid,squinting.‘Bonsaiguy?’Underhisnameandthebarely-legiblebit,therewasanaddress,butthestreet

namewasn’tfamiliar,andshewasn’tsureifafewofthevowelsweree’s,o’s,ora’s,butshefiguredthatwhereveritwas,itwasprobablyoutsideofPenobskaProper.Thensherememberedwhatthegumbo-eatingcophadtoldher.

Shescannedtheofficealittlemore,scratchingherleftshoulderthroughtheitchybluesweater.Thesuddenandviolenturgetoripitoffherbackfloodedherasshespottedsomelittlefaketreesmadeoutofbrownandgreenpipecleanersthathadbeentossedtothesideoftheroom.Theywerelopsidedandsad,sittingthereontheirsides,likerealtreesatthebottomofahillafteramudslide.Shepickedoneofthetreesupandbroughtitouttothesideofmini-Penobska.Shecroucheddownbytheedge,whereherminiaturizedhousewas,andwrappedthewirerootsofthetreeoverthescaledroofofherhomesoitlookedlikeithadgrownoutoftheceiling.Sixfrazzled,interlopingshadowsbloomeddarklyoutofthefaketreegrowingfromherfakehome,thespotlightsintheirvaryingplacementssixfakesuns.Andthepipecleanertreesofulloflightthatnotasingleshadowsatonit.Itwasfullyilluminated,sheddingallitsshadowsoffinsixdirections.Tripdoesatdownandlookedatitforawhile.

Then,exhaling,shecarefullyremovedtheroofofhersmallhome.Thewoodgluegavewayeasily.Shegrabbedthelittlewoodencaricatureofherselfbetweenherthumbandforefinger,twisteditloose,andputitinherjeanspocketwithapatofthehand.Thetree-toppedrooffounditswaybackontothehouse,albeitsomewhatoffkilter.Tripdoestoodup,noddedatthediorama,andleftthebuilding.

---Meanwhile,Bozemanwasspeedingandweavingdownthecrumblinghighway

inhisflatbed,avoidingpotholesanddebris,rusted-outcarsandflocksofbirdsthatscatteredintotheroad-flankingtreesashehurdledtowardsthem.Agreenplasticvisor

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fitsnuglyaroundhispompadourtokeepthesunoutofhiseyes,andthewindowswereopenchannelingcoolstreamsofwindintothecar.

He’dbeenontheroadforsomethirtyminutesandexpectedtoseetheweatheredexitsignforPixieTownIIaroundthenextcurve.Heexpectedtoseetheskyfillwithhazeasheapproachedtheocean,thetreestobecomeslightlyfuzzierandlessdistinct,andtosmellthedampsaltyairfloatinginofftheshore.He’dopenedthewindowjustamileagoforthisveryreason.

Wheelingdownthehighwaybroughthimbacktothefewyearshe’dgonetoPTIIonceeverymonthforthecleansingritualsthatSassoonhadrecommendedheattendatthedancehallthatofferedthem.Ah…thoselongfewyearsthatnearlyexhaustedhimcompletely…theotherworldlyrushthatfloodedhim,minimizedhim,inthedimflashingcorridors,thevaultedceilings,ofthatbizarrelyconstructeddancehalltheritualstookplacein:thecoolbluecupsofsweetwateratthedoorthatturnedhimintoahummingbird,thesmallelectricmusicalgroupsittingonbrownstoolspickingslowly,meticulouslyawayatinstrumentstwotimestallerthananyoneintheroom,theinterludesofstillnesswhereeveryonehushedlikethrushesabouttotakeflight,howhefelthemightjustflyintothemetalrafterstoroost,orexpandintoacloudofstripedfeatherstoadornthewingofthesoaringplanetthathad,onlyduringtherituals,becomeamagnificentlyspeckledowl.

Noneofthevisions,notasinglebirdofthem,madeanysensetohimnow,ofcourse,afteryearsofavoidinganythingthatmightcatapulthimbackintothatunproductiveandneonnightmarishheadspace,backintothataviary.AllhereallyrememberedwerethedrivesbackintoPenobskaProper,frazzledandparanoid,whenlopingneonporcupineslungedoutofeachpotholeintheroadandthreatenedtoeathim,thepoormechanicalhummingbirdthathehadsorecently,vulnerably,become.

Thesharpedgeofthoseyearshadwornoffsince,thoughdrivingdownthehighwaythroughthesewoodsbroughtasmallbitofitbackuptoBozeman’sthroat,asdidthenotionofactuallyreturningtoandwanderingthroughPTII.Headjustedthevisor.Awavygreenshadowdroopeddownontohisfaceastheturnoffsignmaterializedfrombehindthetrees.Heturnedoffthehighwayandwentdownthelastfewrutted,forestedmilesuntilhereachedthebridgethatspannedKatabasisRiverandledintoPixieTown’sgrounds.Theriverbecametheoceantohisleft.

Fromacrossthebridgethegroundswereamoundoftanglinggreensnakes:thebuildingshadgrownoverandsagged,thelightbulbsonceflashingnowburnedoutandlongsinceshattered,grownoverwithtwiningrootsandbranches.ThetreesoncekeptroundasglobesbyLouandhisteamnowexpandedwildlyintheirmanydirectionsandswayedhugelyabovetheroofsofeachbuilding.

Bozemansloweddownasherolledoverthebridgethatarchedgreyoverthedarkrollingwater.Hecontinuedslowlyintotheheartofitall,peoplewatchinghimfromthesideofthepathastheybentupfromtheirwork.Hewavedatthem,tryingtomusterandactivelyexudeawarmconfidenceofbelonging,butmostofthemstaredbackhesitantly,beingunsureofvisitors,especiallyvisitorswhodisplayedsuchrigorous,unaccounted-forenthusiasm.Bozemanglancednervouslyatthebackofhishandwherehe’dwrittenLou’saddress,whichonlythendidherealize(ofcourse,howcouldhehavethoughtitwouldn’tbe?)wastheverysameasthedancehallhe’dgonetosomanytimestobecomeabird.Hedrovebythelittlecommunalgardenatthecenteroftown.Off

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againstadilapidatedfence,tuckedinthebackcornerofanovergrownlot,awoodencartsatalone,alittlelightcrackingaroundtheedgesofitssinglesmallwindow.Finally,hecameuponLou’sspot,andhisoldroost.

Heparkedhistruckoutfront,theenginegoingquiet,andwentinside.Ashesteppedinheheardagroupofchildrengatheringonthelowroofofthebuildingacrossthestreetfromhistrucktostareatandhecklethenewcomerasheenteredtheiroldfriend’splace.Theircallsdissolvedashewalkedinside.Bozemanfoundtheswitchforthelightsanddiscoball,andwentbreathlessasthelightsflickeredon,illuminatingthefullgridofbonsaitrees.Bozemanhardlyrecognizedtheplace.He’donlyeverbeenatnightwhilemostofthelightsweresyncopatingthroughtheirrevolutionsofcolor.Itsmelledlikeunderneathalog.

‘Hello?’hecalledout.Sureenough,nobody.Hehalf-skipped,half-walkeddowntherampthatledfromtheentranceonto

thedancefloor,ranafewexcitedlapsaroundthegridofbonsaitrees,droppinglowinakindofterriblerunning-crouchthatallowedhimtobrushhisthickhandsalongtherowsofleaves.Therewereprobablyaboutonehundredofthemtotal,allinvaryingstagesofdevelopment,somejustbarelyleafing,othersincomplicatedtwistsofrootandtrunk,alllooking,atleastinBozeman’samateuropinion,healthyandinneedofinclusioninhiselaborateminiatureparadise.Alongablackbrickwallfifteenextraordinarysmalltreesinshiningceramic.Lawnyawn’spersonalfavorites.These,hethoughtashepacedbytheminsurvey,wouldbeplantedinthekeypartsoftown:aroundtheOPC,nearBozeman’shouse,andinthepublicpark,bringingeverylittlethinganunforeseenvibrancy.Hemightevenkeeponeforhimselftosetonthekitchentable.Hestartedgiddilypackingandstackingtheyoungesttreesintothebedofhistruck,ignoringthesmallcrowdofroof-kidshootingathimasheemergedfromthedancehallwitharmloadsofsaplings.

Afteraboutanhour,he’dfilledthebedofhistruckwithcarefully-stackedplantersandpotsandsecuredabluetarpovertheload.Hewasdrenchedwithsweat.Thedayhadheatedupconsiderably,andwithoutmuchventilationthedancehallhadturnedintoasauna.Theroofkidspointedandlaughedatthedripping,tree-toting,red-faced,strangerwiththelopsidedpompadour;hebithisthumbatthem,swearingrobustlyinhishead.

Hewentbackinsidetomakesurehe’dgotteneverythinghecould.He’dpositivelyransackedtheplace.Lawnyawn’selaborategridsystemlookedlikeacastawaychocolatewrappernowthatitsoccupantshadbeenremoved.Bozemanscratchedhislefthaunchtriumphantlyandwentbehindthebartotakealong,gurglingcolddrinkofwaterfromthefaucet.Itwasmetallicandsweet.Afterhe’drefreshedhimselfandsplashedafewhandfulsofwaterontohisneckandface,hepeeredintotheaquariumtankthatsatonthecountertopbythesink.Hetappedonitwithoneofhisthickfingers.Nothingmoved,andwithouttheredheatinglamptheinsideofthetanklookedaccidental,somethingfoundinaroadsideculvert.Heunbenthimselftoleave,thensawsomethingpushedbackbehindthetank.Asmallglassjar.Inside,asingleblackseed.ThetiltedjarthathadfounditswayintoBozeman’shanddepositedtheseedoutintothewetpalmthatwenttowarditopenandunsure.Theroomhelditshotbreath.Herolleditaroundthecontoursofhispalmwithhisotherthumb,thendroppeditcarefullyintohisshirtpocket.

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Somelatentthinggerminatedinhimsuddenly.HereinthisemptydancehallhebrokeafewbottlesofvodkaonthegroundandhookedsomeoldclothesoutbackfromthesleepycubeLawnyawnhadusedasabedroomandpiledthemuponthepuddledvodkabehindthebar.Feelingmeanandfullofredmemory,hecroucheddownwithalighterhe’dpulledfromhispocketandlitadustyshirtonfire,madesureitcaughtsomeoftheothersuntilhalfthebarwasinflames.Hestoodbythedoorandlookedattheemptyrippledgrid,gazedupintotherafterswhereforaveryshortsecondhethoughthesawsomethingglidethroughthethickeningsmokebeforeheflickedthelightsoff,leavingthediscoballtoflickjaggedorangereflectionsbackintothegrowingfire.Outside,hegotintohistruckafterhavingwavedasarcasticfarewellattheroofkidswhohadn’tseenorsmelledthefirstofthesmoke.Theythrewtinyrocksathimashebackedawayfromthedancehall,turnedarounddownthestreet,outofandawayfromPixieTown.

Bythetimehe’dcrossedthebridgeandpulledbackontothepotholedroadhecouldalreadyseeblacksmokepouringoutintothesky.Heimaginedtheroofkidsclamberingrecklesslydown,clingingtothewallofivyandrunningtogettheirhelplessfathers.HedrummedasteadyrhythmagainstthesteeringwheelwiththeflatpalmsofhishandsastheroadbacktoPenobskaopenedupinfrontofhim.

ChapterFifteen–InWhichFearsareConfronted

LambowokeuponhisGramaw’scouch,astitchedriverofaquiltflowingdownhisbodyfromhisface.Hesatupandpulledthequiltoffhimself.DustyafternoonsunlightslantedthroughthegapsinGramaw’scurtains,andadreamhe’dhadduringhisnapsattherenexttohim,invisible.Itwasonlywhenhesatupthathesawit,andwhenhedid,herememberedthathe’dgottenthirsty,andwenttothefridgetopourhimselfaglassofmilk.Ashestoodtherescanningthedimshelvesforthecarton,heheardaslightrustlefromabove.Helookedup.Anearly-reflectivedarksnakecoiledonthefridge.Itsshinyheadlookingrightdownathim,itsflickingtonguewhiffedLambo.Slowlyitbeganuncoilingitself,knockingoverafewemptymayonnaisejarsGramawinsistedonstoringupthere.Theyrolledslowlyawayfromthesnakeuntiltheyfelldownoffthefridgeandshatteredallovertheground,glassstrewneverywhichway.Thesnakeuncoiledmoreandmore,knockingmoremayonnaisejarsontotheground.IthoveredthereinfrontofLambo’sface,movingcloserintowardhimslowly,untilitwasaboutsixinchesaway.Intheirorangepools,verticalpupilssquintedanditsmouthyawnedopen.ThespanofitsopenmouthalignedalmostperfectlywithLambo’shead.Itcamecloserstill,thoughrefusedtoshutitsmouthontohim.Hecouldseefardownintothesnake,andfardowninsidethewrithingmusclehesawanothersmallersnakeclimbingtowardhim,itstwoorange-pooledeyestrainedonhim,mouthopening.Itstretchedforwarduntilhecouldseedownitsthroatanothersnakestretchingtowardhim.Thiswentonforwhatfeltlikehours,snakeaftersnake,mayonnaisejarsshatteringaroundhim.

Layingthereonthecouch,hethoughtabouthowhehadn’tfelttheleastbitscaredinthedream.Butasitsatthereonthecouchnexttohim,ashelookedatitaspartoftheroom,hefeltscared,hisrealityintrudedupon,butrememberingthefeelingofthedreamitself,hecameupwithnothingmorethanmildcuriositythatfeltlikeaslightlydamprag.Strangeryet,hehadthestrongurgetogetupandpourhimselfanice

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coldglassofmilk,whichhedidwithoutevenlookingupontopofthefridgeto,hesuspectedofhimself,proveapoint.

Thehousewasquiet;Gramawmust’vebeendozinginherroom,orquietlysewingtogethermorepatchesintheback.Lambosatatthetablesippinghisglassofmilk,recallingallthelittledetailsofthesnakesandkeptimpressinghimselfwithhowlittlehe’dbeenafraid.Sittingthere,hekindofpumpedhimselfup.Usually,you’d’vewokenupwetwithtears,yaknow?Imeanthoseweren’tnolittlegardenersnakes.Thoseweresomebigpoisonoussuckers,fangs‘nall.Andyoujuststaredthemrightdownandwaitedthemouttillyouwokeup.Maybeyou’veturnedanewleaf,eh?Hefinishedtheglassofmilkbravelyandgotup.Hefeltgood.Wellrested,nowfullofmilk,hemight’veevensaidhefeltheroic.He’dbeenthinkinganxiouslyaboutTripdoeallday,eversincehe’dboltedoutofherhouseafterRogepulledhisafrooutinfrontofthem.She’dalwaysbeenaprettystablegirl,infacttheconstancyofhercoolcomposureiswhatdrewLambotoherbackinhighschool,oppositesattractandsoforth.Butnowhercoolnessseemeddisplaced,whatwithherfamilycrumblingtofreakypiecesallaroundher,itmadeherseemkindofheartless,dementedeven.He’dfeltrelievedsomewhatwhenshecrumpledintohisarmsweepingwhenhe’dcomeoverthepreviousnighttofindTaptaillessandNikosinowhere,andjustbecauseitmadehimfeelliketheheroforonce.Herweepinglikethatshowedhimthatsheactuallydidfeelonewayoranotheraboutherlifeandallthesenselesschaosunfoldingallaroundher,thoughthinkingaboutitnowhecouldn’thelpbutseethebreakdownmoreasaresultofexhaustionandemotionaloverextensionthanasuddenbursting-forthofhertrueloveforherfamilyorsomething.Andnottomentiontheunsympatheticsynopsisshe’dgivenhiminthetruckyesterday,ofTap’sguy’sdeathshe’dwitnessedsopersonally…toputitsimply,heworriedaboutTripdoealot,butdidn’tknowthefirststepinbreakingthroughhercrystalizingshellshedidn’tevenseemtorealizeshewasputtingup.

Gramawshuffledsocklessintothedoorwayholdingsomeindividualquiltsquaresoutinfrontofherlikethingsforsale.Shestillhadonherdarkgreenflannelnightgown,andherwhitehairwastousledaroundlikeaphotographofasnowstorm.‘Lambo?Ineedyoutotakealookattheseforme,’shesaid,holdingupthesquares.‘Whatdoyousee?’Shealwaysaskedhimthisaboutherquiltsquares,eventhoughheknewsheknewdamnwellwhathe’dsay,forshe’ddesignedthemherselfandhadfelteverylaststichfinditsplacealongthefabricshe’dcut,neverasinglestitchoutofplaceorunintended.‘Theoneinyourlefthandthereisakindofangularairplanepropellerfullofgreen,blue,andyellowflowers,outlinedwithazig-zaggedribbonsorta,andthat’sblack,theribbonImean.It’sallrotatingcounterclockwise.Theoneinyourrighthandisacrosshatchofredandyellowstripes,orangeattheirintersections,withdarkgreendotsinthesquaresbetween.’Shesmiledandshuffledclosertohim,gropingfortheedgeofthetable.Whenshefoundit,shefeltherwayaroundituntilshetouchedachairandsatdown.Hefiguredsheaskedhimaboutthesquaressothatshecouldgetanothersensetosolidifywhateverconstitutedtheimagessheheldoftheminherhead.Shecouldfeelthemalldaylong,traceeverybumpylineofstitchesuntilherfingerswentraw,butuntilsheheardLambotellherwhathesawinthem,shedidn’tquiteseemtotrustherowntouch.That,inanutshell,waswhyheputupwithlivingwithher.Heknewthatifhedidn’tstayaroundasanextra-sensorycross-referencetotheworldshetracedwithherwrinkled,callousedfingertips,she’djustdriftoffsomeplaceelseandnevercomeback,andprobablywouldn’tregretgoingto.Thetwentydollarsaweekdidn’thurteither.

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Shesatstaringdirectlyathim,throughhimitfeltlike,ashemovedtheemptyglassofmilkaroundthetablelikeachecker.‘What’swrongwithyoutoday,huh?’shesaid,layingthetwosquaresoutflatinfrontofher.Shepushedthemaroundtoo.‘Icanalmostsmellthesomethingthat’swrongonyou,sodon’tgoandsayanythingstupidlike“Nothing,Gramaw,I’mfine”cuzIknowtoowellyouain’t.It’sthatgirlyou’reseeing,isn’tit.’

Lambosighed.Helikedhowsheputit,seeingher.Shewasright:hecouldn’thideanythingaboutanythingfromher,andheknewthiswouldallbeoversoonerthanlaterifhejustgaveherthefullandhonesttruth.‘Youguesseditright,perusual.I’mworriedsickabouther,youknow.Herdad’salwaysbeenkindofanutcase,youknow,alwaysrunningaroundwithBozemandoingwhateverthehelluntilallhoursofthenight,comingbacklookinglikesomebodythrewhiminamicrowave,butnowIthinkhe’stotallylostit.And,wellshit,nowhermom’sjustdisappearedbackwardsintotheforest.Andmeanwhilehere’sTripdoejusttwiddlingherthumbslikenothingmuch’sgoingonatall,andtalkingtoasalamandershepulledoutofherpantsatthedamnhospital.’Gramaw’seyesshiftedsothatshewaslookingsomewherejustaboveLambo’shead,asiftrainedonaninvisiblebirdthathadlandedtheretopeckathisgrease-brightscalp.‘AndIwannahelpsomehow,but,it’sjustsofaroutofmyrangeofbusinessthatIjustdon’tknowwheretostart.Imean,Icouldgowadingthroughtheforestcallingoutforhermom,butwhathappenswhenIfindher,huh?IfIfindher?WouldTripdoeevencare,orworse,notice?’

Gramawpushedthesquaresaroundonthetablegently,herhandsrestinginthecenterofeach.‘Igiveyoupermission,’shesaidquietly.

Lambolookedup.‘Wha?’‘IsaidIgiveyoupermission.’‘Forwhat?’‘Goingintothewoodstofindthegirl’smother.Someone’sgottadoit,don’tyou

see?Wecan’tjusthavepeople’smothersgodisappearingonusallofasudden.Yearsthisplace’smothersstuckaroundtiltheydied,nowthey’regonnaallofasuddenstarteruptingoutofthehouse?There’smoreatstakeherethanjustonegirl’smother,Lamb.You’vegottaseethat.’HereyesstayedgluedtotheinvisiblebirdonLambo’shead.

‘Youalwaystalktomelikeyouknoweverything.Truthis,Grams,Idon’tthinkyouknowthehalfofit.Nooffence.’

‘Slidethatglassoverhere,’shesaid,againbarelyaudible,butfirmly,somethingnewresidinginhervoice.

‘Why?’‘Lambo.’Heslidtheglassoversothatitstoppedjustinfrontofherrighthandthatsat

flatonthequiltsquare.Shemovedherhandtopicktheglassup.‘NowLambo.Iwantyoutoclosethoseeyesofyours.I’mgonnamixthesequiltsquaresupandsettheglassdownononeortheother.Ifyouguesswhichoneitlandsonright,youdon’thavetogolookinforher.Ifyougetitwrong,youdo.Yougettherules?’

‘Gramawthisisridiculous.Whatdoyoucareif…’‘Shushit.Closethoseeyes.’Heshutthem,andcouldheartheslightwhishingsoundofherdraggingthequilt

squaresaround.Thenaquietthudoftheglassfindingitsspot.‘Alright,’shesaid.‘Whichisit.’

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Heopenedhiseyeshalfwayandthoughtofthesnakes.Theglasssatontheyellow-redcrosshatchfullofgreendots.Heshuthiseyesagainandsighed.Thefridge’smotorwhirredon,fillingtheroomwithafull,dulldrone,overwhichhesaid,‘Propeller.It’sonthepropellerone.’

‘Goodboy.’Hesattherewithhiseyesshut,evenafterGramawhadgottenupandshuffledintothebackroom.Justsatthereinthedarknessofhishead,thefridgewhirringbehindhim.

Afterwhatfeltlikeanhourhefinallyopenedhiseyesandgotup.He’dbeenafraidofhisownlifeforlongenough.Thosesnakes,brokenglass,loudnoise.Hewentbackintotheroomhestayedinandstuffedclothesintohisoldbackpack.Somepairsofsocks,anextratshirt,aflashlighthe’dforgottenabout.Whenheturnedtogobackintothekitchen,Gramawwasstandinginthedoorwayholdingabulkyolive-greenbundleabouttwofeetlong.Shestartedinsaying,‘Thiswasyourgrandfather’s.Younevermethim,andI’mgladyoudidn’t.He’sthereasonI’mblind,mostly,andthereasonyourmotherturnedoutthewayshedid.ButIknowifhewasstillalivehe’dwanttogivethistoyoubeforeyouheadoutthere.It’swhathewould’vewanted.’Sheheldthebundleoutinfrontofher,anoffering.Hegathereditupintohisarms.‘WellshootGram,thanks.’Itwasabouttwentypounds,andstrapsoffabricflappedoutofthefolds.‘Uh…whatisit,exactly?’

‘It’shisoldtent.Hesleptmorenightsinthatsordidflapperthanheeverdidinourbed,I’dsay.Hewasn’tmuchformaritallife,thoughhedidprovideformeandyourmother.That’smostofwhatwe’dexpectfromsuchamanbackinthosedays.Therestwasfiligree.’Waterrimmedherredeyelidsandhermilkypupilshoveredoverthatbirdagain.

‘WellI’mjustgoingtolookaroundforherforalittlewhile.I’mnotplanningonmovingoutthereoranything.’

Sheshrugged.‘Ididn’tthinkanythingthateverhappenedtomewouldhappen.Keepthegoddamnthing,willyou?’

Hesetthebundledownandflungthebackpackoverhisshoulders,thenwrappedhisarmsaroundGramawinabighug.‘Grams,yousureyou’llbealrighthereallalone?’

‘Psshaw.I’vebeenfoolinyouthiswholetime.Icanseemorethanyouthink.IwasjustkeepinyouaroundsothatIwouldn’thavetomakemyownmeals.OrmaybesothatI’dbeabletosaygoodbyelikethiswhenIhadto.ApremonitionIguess.Ablindimpulsetokeepyouaroundtillyouactuallyneededme.’

Hetookadeepbreathandhoistedthebundleupintohisarmsandturningtowardthedooraskedher,‘Doyoueverseestars?Like,phosphenestarsoranythinglikethat?’

Shethoughtforafewsecondsbeforesaying,‘Noneedforallthatstuff,’standingthereinthelight,andwavedhimoutthedoor.

---

LambofumbledaroundbythesideofthePhanhometryingtobendovertofindasuitablepebbletotossatTripdoe’swindow.Nottoobignottoosmall.Hefoundajust-rightpebblethesizeofthetipofhispinkiefingerundertheshadowofanother

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largerrock.Hepickeditupandheaveditatherwindow.Tap.Hewaited,thenrummagedaroundforanotherpebbleandtossedit,too.Waited.Nothing.

Hewentaroundtothefrontofthehouse,pastthestagnantpondthatathickgreensheetofalgaehadspreadover,setthetentdownonthewhitewickerrockingchairthatsatthereunderathinbrownlayerofdust.Heknockedonthedoor.Waited.Nothing.Heopenedthedoorandwalkedthroughthedarkfrontroomtowardthestairs,andashegrabbedthewoodhandrailandputhisfootonthefirststep,atinglingfeelingturnedhimaround.Roge,shirtlessandglistening,balancedonhisheadbythecouchwithhiseyesclosed,aserenesilkenlookpastedoverhisface,historsowobblingeversoslightly.Lambodidn’twanttodisturbwhateverthehellwasgoingonthere,sohecreptupstairstryingtoavoidthestepsheknewcreakedthemost.HetappedlightlyonTripdoe’sdoorbeforewalkingrightin.ThePhanhouseseemedespeciallyunlockedandloosetoday.

Shelaytheresupine,staringupattheceilinginnoparticularstateofawarenessthatLambocoulddiscern.Allthelightswereoff.‘Eh,Tripster?Youok?’

Onlyhereyesmoved.Shestaredathimangularlybeforesittinguplikeadoorhinge,grabbedeachbraidandranherhandsoverthemtosmooththeirfrizzedends.‘Lambo.Lambo.Imissedyou.’

‘Areyou…?Doyou,uh,knowwhat’sgoingonwithyourdaddownthere?’‘Theheadstandthing?Noidea.He’sbeendoingitsinceIgothome.Prettysure

he’spermanentlyzapped.Youseethestrawberries?’‘Uh…’‘He’sgotstrawberriesonhisfeet.They’rejustsittingthere.Igotcloseto,like,

touchone,andhestartedhummingatme.’Hercool,eventone.‘Hummingatyou?’‘Yez.Ithinkhismindbroke.’ThenshescootedovertoLamboandwrappedher

armsbehindhisknees.Thesideofherfacecrammedintohiscrotch.Hewiggledhiswayintoacrouchandsheadjustedherhugsothatherfaceburieditselfbetweenhisneckandshoulder.

‘Comewithme,’hesaid,tryingtotalkfromhisthroat.‘We’llfindyourmom.’Sheloosenedherhuganduncrammedherfacefromhisshoulder,lookedathim

sideways.‘Mymom,huh?Youwannafindmymom?Whatmakesyouthinkshe’souttheretofind?’

Hetookadeepbreathandfacedthefactthathehadnoidea.Findingalostmomseemedliketheobviousthingtohavetodo.‘Fine.Let’sgowalkthepathofyourmom’srollingbodylookingfor...berries,orsquirrels.Howeveryouwannaspinit.’Lambowas20already.Hedidn’tknowthatonceBozemanputhisnewlegalrestrictionsintoeffectthathe’dbeexcisedfromthePrefecture.LivingwithandtakingcareofGramawdidn’tfitintoBozeman’scategoryoflucrativeoccupations.Noneofthatmatteredmuchtohimrightnowthough,sittingonthedarkfloor.

Tripdoebitherthumbnail,sighed.‘Well.Let’sthinkitoveraglassofjuice,eh?’Shepattedhimonthecheekandgotuptogodownstairs.Thepuffofcouragethosevenomousdream-snakeshadfilledLambowithbackatGramaw’sbegantoleakslowlyoutofhim,Lambothepaleballoon.Soon,hefelt,theheroicpartofhim–hunkereddownnexttohispumpingheart,aboldswollencockroach–thathadexpandedwitheachemergingserpentwouldshrinkbackdownintothetiniestresemblanceofitself.Hegotupshakilytofollowher.

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HehadtowalkpastRogetogettothekitchenwhereTripdoewasalreadypouringtwoglassesfullofcranberryjuice.Rogewasstillonhishead,thehorizontaldrawnblindsbehindhimrailroadingacrosshisglisteningribcage.There,sureasthosestripsoflight,werethestrawberriesTripdoewastalkingabout,balancedonthesmoothslopesofhisfeet’ssoles.Theimprobablekhakisbunchedaroundhiscalvesthatgavewaytohisshirtless,shapelesstorso.Hisexposedskinlookedslippery.Astickofbutter’swaxywrappersatcrumpledtoRoge’sright.

TripdoewasgulpingdownthejuiceasLambocameintothekitchen.Heputhishandonherback,butbeforehecouldsayanything,Rogeslidlikeanancientcavefishrightupnexttothedroningrefrigerator.

‘Isensesomedistraughtyouths,’hehummed.Hisshinymouthbarelymoved,andhisoutstretchedhandsheldonestrawberry,eachhavingbeensorecentlybalancedonasole.HiseyessatlikeburiedcoinsinthesmoothexcavationsiteofRoge’sbizarrelysereneface.InthelightLambocouldtellhe’drubbedthatstickofbutteralloverhimself,especiallyalloverhisrawhead.Hesmelledalittlebitlikearoastedturkey.

‘Dad.Roge.Please.Uh,’Tripdoemanagedwhiletryingtolookcasualasshebackupagainsttheedgeofthecounter.

‘Here.Takeone.Eat.’Theystoodtheresilentlystaringateachother,thethreeofthem.Lambo,

alwaystryingtodefusesocialtension,slowlyreachedoutandheldhishandoverthewesternmoststrawberry.HepickeditupandlookedoveratTripdoewhowasnowstaringveryintenselyatsomethingonthefloor.Acrumbfromthemorning’stoastperhaps.Lambonudgedherwithhisbonyelbow.WithoutlookingatRogeshequicklygrabbedtheotherstrawberryandpaweditlikesomethingsoontobedepositedinthegarbage.‘Whythehellshouldweeatthese?’shebarked,lookingupintenselyatherforlornfather.

Rogesmiled.‘Thesearen’tnormalstrawberries,dear.’‘Dad.Iboughttheseatthestorethreedaysago.There’snothingspecialabout

them.’‘Well.Thesehavebeenpurifiedthroughtheprocessofanthroinversion.Youcan

readabouttheprocessinabookIpublishedafewyearsago.Yousee,thehumanbodyisnothingmorethanpyramidsstackedoneatoptheotherinsuccession,andbyinvertingthem–theenergyusuallyblastsupwardoutofthecrownoftheskullinanincredibletorrentrighttowardtheenergyhouseofthesun–apurestreamofinvisibleenergyisreleasedthroughtheusuallyenergy-starvedsolesofthe…’

Shepoppeditintohermouthandchewed.‘Tasteslikenormaloldnormaltome,’shespewedbetweenbites.‘Infact,kindabland.’

WhoevermetaphoricalarchaeologistswereinchargeofexcavatingRoge’seyesdidtheirjob;theyglimmeredfrighteningly.Hiseyelidstwisted.‘Someday,youwillunderstandthatyoursensesaretheultimatepranksters.Theyarenotgates,astheywouldhaveyoubelieve,butguards.Beyondthem,pasttheirfortifiedrestrictions,sitsthenestofhealth,thegemofyourparticularbalance.Butyousaywhatyoucannottasteyoucannotknow,hm?Abeamoflightpoursintoyoufromthatstrawberry,thoughyoucannottasteit.Norshallyou,atleastnotyet.Youmusttastearoundthestrawberry.Everythingthatitisnot,youmusthavesitonyourtongue,andyoumusttasteit.Everybeamofsunlightthatpouredintotheleaves,andwhichpoursforthfromthatsingleberrynow,still,despitethatdayhavingelapsed,thatlighthavingflown,

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thoseleaves’veinshavingevengoldenedandsplit,evennow.Somedayyoumighttasteit.Perhapsthen…youwillknow…itstrueNature.’

Tripdoeburped,thenlookedoveratLambo.‘HeyLambo,didn’tyousayyougotticketsforthat,uh,movie?’

Hehesitated,butTripdoe’sglarebastedoverhimlikehotgravyoveraturkey.‘Yeah,yep.Uh,CalypsoCometII,Ithink…supposedtobeprettyawesome.Lotsofdrama,Iguess.Explosions.Startssoon,right?’HelookedoverhisshoulderasifexpectingsomeposterwithmovietimestomaterializeonthePhan’swallbehindhim,thenathisnakedwristtocheckitsflesh’stime.‘Yeah,jeez,didn’tthinkitwasso,uh,late?’

ThetwoofthemweaseledpastRoge,whostoodtherebeaminginthekitchen,allhisgatheredyearsamassedthereatthetipofhisvibratingtongue.TripdoeranupstairstocramsomeclothesinabagandmetLambooutonthelawn,wherehestoodgrippingthetenttohischestagainsttheworld,againstallithadgrippedagainstitself,allofitstangledgarlands.

---

Inordertomakesuretheyhadn’tliedtoRoge,whobyallappearancesseemedtohavefoundsomethingofatruthamidtheunfoldingchaosofhislife,theywalkedtothedrive-inmovietheater.Theypitchedthetentononeofthegraveledrectanglesnexttothesteelthingthatlookedlikeaparkingmeterandcrawledinside.ThedaygrewoldastheylaytogetherinthemustycanvastalkingaboutRoge,aboutfunnythingsfromschool,abouteachother.Eachexhaledhugelythereinthehumidsquare.SmallholesinthefabricwornthroughbytheuntoldhappeningsofLambo’sdeadgrandfatherletcoinsoflightpassthrough,andtheytraveledalongthefloorasthedaydescendedbehindthemassivegrey-whitescreen.OnecoinoflightbalancedonTripdoe’snoselikeajokespoon,andLambokisseditsheepishlylikeitmightbreak.BythetimeCalypsoCometIIcameon,they’dbothfallenasleepcurledaroundeachother,andtheysleptthroughthewholemovie,explosionsandall.

Whenitwasover,theoldguywhorantheplacecamearoundwithaflashlighttowakethemupandmovethemon.Notadamnedcampgroundafterall.Butseeingthemcurledupastheywere,hethoughtbetterofit.Heflickedtheflashlightofftogohome,thinkingaboutsomefadeddayinthepastthat,ashedriftedoffintohisownsleep,blendedseamlesslyintoadreamhewouldn’trememberwhenhewokeearlyupthenextday.

ChapterSixteen–InWhichThreePenobskanYouthsFindThemselvesOutside

Fennysquattednexttothehugecedarhe’ddecidedwouldbehisnest,commandcenter,homeybosomforthenewphaseofhislifetonestleupagainst.Andifalltheplanshe’dcomeupwithsincehe’dsettledonthisspottwodaysagowentsmoothly,ifnobodyfromPenobskawhowasundoubtedlylookingforhimfoundhim,itwouldeventuallybecomehissuper-coolsuper-safepartypalacemadeoutofwoodandrocksandgrassandstuff,completewithdefenseturretsthatwouldshootdeadly-fastacornsatpotentialintrudershumanorotherwise,andanaturalspringwaterhottubwithroomforliketwentychicks,andafullworkoutstudiosothathecouldstayfitforalltheotherstuffhe’dbedoingbasicallyallthetime,andhisownstillfordistillinghisown

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specialbrandofliquorthatnobodycouldtellhimnottodrink.Hehadn’tcomeupwithacleverormysteriousnameyetfortheliquor–everykindofboozehe’deverdrankhadnameslikeCaptainSwitchbackorCreakyBoat–buttherewasplentyoftimetodecidethelittledetailssuchasthese.Ashescratchedsomerudimentaryschematicsintothemoistdirthe’dfoundundersomenastyolddecayingleaves,thegreybeakofayellowandblackbirdsettlingitsclawsontoabranchhighabovehisheadloosenedacasualchirpthatmadeFennyjump.Alotofstuffouthere,he’dfoundout,madehimjump.Andtomakethingsallthejumpier,he’dsmokedhislastcigarettethatmorningforbreakfast,andkepthabituallyreachingintohispocketforthepack,onlytoberemindedoftherealityitsabsencebroughthimfullyinto.

Afewmonthsago,afterwork,he’dwatchedadocumentarythathisstepmomWeirentedfromthelibrary.OnthefrontoftheDVD’slaminatedcasethathe’dconsultedhalfwaythroughtofindouthowmanyminuteswereleft,twohumansilhouettesstoodhand-in-handandwerebackgroundedbyanincrediblybright,zoomed-outimageoftheplanet.Fennyhadnoideahowanybodycouldgetapictureoftheplanetlikethat.Thedocumentary’stitle–Let’sGetBusy!HowtoMoveForwardintheMidstofSocialandEnvironmentalTransformation–satabovetheimageofthesilhouettesinblockyyellowfontthatFennythoughtlookedkindofcheesy,andwhichledhimtoexpectanequalorgreaterlevelofcheesinessfromthemovieitself.

Fromwhatheunderstood,thedocumentarywasaboutpeoplewhomovedoutintoaforesttolivelikeNeanderthalsbecausetheycouldn’tfindrealjobsinthecity,oratleastthat’swhathefiguredtheywereouttherefor–he’dmissedthefirstpartofthemovieonaccountofafrozenburritothatneededmicrowavinginthekitchen,andwhenhecamebackintothedarkenedlivingroomwithhisburritoonapaperplate,Weisilentlyrefusedtorewindtothestart.Whenhereachedfortheremotethatbalancedonherthighsheswattedhishandawaylikeafly.

Mostofthepeopleinthemoviehadlongropyhairwrappedupinfunnyscarves;somehadtattoosontheirshoulders,orbacks,orforearmsthatremindedFennyofageometryclassassignmenthe’dpaidoneofthesmarterkidstodoforhim;someofthemdidn’twearanyclothesatallanddidn’tseemtocareonebitifthecamerapeoplefilmedtheirwholebodies,whichmadehimsquirminside;sometalkedrealslowandquietwhiletheydescribedhowtheylivedandhowthey’dstartedliving,asiftheirlivesdependedontheslownessandcarefulnessoftheirwords,andoneguyyankedthebiggestcarrotFenny’deverseenoutofthegroundandthrewittooneofhisfriendslikeafootball.Itwasprettyfunny,eventhoughthefriendguydidn’tevengetclosetocatchingit.Alotwasbeingsaidbythepeople,butFennycouldn’tkeeptrackofmuchofwhattheyweretalkingabout.Itsoundedlikeanotherlanguagetohim,eventhoughhekneweverywordofit.

Alongwithhowweirdtheyalllookedandactedandsounded,theyallhadthisdirtyglowingenergythathecouldalmostfeelthroughthescreen,andprettymucheverysingleoneofthepeoplethemovieshowedsmiledatonepointoranother–eitherateachother,oratthecamera,oratthepeoplebehindthecamera,oratsomethinggoingonbehindthepeoplebehindthecamera–inawaythatmadeFennyfeellikehewasn’treallysittingathomewatchingamovieatall,andtheirkidsranaroundwithoutshoesorrulesormuchofanything,climbingwayhigherintothesehugetreesthanFennyhadeverseenanybody–kidornot–climb.

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‘Idiots,’Fennyrememberedhearinghimselfsayashepeeledhisonce-whitesocksoffhissweatyfeet.Hethrewthemintothehallway.‘Ibetifthosekidssteppedonathornorasharpstickorsomethin,itwouldn’t’vemadeitswayintothemovie.Noteventhedeletedscenesoranything.’Wei,whosatnexttohimonthecouchwithherlegscrossedunderherselfandherarmswrappedaroundthehugesteelwaterbottleshebroughtwithhereverywhere,turnedtoglarecalmlyathim.Hepretendednottonotice,butmadesuretokeeptherestofwhathefeltcompelledtosayunsaid.

ButthepartofthemoviethatkeptplayingoverandoverinhisheadsincehavingfledPenobskaPropertwodaysagowasthefinalscene.Itwasalongshotofthewholevillagethepeoplethemovieinterviewedalllivedinandbuilttogether.Thecamerapeoplemust’vefilmeditfromprettyfaraway,cuzyoucouldseemostlythewholevillage–allthelittleearthenmoundsofhousesandgroupbuildingsmadeofsaplingsandtwigs–situatedontheedgeofwherethatforestofgreattreesmetgrassyfoothills.Eventhoughthevillageitselfwasn’treallyeventhatbig,theshotstillabsorbedhim.ThemostimpressivethingtoFenny,though,oratleastwhathismemoryhadfeltcompelledtoretaininsuchdetailthatevennow,monthslater,allhehadtodotowatchitwassqueezehiseyesshut,wasthattheshotincludedtheverytopsofthetreestheylivedamong.Wherethetopsofthetreesstoppedstretchingtheskybegan:deeppurplewithasmoothgoldbandofcloudsstretchingandslowlydisappearingacrossitintonowhere.Theshotwentonandon,nomusicoranything,foralmosttenminutesasthesky’spurpledeepenedandtheeveningcreaturesstartedsingingtheirsharpsemi-rhythmicsongs,andlittlesmokingbubblesoffirelightstartedpoppingdownwherenowyoucouldn’tseetheroundedshapesofthescrawnymudhomesorthewindowsthatsatintheirwallsorthepeoplethatlivedinthem,forthefullnessoftheoverlappingtreesandtheircastshadowsandtheapproachingeveningthatcastthemhadmergeditallintoasingleindistinguishabledarkness.Butthosebubblesoffirelight,exhalingtorrentsofwildsmokethat,too,disappearedintothesky,expandedaspeoplegatheredaroundthemuntilyoucouldn’ttellthepeoplefromthefire,thefirefromthepeople.Andthenthescreenwentblack,andthecreditsmadetheirsmoothclimbupwardintothenowhereofthescreen’stopedge.

Squattingtherebeneaththehugecedar,thinkingaboutallthosehappybright

tiredpeopleinthemoviegavehimalittlebitofhope.Nofriendstothrowcarrotsatofcourse,noearstospillideasinto,noBigJtostirpotswith,butstill.He’dfindouthowtogetwherethemoviepeoplewere.Brighthealth,definedmuscles,wholesomevalues,self-sufficiency,aroundeddiet,thatenergy.Whereelsedidpeoplestarttryingtogetallthatshitbesidesouthere?Intheforest?Alone?And,ohyeah,ontherun?Well.

Afterboltingfasterthanastartledfinchthroughtheforestforwhatfeltlikehoursaftertheincidentwiththeghostpeppersyesterday,he’dgottenincrediblyhot.Hetookallhisclothesoffandtriedfanninghimselfwithfernfrondsheyankedoutoftheground,buttheheatofthedayrefusedtoclimboffhisskin.Finallyheendedupbitingthelowerpartsofhisblackslacksoffwithhisteethtomakeintoshortssothathewouldn’thavetotraipsearoundthewoodsnaked–heneverthoughthecouldbeself-consciousaroundabunchoffuckingplants–butwhenthenightanditscoldblanketfelloverhimheusedthefloppytorntubesoffabrictostartafire.Sometimeinthenightafterhe’ddriftedintoafitfulshiveringsleepthefirewentout,andhewokeuphuddledinaballwearinghistorn-upshorts.Whatthehellwashedoingouthereagain?Oh,uh,yeah…

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Well,yeah,shit.Thatmorningafterhesmokedhislastcigarettehe’dhadaprettyacutepanicattack.Huddlingthereonalopsidedpatchofoldneedleshesqueezedhiseyesshut,watchingthatonesceneoverandover.Itcalmedhimdown,andbynow,adaylater,hefeltfullyresignedtohisexileandalltheresponsibilityitteeteredontopof.Hedidn’tneedthoseclownsinPenobskaanyway.Abunchofgo-nowhere,lazy-assedfools,a…andpower-hungrytyrants…

Havingconsultedhisfragmentedmemoryofthemovieforfutureparty-palacecompounddesignideas,andhavingdrawnoutafairlycomprehensivetop-downoutlineofthespaceinthedampdirt,hegotbusydraggingbighalf-rottenlogsovertothehugecedarandmakingasqueakypileofsticksandbranches.Butnomatterhowmuchherearrangeditalltomatchthevisioninhishead,nomatterhowmanytimeshedraggedhismuddysneakersbackovertothedirt-scratchedoutlinetoconsulttheschematic,itjustlookedlikeabunchofsticksandlogscasttherehaphazardlybyastorm.Hetiltedhisheaduptolookatthewavy,rhombicpatchofskyhecouldseethroughthetreesanddetermineditwasprobablyaroundnoon.Stretchingandyawningrecklessly,hecrawledunderneathoneofthesofter-lookingpilesofsticksforanap,usingalumpofmossasapillowandsomeoldleavesasablanket.Homesweethome,hethought.

Thatsamechirpingbirdasbefore,thoughbalancingonadifferentperch,chirpedsomemore,mockingFennywithitssmoothuntroubledconfidence.‘Justwait,wingedrat.I’llbeeatingyoufordinneroneofthesenights,’hewheezed,tryingtospotthebirdthroughthecrookedfingersofthisrudimentarypalaceofhis.

Afterwhatcouldhavebeeneithersixhoursortwelveminutes,loudtwig-branch-snapscrackedintoFenny’ssleep.Hewokenearlychokingonthesound.Terrortiptoedintohimthroughtheears.Hislungswereonfire.Sunstillstreamedthroughthebreathingpatchofsky.Anothersnap,andallhisyearsofporcupinepreparednessprogrammingandthePricklyMenacemovies,allthatcinematizedviolenceandofficiatedanxiety,oozedupfromthesoggypitofhisstomachuntilitsuffusedeachlastoneofhisbrain’smisfiring,nicotine-hauntedsynapses.Thickhotfearsomesludgepetrifyinghimtotally.Noteventhelittlehairsonthetipofhispimplednosemovedashelaytherestaringupintothatbluefuzzyholeofatmosphereabovehim.

AnovalshadowslowlyfilledthepatchofskyanddarkenedtheareaaroundFennyashisbrain’sreptilianremnantsreleasedachaotichowlandtwitchedhismusclesintospasmodicflurriesofterror-combat.Heexploded.Twigsflewaswildsidewindersashelurchedthrashingupfromhispalace,loosefistsswipedtheairaimedblindforvitalsofttissueofwhateverenemyhadcasttheshadowthathadtouchedhim.Notcolliding,hewrenchedhisadrenaline-shoteyesopen,andsawthewidepaleterrifiedfaceofthatgoofballfromhighschoolLambobacktrackingclumsilynearlytrippingawayfromhimbehindatree.Heheldakindofcanvastubeoutinfrontofhimlikeapersonalcannon.Andthere,abitfurtherback,wasTripdoePhan,lookingunfazedaseverasshepokedherheadfrombehindathinyoungdeadlookingtree.Fennystopped,droppedandunclenchedhisfistsandstartedshakingwithanuncontrolledgushoflaughterthat,toLambohuddlingbehindthetree,soundedlikeaheatstrokedhyena.‘YOUNEARLYGOTYOURSTUPIDFUCKSELVESMURDEREDTODEATH!’Fennyheardhimselfscreambetweenthelaughterthatgushedoutofhimpainfully,hisbrainventingthenow-uselessadrenaline.Lambopeepedoutfrombehindthetreejustasthesurgeofenergy

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fizzledfromFenny.Hecrumpledintoanexhaustedheapontothegroundviolentlyweepingandvibrating.

LambolookedbackatTripdoewho,withgreenishshadowsplayingoverherface,shruggedandclompedtowardFenny.Withthetentclutchedclosetohim,Lambofollowedherasshepassedhim.‘Hey.Hey.Hey.Fenny.Hey.Stopthat,’Tripdoesaidtotheweepingpile.Shekneltdownandgavehimafirm,crispslapacrosshisdampdirtycheek.ThesobbinglurchedtoahaltandFennylookedupatherwithawettwinkleinhiseye,hismouthsaggingindisbelief.

‘You…youcameforme.Iknewyouwould!DeargodIknewyouwould!’Hesprungupandtriedtowraphisarmsaroundher,butshescootedbacksothathegrabbedtheairandnearlytrippedoverhimself.Lambocameforward,hoistinghistentlikeajavelin.‘Hey,jeez,take‘ereasythereLambStew.’Fenny’dcalledLambothateversinceeithercouldremember.‘Ijustwantedtothankyou,isall.Uh,er,notthatIneededanyhelpfromanybodyornothing.Justnicetoseesomefolksagain,Iguess.I’mdoingfineouthere,Ireallyam.’HegesturedelaboratelyatwhatbothLamboandTripdoehadfailedtorecognizeasanythingevenclosetobeingpurposeful,letaloneconstructed.

‘Wedidn’tcomehereforyouanyway,Fenny,’Lambosaidsharply,lookingaroundthescatteredbranches,tryingtofigureoutwhatFennywastryingtoshowthem.

Fennysunkintohimself.‘What’yamean?Don’tpeoplewannaknowwhereIamouthere?’

Theybothlookedathimfatly,Lamboundertheoliveweightofhiscanvastube,asiftosay,nobodycaresaboutyou.Fennynearlyswallowedhisownthickeningtongue.‘We’reoutherelookinforTripdoe’smom.Sherolledthroughhereacoupledaysago.Youseenanything?’

Theninhisoldlashingways,‘Tripdoe’smomoutinbroaddaylight,huh?Wellthere’ssomethingnew.Hyuckhyuckhyuck.Guesslot’schangedsinceIbeenaround,huh.Iain’tseennothingofthesort.’

‘Iseeyoustillhavethebrainofatadpole,’Tripdoesaidlookingaround.‘Goodplaceforsomeonewiththebrainofatadpole.ThoughImightsuggestgoingahalfmilewest.There’smorestagnantwateroverthataway,’motioningLambotofollowher,showinghalfofaniotaofinterestinFenny’sgrandschemascratchedintothedirtthatshesteppeddirectlyontoasshepacedawayfromthesite.‘Iguessifyougoteverythingallfiguredoutherewe’lljustbegettingamoveon.Goodluck.’

Theyweren’tjoking,andkeptonwalking.Fennywaitedhuffingforaboutaminuteuntiltheyblendedintotheforest,thentookoffinaquietdesperaterunafterthem.Hisdirtblueprintdejectedthereintheafternoon’sblueshade.HestumbledoverarootandsaidanastywordunderhisbreathbeforeTripdoeandLambojumpedoutfrombehindthetreesthey’dbeenhidingbehind.Henearlyshit.Theylaughed,clutchingtheirsides.‘Damn,Fenny,’Tripdoesqueakedbetweengiggles,‘Yousureyou’realrightouthere?Youseemalittlejumpy.’Sheleanedandgrabbedhimunderthearmandhoistedhimtohisfeet,brushedsomeofthedirtoffhisback.Theytookoffagain,Lamboleadingtheway.Intheirstepstheimplicitsuggestionforhimtofollowbehind.

Thatnighttheysetthetentupinaclearing.Shortstubbygrey-greenshrubssurroundedthethreeofthemandchoppedthehotwindupintomildbursts.TripdoeunpluggedsomeofthedrylooseendsthatrigidwhitedeadleavesclungtoinbunchestowadupandstartafirewithwhileFennyandLambowentoffinoppositedirectionsto

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cracksomeoldwoodoutoftheforestsairyunderbelly.Bythetimetheyhaditgoing,thesky,anincrediblespeckleddrumskinpulledtightovertheirbeatingcamp,cooledintonight.Starspiercedthedarklikequillsthroughablanket.LambocamebackfirstandunloadedanarmfulofclatteringstuffdownbythelittlesandypitTripdoe’dfilledwithtinydrypiles.Shestartedcrackingthestuffintoatriangleandheldherhandintothetanglewithherfistclosedtightaroundalightershesparkedintoafire.Fennygotdistractedbythewilduncovereddarkandforgottogetanythingtoburn,sohestumbledbackintotheircampwithonlyhislefthandfullofgrass,facepressedupward.

Theirsmallfiregrewinheatandsoundasthethreeofthemstrippedtheirshoesandsocksoff,thethreePenobskanchildrennowrubbingtheirrawfeetinthestrangecommunelighttheydidn’texpecttoknowsowell.Tripdoepulledthreegranolabars–RaspberryProteinCrunch‘Em’s–outofthefirstpocketinherbackpackandpassedonetoeachoftheboys.Fennyalmosthurthimselftryingtogetthethingopen,hewassodesperateforcalories.Hefumbledwithitlikethethumbsofanervousvirgintryingtounclaspalover’sstiffbrassiere,thengaveupandtookabiteoutofit–wrapperandall.Hechewedjudiciouslyandthencoughthestripofwrapperupandspatitintothefire.Tripdoereprimandedhimwithherquieteyes.Hehadbeenactinglikeachildsincetheyfoundhim,andbothLamboandTripdoeregardedeachotherwithlooksthatsuggestedtheirdifferentiationfromFennyinthisregard,thoughinlightofthesestarsandthesecrackingsegmentsofdeadshrubtheythemselveswerenothingmorethanchildren,if.Theybothknewthis,andfoundithilariousinaverysolitarykindofway,thoughdidn’tquiteunderstandwhy.

Nightdeepened.Theymadeupghoststories.Fennypulledhisscabbedkneesintohischestandcradledhischinwherethetwobulbousnodesofhiscapsmet.Tripdoehadtheair.Lambotendedthefirethoroughly.

‘Once,aboutonemillionyearsago,therewasasalamanderwhohadthepowertoturnpeopleintoclouds.Thissalamanderlikedrainsomuchthatwheneveritstoppedrainingforafewdays,hewouldgotowherethepeoplelivedandturntwoofthemintocloudsatatimeuntilitstartedraining.Thenhewouldgobacktohishollowstumpwherehelived,andsleepcontentedlyalldaylongintheloudrain.Whenitwasnight,andtherainhadstoppedbutthegroundwasstillsoggy,hewouldgoanddanceinthebogwiththefireflies.Whendayreturned,hewouldgobacktohishollowstumpandgotosleep,onlywakingwhenitgottoodryorwhenthesunwentdown.Onehotday,alittlegirlwasplayingoutinthefieldthatthesalamanderwouldgothroughonhiswaytowherethepeoplelivedtoturnthemintoclouds.Becauseitwassohot,hehaddecidedtogoanddojustthat.Seeingthesalamander,thecuriousgirlfollowedhimquietlyuntilhestoppedattheedgeoftown.Shekeptwatchinghimasheusedhismagictoturntwoofherparents’friendsintoclouds.Thenthesalamanderwentbackthroughthefieldanddisappeared.Whenthelittlegirlgothome,herparentswerecryingtoeachotherabouttheirlostfriends.Wantingherparentstostopcrying,shetoldthemabouthowshehadseenthesalamanderusehismagictoturntheirfriendsintoclouds.Herfather’seyeslitup,andhestormedoutintothecenterofallthepeopleandtoldeveryonewhathisdaughterhadseen.Thepeoplegrewfurious,andmarchedintothewoodswherethegirlhadseenthesalamanderdisappearandbeganstompingoneverythingandlightingthingsonfire.Thentheraincloudsaboveopenedupandthepeoplewentbacktotheirhomescontentedthattheyhadputanendtothetreacheriesofthesalamander.Luckily,thesalamanderhadcrawledextradeepintohishollow

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stumpandhadavoidedbeingstompedorburned.Infact,hehadfallenintoadeepsleepbeforethepeoplegotthere,andsleptthroughtheentireordeal.Hecrawledoutyawningrightastherainbeganpouringdownandfoundeverythingdestroyed.Thelittlebogwherehedancedwiththefireflieshadbeentroddenandsplattered,thebarkonthetreeshadbeenstrippedandpiledinhugeblackenedheaps,andhisfavoritepatchofmushroomshadbeenyankedandshredded.Besidehimselfwithanger,andknowingthebumbling,clumsypeopletobeatfault,hewentasfastashecouldthroughtheraintowherethepeoplelived.Hecouldseethemthroughthewindowsintheirhomes,andwentfromhousetohouseturningeveryoneinsideintocloudsuntiltheskywasblackandchurning.Hisangersubsided,andhewentbacktohishollowstumpandfellasleep,exhausted.Asheslept,theskyburstintothelargeststormtheworldhadeverknown,andrainfellinunendingtorrents.Theexhaustedsalamanderdidn’tevennoticewhenhisstumpstartedfillingupwithwater,andeventuallythemercilessrainfloodedeverythingcompletely.Thesalamanderdrownedwithouteverhavingwokenup.Nowhisconfusedghostwakesupeverynighttryingtofindthebogsothathecandancewiththefireflies.’

Sheleanedback,pleasedbythesilencefoldinginbehindherwords,balancingonherhauncheswithherfeetpointedatthefire.Sparkshelixedupawayfromthem.Lambopokedacoalandsaid,‘Notbad.Thoughnotreallymuchofaghoststory.’

‘Oh.Ladiesandgentlemen.Distinguishedexpertonghoststoriesherewiththeblackenedstick.Let’sgivehimaroundofapplause.’Fennyclackedhiskneestogethersmirking.

‘Justsaying.Theghostdidn’tcomeintiltheend,anddidn’treallydoanything.Justkindabumbledaroundtheforestlikeamaplesstourist.’

‘Hewastherethewholetime.’‘Howd’yafigure?’Shelookedup.‘Hewasjustthere.’

Theycrawledintothetentafterthefireexhaleditselfempty.Nosleepingbags,justwaddedupsweatshirtsaspillows,pantsandshirtsdrapedovertheirlegsandchests.Fennyhuddledhimselfinthecorner,periodicallyastringofsleepbabbleloosenedfromhisdreaminghead.LamboandTripdoesprawledthemiddleofthetent,twostretchedplankssidebysidefastasleep.Thewindranitsopenpalmagainstthecanvas.

TripdoefoundTapinherdreams.Shewassittingalonebythefireandhecrawledoutfromunderoneoftheburninglogs.Hecoughedsparksandspoketoherinhislowgroggyvoicelikesomesoundoutofadeepholeintheearth.Theyweren’texactlywordsthough,likethewindoutsidewasn’texactlyahand.Ashecrawledfurtheroutofthefirehelefttiny,faintglowingprintswherehishandshadpressed.Inhisslownessshefollowedhimoutofthepulsingradiusoffirelight,awayfromtherufflingtentandupalazyinclinepatchedwithislandsofstonecrop,raisedhereandtherebybendingeruptionsofdrygrasses.NotsounlikethehillTapandErethizonhaddescendedearlierthedaybefore.

Inthedark,Tap’sbodyblendedintoitssurroundings.Tripdoecouldonlydistinguishhimfromitallbythefaintglowingprintshishandsleftonthestonesandtheyellowsplotchesupanddownhisbackthatnowseemedkindledfromsomesparkinsidehisskin.Crestingthehill,Tapstopped,andsomethinglikethemoonbutnotexactlythe

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mooncausedthenighttofinditselfasilverlight.AgainTripdoecouldseehim,butashestoppedandspoketoher,hisform,oncethedependableoutlineofanamphibianself,flickeredaroundtheedges,becomingindistinct.Ashespoke,theydetachedfromthemselves,andheshowedherthepathofhermother,thatcrackedandflattenedroadofhersleavingatangleofdetritusasitsonlymarker,thatwentfarintotheforest,throughtheKatabasisRiver,ontotheothersideandbeyond.Manyglowingthingscametowalkbytheirsides.Hemadeitknowntoherthatthispathwasanendlessonebybendinganalready-saggingboughofcedarNikosihadsnappedwithherpassing.Itarcedinthenight,andTripdoeknew,findingsenselessevidenceofherownlifeineachcrosswisebranch,inthewildproofsofeachstar-shapedleafhanging,bobbingaboveherskull,aswhite-blueasthedeepestocean’slowestfish.

Shedidn’twakeuptilmorning,butshealsoneverstoppedmoving.Tap,revealingquietplacesfullofmagic,ledherthroughthisworldasnothingmorethanashadow,untilatlastshecouldn’ttellhimfromtheforestanditsflickeringedges.Withthefirstdiamondofsun,thetwoworldsmergedandTripdoeopenedhereyes,peeringthroughtheholesinthecanvas.

Afterhavingstruckcamp,eatenafewmoreProteinCrunchEm’s,anddiscussedbrieflytheirplanfortheday,theycontinuedwalkingthepathofTripdoe’smother’srollingbodyuntiltheycame–asTripdoehadinthedream–upontheKatabasisRiver.Onlyafewcoilingcloudschurnedinthesky’sdeepbluepot.Tripdoelookedupandwatchedonegraduallydisappear,unrealintheslownessofitsfading.Thethreeofthemstoodelbowtoelbowonthesmoothedstonesthatleddownintotherollingwater.BothTripdoeandLambohadtheirthumbshookedundertheirbackpackstrapslikeitwastheirfirstdayofschool.TheystoodthereforawhilesilentlytryingtogaugewhetherornotNikosi’spathpickedbackupontheotherside.Thefarshorewasdensewithundergrowth,andafewpocketsofshadowcouldhavebeenspotswhereNikosihadbrokenthrough,butnoneofthemcouldbesurefromasfarawayastheywere.Fenny,hammingituptogetonTripdoe’sgoodside,sworeandcursedtheevilforcesoffatefordoingthistohermother.Hekickedabigstoneandnearlybrokehistoes.Tripdoelaughedtoherselfbeforeswingingherbackpackoffandsettingitinthestones.Shesatdown,untyinghershoes.

Lambowascroucheddowntryingtoloosenacool-lookingrockfromitsimbeddedspotamongtheothers,andwhenhelookedupTripdoewasmostlyundressed,peelinghert-shirtofftobareherskintothebank.Fennywasstandingthereslack-jawedstaringathernakedbodyassheinchedintotheriverinchbyinch.Goosebumpsrippledoverherasshenearlyslippedoffaslickstone,splashingasshebenttocatchherselfonthesurfaceoftherunningwater.Lambo,singingtohimself,hadalreadystartedtakinghisclothesoffbythetimesheglidedunhinderedintheriver,paddlinghardwithherarmstostayinthesamespot.Thefirstfewpaddles,glidingtheever-runningflowoftheriver,feltlikeawaterytreadmill.‘C’monin,yougeeks!It’sonlycoldforasecond!’sheshoutedbetweenhuffs.Lambo,bare-assed,high-kneedhiswayinagoofyrununtilhebelly-floppedintothewaterjustbesideTripdoewholaughedfloatingonherback,nowlettingthecurrentpullheritswayonlytosplashherwaybackupstream.Fennystoodthere,bashfulandunconsciouslyerect,staringatTripdoe’sbreastsuntilshecaughthiseyeandspatamouthfulofriverwaterinhisdirection.‘Quitstaring,perv-o,andjustgetinalready!’

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Notachanceinhellwashetakinghisclothesoff.Heforcedoutalaughandsaid,‘Yeah,andgethypothermiaouthere?YouallcanhaveadeathwishbutIsurewon’t.’ThewetsoundsemanatingfromhistwocompanionsdrippedintoFenny’sears.HewentandpickedupTripdoe’sclothesandpiledthemupontopofherbagsotheywouldn’tgetwet,thenpacedaroundforawhiletryingtolookbusy.TheerectionhewastryingtohidefromTripdoeandLamboledhimwanderingupstreamaways.Heeventuallyfoundabarklesslogthathaddriftedherewhentheriverhadswolleninthewinter.Hehunkereddownonit.Thespotwasunderalowcanopyofleaves,andsittingthereonthetrunkhewasmostlyobscuredfromtheriverandthetwonudists.HetriedtoignoreTripdoe’shootsoflaughter,triedtothinkawaytheerection,triedtogettheburnt-inshapesofherriver-wetnipplesofftheinsidesofhiseyes,butfoundthemimposingthemselvesravenouslyontothelustyforefrontofhisthoughts.Beforehereallyknewwhathewasdoing,hisshortswerearoundhisanklesandhestoodtherebow-kneedcrankinghimselfinaflurryofhornyautomation,elbowcastoutatajaggedanglenearlyblurredwiththedesperatespeedofhisefforttocastoutthiselectricrumbleinhislowergut.Hiseyeswereclosed,andashereachedtheendofhistaskasnapbrokehiseyesopen,andhefoundhimselfmasturbatingdirectlytowardaquill-baringfemaleporcupinethatadvancedtowardhim.Itwastoolatethough,andashespurtedinagaspofpleasureandpain,theporcupinejoltedbackwardsandturnedaround,arcingitsbacktobareitsquillstowardFenny,andletoutastrangescream.ThenFennyscreamed,spewingsemenalloverthestonesinfrontofhimbeforelurchingaway,dickinhand,crashingwithahugehopthroughthecanopybacktowardtheriver,terrorpouringfromhiseyes.

TripdoeandLambohadbeentryingtosynchronizetheirpaddlingbeforeFennycamehoppingback,grippinghispenisinafuriousfist.‘Porcupine!’heyelled.‘Porcupineoverthere,ohfuck!’Hestopped,letgoofhismember,andfranticallyyankedhisshortsbackuparoundhiswaist,runninguptotheshorejustbywheretheyswam,lookingbackwardtoseeifthethingfollowedhimout.Thewindbattedthebranchesaround,butnothingquilledcameoutfromunderthem.

‘Fenny,’back-floatingLambocalledoutfromtheriver,‘Takeiteasyfershitsakes.Tryin’togetagoodsplashinhere.’Hefountainedanarchofwaterintotheair.

‘No,seriouslythough!Therewasthishugespikyfuckeroverinthosebushes,Iswear!Iwasjust,well,lookinfersomeberriesisall…butanywaywegottagetthehelloutofhere!’He’donlyeverseenoneliveporcupineinhiswholelife–notcountingalltheonesonTVofcourse–andheregardedthemallasdevilishmenaces.Nowthatonehadcaughthimjerkingoffhefeltaparticularredfumeburninginhim.‘I’mdeadgoddamnserious,youall,wegottamove!’

Tripdoesighedtheatricallyandwadedslowlybackin,emergingclumsilyandshinily,holdingherarmsouttoletthesundryheroff.Fennyturnedaround,saying,‘Youfolksaren’ttoobashfulareya?’

Dressed,thetripletbalancedtheirwaydownstream,Fennyleadingfrantically,stumblingeverythirdfootoverroundedartifactsofKatabasis’patient,toothlessgnawing.Hekeptateeteringeyecastbehindthem.

BackinthecanopywhereFenny’dtuggedhimselflooseontotherocks,theporcupinesniffedandbrushedlowagainstthestonesfleckedwithFenny’sejaculate.

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Thehumidodorhungtothewindlessconeunderthetree,andhowwouldFennyorTripdoeorLamboeverknowiftheporcupinebrushedtooclosetothestones,andliftedfromthemtheviscousmaterialincumbenttotheformationofsomemutantspawn?Andwhatmanifestationwouldtheproductofsuchminglingtakeon,hereinthisborderlessregionoccupiedbythewildstrangenessofnature?

Theporcupine,perhapsladen,paddedeasttowardPenobska.

Thatnighttheycampedtentlessinalltheworld’swarmthneartheriverinawidesandybankguardedonitssidesbyrakesofdunegrass.Lamboyankedafewbladestochewwhilestaringintotheperfunctoryfire.Katabasishummeditsendlessriffjustoverthesandyhump.Theyweregettingacclimated,intheirfewdays,totherhythmundertheirsolesandtotheflickeringwatchfire,totheas-far-as-they-could-seeperpetualleanofthewindedgreenery,tothehighfully-visiblecurveofthesunfromitspaleemergencetoitsdulldescent,unhinderedbypanelorroofbutbytheslattedshadeofleaf,branch,cloud.

Butgrowing,nagginghungerstingedtheirreverentobservations:asthey’dcometolearn,ProteinCrunch-Em’sonlywentsofar.EventhoughLamboandTripdoehadnabbedadecentstockoffoodfromthePhankitchen,theyhadn’texpectedtofindFenny,andtherationsthatdidn’tamounttomuchinthefirstplacedwindled.NottomentionFenny’sloud-mouthed,red-eyedparanoiadisruptingsomeofthequieteropportunitiesforpeace.

Afterthey’dfledthebankofKatabasisafterhisencounterwiththeporcupine,Fenny’daskedTripdoeforthered-handledpocketknifeshe’dswipedfromadrawerinthekitchenbeforeherandLambolefttownfor,hesaid,security’ssake.Shehandeditoversuspiciouslyandwatchedhimoutofthecornerofhereyewheneverhefellbehindtoslashwiththeunfoldedthree-inchbladealow-hangingleaf,orburyitafewcentimetersintothebarkofatree.

Now,evening,hesathunchednearthefirewithitclutchedinhisshakingfist,clumsilytransformingathickbranchintoflutteringwhitecurlsthatpileduparoundhimlikesnow.Thebranchwascomingtoapoint.Hisarmcurvedinhugesweeping,carvinggesturesthatrockedhiswholebody,andhiseyes,mostlylostinthecomplexemotionalfurrowsofhisface,liftedbrieflywheneversomesmallnoisecamefromtheworldoutsidetheirfirelightbubble.AlthoughshenorLambohadsaidanythingtoFennyabouthismasturbatoryemergenceearlierthatday,Tripdoeprivatelyconsideredthewayhewieldedtheknifesimilartothewayhehadbeenclutchinghispenisashelungedfromhisnearly-privatecanopy.She’dalreadydecidedtotakeitawayfromhimafterhefellasleep.Theknife,thatis.Butfornowsheleanedbackonherelbowsandletherheadflopbackwardsothatthenightsatonthebottomofherworldlikeadeepblackpond.Bloodseepedintothetopofherhead,anditswarmthbrightenedthecolorsofherupturnedview.

Lambosatcrossleggedchewingonhisgrasses,feelingauniquecontentedness.Thejumpymousethathe’dalwaysthoughtofashistrueselfhadcalmeddownsincebeingouthere.Despitethenewaimlessness.Despitetheinevitableadmittanceofhunger.Despitethereturntheyallquietlyacknowledgedthey’dhavetomake.DespiteFenny’sconstantaggressions.Walking,stopping,startingfirestookallthathethoughthewasandkindly,gentlyreducedittothesimplicityofmovement,observation,attention,sparks,anoccasionalgesture.He’dneverbeenawayfromhomeforthislong.

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HavingwatchedbothLamboandFennygraduallyleanfartherandfartherbackintosleepingpiles,andafterhavingslidovertoFennytoplucktheredknifeoutofhissleep-limpfingers,shelayonafolded-uppairofpantsdriftingoff.Asenseofexpectancy,afeelinginherthatknewmorethanitwouldreveal,cameoverher,andbeforeshecouldtellifshewasasleeporawake,Tapcrawledoutfromtheflickeringembers.

Heledhersouthwestalongthebankoftheriverforwhatfeltlikehours.AlongthewayhestoppedtodigintotheearthtoshowTripdoeblue-whitebulbsburiedbeneaththesoil.Heliftedthemoutofthelittlepitshedugandtoldhertakeabite.Hewasashadowofhimself–atonceayellow-orange-blacksalamander,thentheedgeofsomeperipheralblur.Sheheldthebulbsuptohermouthandate,thesweet,loamytasteradiatingthroughher.Theystoppedincrementallythroughoutthedream,eachbulbtakingondifferentshapes,forms,consistencies,thoughalwaysthesametasteandallburiedthesamedepthunderthesurfaceoftheearth.Ediblemarkers,nodes.

Thentheyfoundtheocean.Katabasiscloseditsthroatalmosttoatricklebeforewideningintothebaythatroseandshrunkwiththetides.InthemiddleofthebaysattheislanddeltathatheldPixieTownII,butinsteadofthebridgesspanningthewater,insteadofthebuildingsandpavedpathsandplazas,itsatasTripdoeimagineditwouldhavesatfivehundredyearsearlier,bridgelessandwild.TheydriftedinthewayofdreamsoverKatabasis,andhoveredintheairlookingstraightdownontheisland.Tripdoemadeoutafewflickeringlampshangingfromatreenearthecenterofthedelta,andTapsuggestedinhisedgelesswaythattheydescendtosee.

Thereinaflatmeadowsurroundedbyunpopulatedgrowth,agreatoak.Itswidetrunkdottedwithglowingalcovesallupanddowntheentireheightofthetree.Tripdoe,whonowcouldnotdisjoinherselffromTap’sshiftingdream-presence,approachedthebasebreathlessly.Thefallensilenceseemedtohaveitsownears.Lookingcloserattheglowingalcoves,shesawthattheywereupsidedownhumanskullsthatthetreehadgrownaround,mergedwith.They–theirjawless,graygrins–hadbeensetlikejewelsinthebodyoftheoak,andinthehollowcavernsbehindtheireyesocketssatwhitetallowcandles,burning.Oneskull,theonlyoneatexactlyeyelevelandtheonlyonerightsideup,satdarkly,unlit.Tripdoesteppeduptoit,eyetoeye.WithsomeoldwindguidingherthatcouldhavebeenTap,shepressedherforeheadagainstthesmooth,coolbone,andstayedthere,closinghereyes,untilshefoundherselfstaringouteyelesslyatwhattheskullmusthavebeenstaringatfortheentiretyofthistree’slife.Sheandtheuprightskullmirrored.

Afterwhatcouldhavebeenweekslikethis,staringoutintothewhirlingcyclesofdaysandnightswithoutblinking,awoodencart,yellowlightseepingfromthecracksofitsinterior,ledbysomeblurrybeast,pulledintotheflatmeadow,itslittledooropening.Agnarled,swarthyoldmansteppedout,leaningprecariouslyofftooneside.Throughtheopendoorofthecartshecouldseebizarrelypatternedrugsandblanketsdrapedovertheinteriorwalls,coveringeverything.Eachstephetookwithhisrightfootseemedtosticktotheground,causinghimtolimp,asifsomethingonhissoleleechedintotheearthandwantedtoholditselfthere.HelimpedslowlytowardTripdoe’ssteadyspotinthetree,alongstraightstickwithabobbingflameattheendofitheldoutinfrontofhimlikeincense.Hestoppedinfrontofher,mostlyfillingherfieldofvision,thedeeply-creased,darkwrinklesonhisfacemakingitnearlyimpossibletotellwhatheoncelookedlike,ifhehadeverlookedlikeanythingelse,andhistwistedbodylooselygarbedinthesamestyleoffabricthatcoveredtheinteriorofthecart.Then,slowly,he

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broughtthetipoftheflameuptoherface,andintoheremptyeyesocket,lightingasmallfireinsideherhead.

Sheopenedhereyestothemauvesky,toLambosquattingonhishaunchesstokingthefireinthesandbacktolife.Sandstucktothebacksofherlegswheretheyhadshiftedoffhermakeshiftpants-mat.Shestood,stretchingandbewildered,swipingthesandoffandinhalingthecoolmorningandthetiredsmokethatwentupintoit.Shepressedthumbsofeachhandontothefirmglobesofhereyes,phosphenelightinguptheneuralgridofherbloodvessels.Suchfarmeanderings,andyethereshestood,feetpressedinthesand,fullyrested.Morethanfullyrested.

ShewentoverandsatonLambo’sback,squattingashewas,facingtheoppositedirection.‘Hey.Uh,hey.Notastool,’hesaidbeforelurchinghisbacktoshiftheroffhim.Shelaughedandkickedhimonthedirtyassofhispants.‘Keepmovingsouth?’heasked,sweepingaroundplayfullyatherwiththeglowingendofthepokingstick.Hedugaroundinhisbackpackandheldupacloudyplasticbagwithafewbrownwadsweighingittowardtheground.‘Almostoutofbread.AlmostoutofCrunchEm’s.What’saamateurbandofwanderingex-highschoolerstodo,Iwonder…?Don’tseemanydrive-thru’saroundhere,orgumbojoints…’

Fennywasstillcurledbyhimselfneartheoppositesideofthefiresnoringlightly.He’dapparentlyrolledaroundquiteabitlastnight;sandstucktoeveryinchofexposedskin,hairatanglednestoftinypiecesofgrassandriver-stuff.Tripdoeexpectedsomekindofmammaltoruffleoutofhishairasherolledangrilytohisotherside,thenlurchedupintositting,eyesflailingtheworldtheyfoundthemselvesin.Howcouldhestillbeoutinthisfuckinbastardwilderness?Gumborattledaround,theechoofafouldream.

‘Thefuckdidyoujustsay?’helippedtowardLambo.Hegotupinacreakyleanwithoutwaitingforananswerandteeteredovertoatallgrass-tufttopiss.

‘South,’saidTripdoe,bitingherthumbnail.‘Iknowwheresomefoodmightbe.I’llleadtoday.’

Lambolookedathersidewaysandswunghispoking-stickintotheair,writingsomealienalphabetwiththeglowingend.‘Uh-huh.’

‘Really.Let’spackitupandgetouttahere.I’llfindusbreakfastinanhour,tops.’

Which,yeah,iswhathappened.Shetracedthedream-pathrightdowntotheverytree,anearlyidenticallandscape,anddugdownhalfafootintherichnesstofindplumpclustersofsweetbulbsthatshedistributedtothetworavenousboys.Theirhesitantthumbsranovertheveined,near-translucentgroovestryingtothintheslickofdirtthatclungtothem.Shestood,wipingthebulbsoffwithacornerofherfloppyt-shirt,andateonewhole.Thetastedidnotfeelfamiliar,butsomethinginthesoundtheymadeasshechewedthemdid.

Theycontinuedalongthesamemeanderingrouteforhours,stoppingeveryfewmilestokneelanddigintotheyieldingearthfortheplumpstores.LambocastasmirkatTripdoe,somethingofaquestionheknewnottoask,whileFenny’sinsensatehungeroverlappedanycuriositysuchcoincidentaldiscoveriesmightotherwiseprompt.Aslongasthebulbskeptappearing,whatneedwasthereforquestions?Theyallgottheirfill,andhadevenfoundenoughtopackupforlater.Theproof,Tripdoesangtoherself,isinthepudding.

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Theirslowpaceledthemalongtheriverforseveraldays.Theyharvestedplentyofthebulbstostayfedandhappy,andthetrioonceagainstsunkintoakindofglowingreveriethatintensifiedandsharpenedthedaystheyfloatedthrough.EvenFennycalmeddownenoughtowherehewasn’taskingTripdoeeverythirtyminutesifhecould‘seethatknifeagain’,andsleptwithoutfitorthreatoffit,andhadevenlaughedafewtimesatsomethingTripdoeorLambodidn’tsee.Thethreeofthemformedanacutetriangleatanygivenmoment,mentallyandphysically.Linked,tuned,joinedtotheircommonrouteanddietandurge,theywalkedstep-in-stepbutneverequally,eachfulfillingtheirnecessaryangleineitherspeech,action,orsilentmentalattitude.Theforestseemedtofixtheminthisequation,andtheyallsilentlyacceptedthissofarastheytraveldownthisrivertogether.Lambo’swordless,paleponderingsgavewaytoFenny’sredburstsoftemper,andasFennysunkintohisownquietudeLambospokeandkeptspeakinguntilthesubstanceoftheirinteractionsleveledandadjusted.OnlyTripdoeseemedatallfixedinherself,thepointtheotherpointsofthetriangletraveledtoorawayfromthroughtheirowndecisionsandcalculations.Butnoneofitsosterile,noneofitsomathematic.Theysimplywalked,andthewalkingsorteditallout.Kneelingtodigabulbhere,stoppingtotieashoethere.Anendlesscalibration.

Tripdoe’svividdreamsnevercompletelysubsided–Tapcametohereverynightinvaryingdegreesofintensityorpurpose–buttheextensivevoyagesliketheonethathadplantedhernear-vacantskullinthethickmembraneofthatoakhadalmostfullyceasedaftertheirfirstweek.Sometimesheledherthroughtheforest,sometimeshesimplysatonTripdoe’skneewhilethetwoofthemstaredattheembersinthedream-fireuntilthesuncameup.Themoredreamslikethisshehad,themoresherealizedshehadn’tactuallyfallenasleep,orthatthebridgebetweenthetwoworldshadgrownoverwithsomekindofmossorivy,obscuringthedirectionshetravelledandonwhichbankshemightfindherselfafterhavingsteppedoff.Andthequestion–usuallydriftinginwiththemorningdew–ofwhetherornotthedistinctionmatteredbecameequalpartsirrelevantandunsolvable.Shehadthebulbsasproof–eachsavorybite–ofwhateveritwasTapwastryingtoprovetoherinthatotherspace.

Then,aftermilesofriver-walking,markedbyevenwispsofblacksmokethatcumulatedbillowinglyahalfmileup,PixieTownIIdriftedfrombehindtheforest’scurtainuntilitsatsmoldering,infullview,offinfrontofthem.Fromtheirdistanceitlookedlikeaboatnearsinking:thebuildingssaggedoffbowingintodarkheaps,thedeltaanunevenwreckofitself,blackenedandblackeningyet.Theycouldn’tseeanyflames,butfiguredbytheisland’ssteadystreamofsmokethatsomelowfiresmustbeburningthereintheirownmeasuredheaps.

Theyfoundriverbouldershalf-submergedtositon–eachtheirownthrone–whilewatchingthestrange,silent,andstillvoyageofthedestroyedvessel.Thesummerwrungitshandsdryassunshonestraightdownonthemwithoutthesofteningofclouds.Theriveraribbonofbluelightbulbsflickeringoffandon,theedgeofitclappingagainsttheirseatslikesomewearyaudience.Abeautifulday,madealarmingbythepresenceofthisartificialshading.

ThethreeofthemknewwhatPixieTownIIwas,whatithadbeen.Andtheyknewwhatithadbeenbeforethat,eventhoughtheoriginalPixieTown–weekenddestinationforhonestfamiliestryingtofindwaystoenjoytimetogether–closeddownandhadbeenconvertedintoitsmorehedonisticversionlongbeforetheywereborn,andthenmutiniedandconvertedonceagainintoitsunadvertised,rehabilitatedand

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repurposedisleonlyafewyearslater.ExceptnooneinPenobskaevertalkedabouthowPixieTownIIhadbeenreclaimedandsalvagedbyitsworkers.Infact,mostparentsjustpretendeditwasstillanadultthemepark,thealternativeofacknowledgingthetakeoverandconversionofitintoalawlessagriculturalzonehardertoembraceorunderstand.

Elementaryschoolintroducedthemtocrudehumorsourcedfromtherumorsofwhatwentonthere,andwhenparentsoffriendssaidtheywere‘goingoutoftown’fortheweekend,everybodysnickeredintotheirfists,theirsonordaughtercurlingintothecornerdiscomfited.Butnoneofthemhadeveractuallyseenthisplace,itsbridgesslightly,gracefullyalmost,arcedfromthepavedbankoverthecurrentanddownintotherollingentrancelot;thegrounds’meticulouslycared-forarborandmuseum-likereverenceforitsshrubsandotherornamentalgrowers.Thelazypathwaysofboothafterbooth,cryingvendorsgatheringanunbalancedcongregationofsloppyinebriants.There’dbeennoreasonforthemevertobehere,steepedastheywereinyouth,astheirparentshadbeenindenial.Andiftheyever,somehow,hadgone,theywouldn’t’veevenfoundanyoftheoldPixieTownIIhedonismanyways.ThewholeislandwasashiftingblipofuncertaintytothepeopleofPenobska,thechildrenespecially,sotheykeptitinthesafetrunkofmyth,andtiptoedjokesarounditasifitstruenaturemightsomedaycomeawakeandbareitsteethatthem.

Whichnow,walk-wearylegsbowedoutoverbouldersandworn-downsneakersdanglingbarelyoverthethinnestedgeofwater,theysawwakeinallitscurrency:aruinheavingitshotnessintothesky.And,Tripdoenoticed,afewslowly-movingblipsmovedawayfromtheburninglandmassoverthebridge.People.Peopleleavingingroupsofthree,four,five,slowly,nearlyashamedintheirslowness.Tripdoeslappedbothhandsdownonherkneesandcoughed.‘Shit,’shesaid.‘Let’sgocheckitout.’Aflashofthatburningstickslippingintohereyesocket.

Shehoppeddownintoasplashandthumbedherbackpackupontohershouldersandsetoff.Neitheroftheboysbudgedofftheirboulders.Thesoundofherownfeetslappingthewatermadeitsoundliketheywerefollowing,butwhenshecastasidelongeyebehindtocheck,shesawthemperchedontheirrudimentarycairnslikeapairofwaterloggedcrows.Fennywasopen-mouthed,hishandsheldinsomekindofprayeronhislap,andLamborolledabulbbetweenhisfingersbeforethrowingitbackintohismouth.Shewavedthemon,tryingnottolookfrustrated,butthetwolookedtohavereachedsomementallimit.Smokeandstrangevagrantscrossingthemythicbridge.Toomuch.

Shesplashedbackoverandspoketothem,attemptingtobolsterthemwithsimplicity.Justfifteenminutesmore.Twomoremiles.Shepromised.Theydidn’tknowwhatwasgoingonthereanyway,justapeekandwe’llturnbackandfindsomeotherroute.Wedon’thavetogoonthebridgeorevennearit,justupawaysaheadtogetabetter,higherviewoftheisland.

Theboyssilentlydisagreed.Fennylaughedtohimself,slappinghisbulb-swollenpockets,andsaid,‘I’mhappyhere,thankya.’

Lamboraisedhisshouldersintotheair,aneasyanswer.Troubleupaheadontheriverwastoomuch,hisgestureseemedtosay.

Tripdoesighedandsplashedbacktoherboulderwhereshestaredoutattheisland.Abeadofsweatrolleddownherneck,andshetriedtoimaginewhatthefacesofthepeoplepassingonthebridgemightlooklike.Assheleanedfurtherbackonthe

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stoneapainfultingepokedatherrightbuttock.Shesatupanddoveherhandintoherpocket.Thereshewas,littlewoodenher,staringupatherwiththosesmudgedeyes.

ChapterSeventeen–InWhichPenobskaPanics

Tap–thephysicalsalamanderly-manifestationversion–hadfoundhisnewhomeinsidethescale-modelPhanfamilyhomethatsatneartheabruptdropoffoftheOPC’sraiseddiorama.Mini-Penobskawasnearlytheexactlyperfectsizeforhimtopretendthathewasactuallyahumanbeing.Astrangehominessovercamehiminhissolitude.HesleptinTripdoe’sclunkywoodenbedroom.Hepatteredquicklydownthesidewalkslikehehadsomewhereimportanttobe.HewenttotheOfficeofPrefecturalCommandtomapoutonitsownextremelytiny,detaileddioramawhereheshouldwalktothatday.Soon,theratiosbetweenhimselfandhisnewperfectly-scaledenvironmentmelded,andhefeltdizzylookingupintothesixlightsthatshonedownonhimatalltimes,rememberingthelargerworldanditsscalethatexcludedandthreatenedhim.ButhewasabletocontactTripdoestill,thoughhecouldfeelhislinktohergrowingweakerandweaker.

He’dfoundhiswaytotheOPCafterKandyhadquiltedandkidnappedErethizon.AloneoutsideofBozeman’shouse,gettinggraduallymoreandmoredepressedbeingaroundthecagedthrongoffemaleporcupines,hewanderedintothegaragewhereBozemaneventuallypulledinto.Bozeman,smellinglikeexpiredsalamiandslickwithwhatappearedtobesweat,slammedshuthistruckandstompedinsidewherehestayedforonlyawhilebeforehompingbackout.Hisknitbrowwasclearlyaproductofhimbeingpissedoff.Taphadmeanwhileclamberedintothebedofthetruckandlaiddownamongthebizarrestacksoflittletreeswherehefellasleepunderamaple.

BozemanunlatchingandswingingopenthebedwokeTap,whosnuckoutinbetweenBozeman’sunloadingtrips.HeeventuallyfoundhiswayinsidetheOPCthroughadamagedventilationgrateandscamperedaroundtheairductsforwhatfeltlikehoursbeforefinallyslitheringthroughaslatdownintothemainlobbywheretheperfectly-scaledPenobskabeckonedhim.Hishome.Hequietlycoughedvent-dust.

BozemanwasalreadydigginguplittlepilesofPenobskaandreplacingthemwiththebonsaithathe’dstackedupnexttotheedgeofthediorama.Heworkedwiththefervorofareligiouszealot,eyestrainedontheirtask.Tapwatchedfromadarknookontheothersideofthelobby.HesatonthefloorandcouldseeallthewayunderthedioramatoBozeman’sshufflingboots.Astrangeapparatusjuttedoutfromtheminiature’sunderbelly,maybehavingtodowiththesewerorelectricalsystem,ablockyreversalofthetinyworldontheothersideofthesurface.

EventuallyBozeman,halfwaydonewiththeplanting,shuffledintohisofficewherehepassedoutonthefloor,whichwaswhenTaptookhisfirsttourofhisownPenobska,andsettledintothePhanfamily’sclunkyhome.

Bozemanwokeupeventually,andresumedhisfranticworkinthesamewrinkledoutfithe’dhadonsincedrivingintotheOPCwithhisloadoftrees.TapsimplysnuggledintobedandsleptwhileBozemanworked,therhythmicspooningofthePunyPrefecture’ssoilakindoflullaby,andwanderedaroundtownwhenBozemanslept.

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Becausethelightswerealwayson,Tap’sinternalsleepcyclegotalljostledloose,andhealwayshadalethargictingetohiswanderings,andcouldn’twaittohearthesoundofBozemantrundlingoutofhisofficesothathecouldscootbackhomeandfallintoathicksleep.

Afterafewdaysofthis,andafterthestackofbonsaihaddiminished,TapwastiptoeingoutsideGullahBowl.HeendedupgoinginsidetotakealookattheplacethatkilledLawnyawn,andgotcaughtuplookingatandreadingthedetailedmenu.Hedidn’thearBozemancomebackoutandstartplantingthelastfewtreesaroundtown.Whenhe’dbenddowntohoistanotherbonsaifromitspot,rootsexposed,TapdartedoutofGullahBowlandtriedtofindabetterhidingspot.Ashecontinuedfurtherintotheheartofdiorama,hegotclosertoBozeman’smodelhome.Mostlyobscuredinalushgroveofbonsai,Tapfoundhiswayinsideandstartedlookingaround,catchinghisbreath,admiringthegildedsconcesandbaroquewall-hangings.Somethingsmelledweird.Heinhaledwetlyandfollowedhisnose-holestoahalf-painteddoorthatawindingstaircasedroppedoutof.Hehadbasicallyforgottenthathewasinsideamodeloftherealworld,thedetailwassoexactandfull.ThestairsopenedoutintoacorridorlitbyflickeringLEDsconces,withdoorwayssetoneithersideoppositeeachother.ThesmellgrewthickerasTapwentslowlydownthehall.Inaroomtohisright,treadmillssatinarowfacingawallofmirrors,andTapcouldhearafaintbizarrescratchingorhummingcomingfrombeneathhim.Hecouldmakeoutarectangleonthefloorwithalatchpokingupoutoftheground.Hehookedhisteetharounditandswungaroundtotheothersidetolifttherectangleswingingfromitshinges.Itflippedopenwithastalewheeze,thehotodorseepinginaquickcloudintothestuffyroom.Tapgagged,lettingthelatchgoandbackingupdeeperintothetreadmillroom.Hebumpedintooneofthemachines,andfeltithadbeencarvedoutoflightweightbalsawood.

Thescratchingnoisewasloudernow,andalowglowcrawledupfromtheopenrectangle.Tappeepedaroundtheedgeandlookeddownintoit.Morestairsledintoafeaturelessroom.Whatlookedlikemoundsofmudorshitrolledalongthefloorandwet,stinkyheatswamupintoTap’seyes.Heincheddownafewstepsandbenthisheadlowandsawrowsofpatchy,red-eyedratsrunningmindlesslyawayonshit-spatteredexercisewheels.Eachratworeitsowncanvasharnessthatathinmetalwireconnectedtotheceiling.Apatchoneachoftheirgutshadbeenshavedandtheskinwasmottledwithflecksofblood,tubeswithclearliquidpuncturedinapuckeredscar,fluidpumpingthroughthem.Thefloorwasthickwiththeirpiling,liquidyshit.

Theairfeltcharged,andTaprealizedtheframesoftheexercisewheelsweregroundedintoagridnetworkofcopperwiringthatgatheredattheendoftheroominafatbundlethatdisappearedthroughaholeinthewall.Oneratblinkedandsloweddown,seemedtostumbleandthensimplywentlimp,itsbodytossedinawiggle,looselydanglingafewmillimetersoffthegroundfromwheretheharnesspreventeditfromgoingcompletelydown.Thelightsintheroomjumpedanddimmed.Hebackedhiswayupstairsandswungtherectangleclosedbeforeclimbinghiswaybackuptothemainfloorofthehousewherehepeekedoutofthebackwindowsthatshowedaviewofamakeshiftpenfilled–notwithrats–butwithwoodenporcupines.Theyallhadstrangesmilespaintedontotheirheads.

Thenaboomingswearwordcrackedtheairlikeathunderclap,andTapsunklowtothegroundasthehousejoltedawayfromitsfoundationsandhoveredoverthetownandthenfounditswayontothescuffedbrownpaperofthefloor.Theflatnessof

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thenon-PenobskancarpetlandscaperemindedTapofthelargenessoftheworld,andrantotheothersideofthehousetolookupatBozeman,floppedoverthediorama,uptohisshoulderdiggingthedeadratoutofitssubterraneangenerationroom.Hewormedhiswasbacktostanding,ratheldinhismeatyfist,andstrodeovertothefrontdoortothrowthebodyoutintothebushes,swearwordsbubblingupoutofhisthroat.Tapmadeabreakfortheedgeofthediorama,andscamperedupthelegofonecornerbeforeBozemancamebackaroundtogointohisoffice.HeskirtedaroundthePrefecture’ssecurityfenceuntilhefoundtheholeTripdoehadpokedthroughbehindherhouse,clamberedthroughit,andintothebackdoor.FromthefrontwindowhecaughtaglimpseofBozemanshavingabaldpatchontothesideofafreshratwithapocketknifeandsomespitbeforeloweringitdownintothechamber.

Forthenextfewdays,Tapmadeanefforttocommunicatewiththeratstotryandseehowtheirmindsfunctioned,but,liketheporcupineshe’dfoundsodishearteningoutsideinthefull-sizeworld,hecouldn’tpenetratetheirthoughtsordreams,fortheyneversleptandtheirsoletaskofpatteringawayontheexercisewheelsoccupiedtheirentirefieldofattention.Once,heevenwentfurtherdownintotheroomthanbefore,trackingfootprintsintheshit,totryandspeakwiththemdirectly.Buthispresencecoaxednothingmorethanadisinterestedglance.

BecauseofTap’sinabilitytobreakthroughit,theirenslavementbecamejustanotherfeatureinthetown,notunliketheredandyellowGullahBowl,orPenobskaPublicParkwithitslushgroveoftrees.Theyblendedintohisday-to-dayroutines,hisgradualsinkingintothestructuresandsolitudesofthisfaketownwhoselifehefabricatedoutofboredom,andsustainedthroughsheerdelusion.Andeventuallythesoundoftherats’runningandtheelectricalresidueoftheireffortsbecamenothingmorethanthefacts,andTapforgottocommunicatewithTripdoeexceptintheverydeepesthourofslumber,whicheventhenhehadahardtimemusteringenoughinteresttodoanythingmorethansitbesidethefirewithher.

Meanwhile,Bozemanhadalmosttotallycompletedmini-Penobska.Allthebonsaiwereintheearth,thesewersandelectricalsystemfunctionedexactlyashehadimaginedit,andforthemostpartthethinglooked,smelled,sounded,andfeltincrediblylife-like.Hehadyettotasteit,though…LookingdownonthearrayofhisPrefecture,Bozemancouldn’thelpbutfeelsomewhatomnipotent.Ashestoodtheresurveyinghisfinalproduct,hefeltaslightjitterinhisgroin.Histesticlestwitchedandaheatspreadoutfromthem.Somethingwascomingtolifedownthere,andherushedintohisofficetograbthekeystohistruckandburntrubberallthewaybackhomewhereherushedtofindKandytocoaxherintoaboutoflovemaking.Whatabeautifulco-occurrence!ThefoundingofthescaledPrefecture,andtheraisingofhislimpness!

Hethunderedaroundthehousetryingtolocateher,shoutinghernameandthrowingdoorsopenfrantically,afraidallthismovementmighthavealreadydisruptedthestirringhehadfeltinhisloins.Heranintothebasementwherehewhippedthedoortothetreadmillstudioopen.Kandywasinthere,kneelinginhernakedness,nexttoahugemaleporcupinethatappearedtobehavingsomekindofconversationwithher.ShelookedupinastartledhazeatBozemanwhosehorrorwentunguardedatthediscoveryofamaleporcupinelooseinhisbasement.‘Fuckingcrap,’hewhisperedthroughterror-clenchedteeth.

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Sheexplained–makingitallupasshewentofcourse–thatshehadtalkedwithDr.Sassoon,whohadrecommendedthemostextremesolutiontoBozeman’ssexuallapse:thesacrificeofafully-grownmaleporcupineandthesubsequentremovalandconsumptionofitsgallbladder.ShesaidthatSassoonwassureofthisremedy,buthadneglectedtoinformthemofitduetoitscontroversialnature,butthatKandyhadinsisted,wantingthesacrificetocoincidewiththeunveilingofthediorama.Shethought– liar–thattheactwouldbeagifttoBozeman,atokenofherappreciationforallthehardworkhe’dbeendoingforthePrefecturebymakingitsownmodel.Bymakingamodelpartneroutofher,too.ShestoodupandpaddedovertoBozemanandwrappedherwarmarmsaroundhiminahugthatfeltalltoofreshonaccountoftheact’srarity.Heclosedhiseyesandmeltedintoherembrace,nearlyforgettingtheporcupinethatstoodtherenearlyimmobile.

Erethizondidn’tmove,hadintruthalreadyacceptedhisstatusasmartyr,thoughdidn’tyetknowthisiswhathewouldbecome.

Weekspass.Dr.Sassoon,convincedbyKandythathe’dendorsedtheplantosacrifice

Erethizonduringtheunveilingceremony,preparedthelobbyoftheOPCfortheevent.HehunghugechandelierseverywhereanddrapedthespaceindeeppurplevelvetfabricsandfoundahugemetalbowltopourallofErethizon’sbloodinto.Hedraggedatwo-footmini-stageinforBozemantostandonwhilemakinghisaddress,andstitchedtogethersomeceremonialrobesoutofthepilesofporcupinepeltstheystoredintheOPC’sbroomcloset.Hedesignedsomeprettycatchyfliersfortheeventandsprintedaroundinthedeadofnightwearingallblacksprinklingtheminfrontofpeople’sdoorstepsandundertheircars’windshieldwipers,inpublicrestroomsandinthemenusofrestaurants.

ThePrefecturebuzzedwiththeupcomingevent.TheUnveilingCeremony,itwascalled,wherethetownspeoplewouldfinallydiscoverwhereallthedivertedpublicfundshadbeengoingforthepastthreeyears.Someexpectedanewoutlineforpublicschools,someadifferenttaxsystem.NoneguessedthattheywouldbetreatedwithascaleversionoftheirPrefecture.

Sincethecompletionofthediorama,Bozemanhadbeendrinkingmoretofillthetimeheusuallyspentworkingonhisperfections.Hewokeupanddrankorangejuicewithvodka,andkeptdrinkingallvarietiesofboozeuntilhecrumpledintoashiveringballsomewherearoundsevenintheevening.AllhehadtodowaswaitforSassoontofinishhispreparations.

BozemanwastoodrunktorealizeSassoonwasactuallyRoge,thoughlurkingsomewhereinthefattyfoldsofhisbrainwasthisknowledge.Hedidn’tmuchcare,andwouldn’tevenifhehadbeensoberenoughtoacknowledgeithead-on.Sincethecompletionofthemini-Penobska,hefeltlikehispurposehaddissolved,andwasnowfloatingthroughhisownlifeasifinadream,thescamsandfraudulencesofthepastandpresentasimplehazyrealitythathedidn’tneedandwouldn’tlookat.Hejustwantedthisprolongedphaseofshrunkenesstopass,andtofullyoccupyhisownprideonceagain.

Andonthemorningoftheevent,tangleduplikenervousbarbedwire,hedecidedhewouldgetrip-roaringlydrunkfortheceremony.Afterall,hewasexpectedtoeatthefreshgallbladderoutofamaleporcupine.Sointhekitchenofhishomehe

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gulpeddownaglassfilledhalfwaywithmilk,halfwaywithvodka,withashotofporcupinesecretionforoldtime’ssake,andstumbledintothelaundryroomtocloakhimselfinthebulkygarmentSassoonhadstitchedtogether.Wearingthecloakhelookedlikeamassivebipedalporcupinewithahumanheadandglassy,drunk-shinyeyes.Helaughedintothemirrorattheterrorthesightofhimselfexposed,andathowgoodthenakedlumpsofhisbodyfeltpressedupsoclosetotherawskinofaporcupine.Somehow,intheblurryreflectionhegazedat,heknewhowthedaywouldend.

HeshoutedupstairstoKandywhohadbeenbathingsincethepreviouseveningtogetready.Itwastimetoleave.

WhentheygottotheOPCafterhavingdangerouslyswervedallthewayfromBozeman’shouse,bannersflewfromhugebamboopoles,andtheexteriorofthebuildinghadbeenelegantlytransformed.ErethizonhadbeencagedandplacedinthebedofBozeman’struck,andtheynearlydroppedhimseveraltimeswhilecartinghiminthroughthefrontdoors.

Insteadofcoffee,Roge/SassoonhadbeeninjectinghimselfwiththefluidBozemanusedtofeedandrewardtheratsandtheporcupinesthatpoweredhissmalltownandthelargerone.Itwasessentiallyacarefulblendofliquidaminosandproteins,alongwithmorphineandamphetamines.Hisleftarmwasacanvasofredpolkadotswherehe’dmadetheinjections,andhiswiredeyessatunblinkingintherookeryofthepaleheadthatSassoonandthecorrodedremnantsofRogecircledaroundlikestarvingvultures.WhenBozemanandKandy–eachgarbedinthesameporcupinepeltcloaksasRoge/Sassoon–carefullycarriedthecageinthroughthefrontdoors,themusclesinRoge’sfacetightenedinthecorrectareasinorderforasmiletoappearthere,likeatiredmagictrick.‘Welcome,PrefectBozeman,totheUnveilingCeremony.’HekneltdownbythecagedporcupineandwiggledhisfingerinErethizon’stiredface.‘Andwelcome,oldfriend.’

Taphadbeenobservingthewholemessfromhislazykingdom,unsureofwhattodo.He’dbeenabletotapintoTripdoe’sdreamsafewnightsagoandknewtheywouldbereturningthatday.Theonlythinghefeltlikehecoulddointhemidstofallthislunacywaswaitforherandhertwocompanionstoarrive.

ThegeneralpopulacetrickledintotheOPC’slobbyafewhourslater,millingaboutinastrangesemi-hushthatmaskedtheencroachingnervousnessoftheevent.MostofthemhadnoideaPrefectBozemanhadessentiallygonecompletelyinsane,andwhoseonlyaidewasnowadrug-addledlunaticaswell.Theairofexpectancywaveredasthelobbyfilledupfortheevent.

Rogehaddrapedahugevelvetsheetoverthediorama,andforthefirsttimesincehavingmovedin,Tapsatinafulldarkness.Hepacedupanddownthedarkenedstreets,insomeplacesalmostabletoleapupandbrushagainstthelow-hangingvelvetatmosphere.Itwaspleasantinitsownway.

AhushfelloverthecrowdofPenobskansasRoge/Sassoondimmedthelightsandswitchedonarecordofgroaningorganmusic.Kandyglidedoutfrombehindafewvelvetdrapes,draggingasmoothcartalsocoveredinavelvetsheet.Erethizon,too,satstillinhisPurplenight,waiting.Kandyplacedthecartbehindthepodiumandnextto

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thehugemetalbowland,lookingoutintothecrowdofawestruckPenobskans,whippedthesheetofftounveilthemassiveporcupine.Astartledgasprippledthroughtheroom,onewomannearlyfainted.Bozeman,followedbyhisattendantRoge,stumbledoutintotheroom,andasinglespotlightopeneduponthepodiumthathesomehowmanagedtoclamberhiswayontowithoutpukingorfallingover.Heswayedupthereintheelectricsilenceinhissharpbrowncloak,sippingcasuallyfromalargechalice.

‘PeopleofPenobska.ItisI.PrefectBozeman.Wehavegatheredheretodaytobidthepastgoodbye,andusherinthefutureofprogressandplenty.I’msureyou’reallwonderingwhat’sgoingonbeneaththissheethere.’KandywasbusyunlockingandshuttlingthedazedErethizonoutofhiscage.Hewasheldbyaporcupine-leatherleashthattrailedfromherforearmdowntohisneck.TheywaitedbehindBozemanforthecue.

‘Iknowthatthetownhasbeenstrugglingwithavarietyofwoesasoflate,namelytheviolentintrusionofcreaturessuchasthese,’hesaid,gesturingbackwardsatErethizon.‘Butasoftoday,thosewoesshalldiminishinthelightofanewageofself-consciousness!’Kandyyankedtheleash,Erethizoncoughedandhisquillsperkedupforthefirsttimeinalongtime.Hecouldn’thelpit–theleashwastootightandwhenKandyyankedonitagain,itcausedhisperipherytoblurandblacken.‘Andwiththat,Iunveiltoyoualltheworldasweknowit,toscale,forthesakeofbetterunderstandingtheworldanditsmany…uh…functions!’Rogewhippedthevelvetsheetoffinatheatricalflourishandflippedtheoverheadlightson.Tap,whohadfoundhiswaytothelawnofthemini-OPC,wasdazedbythesuddenbrightness,andsatthereblindandshufflingtryingtofindhiswayinsidenottobeseen.

AsoundofadmirationbubbledfromthePenobskans,butBozeman,fromhisheightenedperch,wastheonlypersonwhosawTap’sfranticpacing.ThedeeprichyellowandblackofhisskinflashedlightbackatBozemanlikecoinsatthebottomofawishingwell,andtheamphibiousbendingofhistorsolookedriver-like,orthatofasnake.Drunkandterrified,Bozemanlurchedbackwardandslippedonthetrailingedgeofhiscloak,fallingbackwards,directlyontothenow-perfectly-erectquillsofErethizon.Thetwoexchangedeachother’squills–Bozeman’scloak’sintoErethizon’sonlyremainingeyeball,piercingandpoppingitbeforejamminganddisruptingandscramblinghisbrain,agushofbloodliftingoutofthewound,andErethizon’salmostcompletelyfillingBozeman’sbackandarms,puncturingdeepintohisspinalcordandmuscle,fillingthebackofhisheadupwiththeirsharppoints.Thetwoquiveredintheirspasmodicexchange,bloodspreadingnowbeneaththeminthefractionoftimeittookforbothofthemtocompletelykilloneanother,andastheyseparatedfromthemselvestheirdepartingspiritsmingledinthehugecolumnoflightthatcametogatherthem,andtheycouldn’ttellthelightfromeachother,ortheirowncurtailedlivesfromthatofaporcupine,aman,asalamander.Thentheychangedcompletelyandforever,andfoundthemselvesonthebankofsomenewstream,wide-eyedandblinkingintheirnewness.

Thecrowdunhinged,andunhingedfurtheryetasahordeofdemented,stringy,andshit-coveredratsspreadloosearoundtheirankles–theimpactofBozeman’sfallingbodycausedtheshit-soaked,rottingflooroftheexercisewheelstudiotogiveway,droppingoutfromundertheratsthatfell,snappingtheircords,andsentscurryinginblindterrorthroughoutthelobby.PenobskansscreamedinterrifyingcrescendosandraninaflailingmobthroughthebottleneckeddoorsoftheOPC,crushingratsunderfootlikespilledpopcornandshovingeachotherasidetofleetheterribleunveiling.Kandy

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andRoge,too,hadtakenupshoving,andRogecurledhisheadintohiscloakandranatfullspeedatthecrowdbaringhisquills,slammingintoneighborsandfillingtheirskinwithsharpness.

Outside,Tripdoe,Fenny,andLambostoppedindisbeliefastheywatchedPenobskansfleeindrovesfromtheOPC.Theyhadfinallydecided–afterhavingmetupwithapartyofwandererswhohadabandonedtheburningwreckageofPixieTownII–toreturntoPenobskaProperinordertoseekoutBozeman’spermissiontoallowthedisplacedpeoplesaplaceintown.Theyweresurprisedbyhowemptythestreetswere,buthadfoundaflyerblowingdownthesidewalkthattoldthemwhereeverybodyhadgone.

Theydidn’trealizetheylookedlikewildpeople,hairlitteredwithtwigsandleaves,dirtcakingtheirkneesandcheeks,clothestornandsmudged.Theterror-blindPenobskanstookonelookatthetrioandfledfromthemasiffromsomespecter.Thethreeofthem–unbeknownsttoeachother–glowedwithakindofgreenluminescencefromallthebulbstheyhadeaten.Itwasfaint,butintheday’sfulllightandintheeyesofthetownspeople,itwasalltooapparent.

ShesawRogerunningdownthestreetonallfours,wearingaspikycape.Sheyelledhisnameandhelookedup,abriefbutdefinitegleamofrecognitionfilledhiseyesbeforedescendingbackintotheterrorhewasfullof.Hecontinuedinthiswayuntilheskirtedtheedgeoftheforest–halfman,halfporcupine–nevertobeseeninhisoldformagain.

Lambohadgoneonahead,climbingthestepsuptotheentranceoftheOPC.Bloodywadsofcrushedratsdottedthefloor,andthetwoothersyouthsfollowedandcameuptotheintertwinedpileofdeaththathadreplacedBozemanandErethizon.AbitterwaveofgriefpassedoverTripdoe,thenTap’svoicefiledherhead.Hey.Overhere.Sheturnedtoseeherguidesittingneartheentranceofthemini-OPC.Submergedinthetownashewas,hehadn’tseentheunfoldedhorror,buthadhearditplentywell.HethencommunicatedtoTripdoethatshehadtogotoBozeman’shouse,andcheckinthebasementthereforarectangleonthefloor.Sheputherhanddowninfrontofhimtoseeifhewouldclimbontoher.Hesimplywaggedhishead,gesturingtothetownaroundhim.Shenodded,andexplainedtoLamboandFennythatshe’dbebackinalittlewhile.

Theireyeswereblank,butwhenshepriedthecablesoutofthewallthathookedthetreadmillsshe’drepairedovertheyearsuptotheelectricalgrid,theendlessimagesofbabyporcupinesthatthefemaleporcupineschasedafteronthescreensinfrontofthemzippedintodarkness,andtheystoppedintheirtracks.Tripdoewentaroundonebyoneunhookingthemfromtheirharnesses,chasingthemonebyoneupthestairs,throughBozeman’shouse,andintothelightofdaywheretheytookoffinablindsunlitecstasythroughthestreetswheretheyunknowinglybroughtpureterrorintotheheartsofthePenobskans.AsTripdoereleasedmoreporcupinesintothetown,themorePenobskansranagainsttheireveryinstinctintotheforestwheretheydisappeared,mergedwith,perhaps,thetangledtreesandtheirundergrowth.Theirworldhadturnedinsideout,andTripdoeemergedfromthebasementfullofsomethingshehadneverfeltbefore.

Thereonthecounter,nexttoabonsaiinaniridescentgreenpotthatLawnyawnhadmadewithhisownhandsandthatBozemanhadkeptforhimself,satalittleblack

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seedinajar.Tripdoepickeditupandbroughtitoutsidewheresheunlatchedthepenandletthecrowdofyoungfemalesloose.Shestoopedinthedusty,shit-cakedpenanddugalittleholeinthemustyearth.Sheplacedthelittleseedthere,coveredit,andstood,baringherfacetothesun,andwaitedforthedusttheporcupineshadraisedtosettleoverher.

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Afterward What we have here has its origins in a ten-page story that I wrote for Anna Keesey’s

Fiction class in the Spring of 2015. In that story, Tripdoe is an amateur bean plant enthusiast; Roge is the foreman of a brick factory; Tripdoe has an older brother named Muritiv who gets crippled by Bozeman after he makes a mockery out of his high school graduation; Erethizon is essentially intact, but there were no salamanders; wealthy people who lived in flying McMansions floated down the Katabasis River in huge glass orbs made from the melted windows of Roge’s incredibly-hot brick factory in order to get to Pixie Town II, which has been what it is since the very beginning. Most of the details have changed, but the core of this story has always been the same, and is what kept me writing this whole time: some well-meaning youths having to navigate their way through a series of absurd expectations, only to find in the end that the expectations are founded on yet more absurdities whose causes can be traced to personal vanity, greed, distrust, and a lack of imagination on the part of those who set them. Huh.

The story originally floated into my head because of a song called “Penobska Oakwalk” by a musical group known as Quilt. My favorite lines of “Penobska Oakwalk” can be found as an epigraph to this story. In that song, there are another few lines that, to me, sound like “Oh the bricks they fall, the bricks they fall on Penobska”. Apparently this mentioning of bricks really stuck with me, because I originally based the entire story around the goddamn things. Care for a joke? What’s red and bad for your teeth? A brick. Well, ok.

The not-so-complete product you have before you now is something fairly different, but at its most basic level the exact same. The process of writing all of this has spanned well over a year, and looking at it now, it seems more like an artifact of my own struggle to figure out what to value in my own life, and how to navigate the expectations of my family, my society (oh boy), and myself. This, I suppose, is why I always felt drawn back to writing it: I was coming up with the answers to the characters’ predicaments at the same time as I was coming up with those to my own. And as we all know, now that I’ve nearly graduated from college I have all the answers to these predicaments, completely and absolutely. So please give me a job.

Well, yeah, la-dee-da. I think about Lex Runciman’s sagery when I try to imagine what it is I’ve learned by writing this story. He’s standing in front of me at his retirement party in the lobby (?) of TJ Day with a mostly full glass of white wine, saying, “You teach yourself how to write it as you’re writing it.” He probably chuckles after this. But, like most of what Lex ever said to me about writing, this is certainly true. As I wrote more and more, the more I felt capable of writing, and the more I trusted the strange relationship between time and the construction of narrative. I would come to a fork in the road and not know which way to go, so I would simply let the story sit for a few days. Then, voilà, while microwaving an old plate of noodles or locking up my bike, the next part of the story would be sitting there on my shoulder whispering a joke into my ear. This kind of a relationship requires a lot of marinade time, which is something, here at the last tick of the semester clock, I have basically none of. Hence the (current) lack of a conclusion. Sorry about that. Maybe someday in the semi-near future I’ll sneak into the library archives with a stapler and the finished remainder of the story, and splice the two together.

But my process was a slow one, and I don’t regret a second of it. If for some strange, inexplicable reason any students of writing happen to be reading this, just know that marinade time is the best solution to your writing woes. I know it may not seem like you have much of it, but you do, or at least you can always pretend like you do in order to stave off the feelings of panic that may well up within you. Writing hurriedly because you have to turn something in is the cause of all of humanity’s current woes. All of them. Just start early and be honest with what you want to say, and all will be well, and you will be happy. I think

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letting one’s expectations and plans for a story marinade is essential to it becoming exactly what it needs to be, and although there were times that I felt like I had begun something too elaborate to ever actually finish, I knew that if I simply practiced patience and kept the story in the back of my mind, that the little tale-spinner inside each and every one of us would sort things out and give me the abridged versions of his notes so that I might proceed.

The largest influence of my writing style, and my love of fiction, and my decision to pursue, it is Thomas Pynchon, whose writing I love dearly and who I wish health upon wherever in the world he may dwell. Other authors that opened up the world of possibilities for me are Ken Kesey, Denis Johnson, Edward P. Jones, Deborah Eisenberg, Anne Cameron, Haruki Murakami, on and on and on. But how can I qualify all the influences over the course of my writing this story? The salamanders I found inside that irrigation control-valve box that became Tap? The fateful day my freshman year where my INQS professor Theirry Durand paraphrased the Schopenhauer quote that largely inspired (along with the Quilt song) the initial trajectory of this story (located as an epigraph)? My friend Jonah’s mom who told me during a séance that I would be successful? The patient and infinitely encouraging readings of draft after draft by Joe Wilkins, Alex Dinh, and Sarah Stark? The legions of bizarre observations that managed to weasel their way into this story? The gallons of Viso that are to blame for the longer, more elaborate paragraphs that seem to linger for a bit too long? All of these and so much more goes into the lengthy process of trying to articulate the strange stimuli that prompts me to write all of this down in the first place.

My next step then, simply, is to keep writing this story until it’s done (which it obviously isn’t, if you take note of some of the plot gaps, eh, Nikosi for instance). And then to move on to the next one. And to shut that little voice that says this isn’t worthwhile up. My worst habit as a writer – and for I would guess most writers – is to listen to this voice, and to deprecate myself as a pointless rambler. Which perhaps we all are at heart anyway.