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Contributed by - Ed
Chapter Four: Arthur vs. Sanity
[Two days earlier]
Criminal number 88588 climbed the gravel path upward to the highest
point, a rocky spot at the end of a forested ridge, a small clearing
around a weathered shack surrounded by an equally old gray wooden fence.
The gate's rusted hinges creaked as Arthur stepped through and walked
carefully inside. It had been a very hard day and Arthur wanted to see
the one resident at the campground he could talk to freely.
Ceret sat in his usual spot, atop a wide flat-sawn stump, a place with
an impressive view of some primitive campsites, the green canopy of
treetops along the shore and the deep blue lake beyond. Arthur studied
Ceret's long face. Old weathered skin hung slack about the mouth and
eyes, but he held an expression and a posture that hinted at a quick and
alert mind, his eyes almost glowed, reflecting bright orange clouds of
the western sky. Ceret's tattered gray beard wafted in the gentle warm
breeze, the rest of him stayed motionless as the stump he rested on.
Being a gracious guest, Arthur had brought a gift. He placed a red apple
on the stump for his companion to enjoy. "I brought that for you... the
cook had some left over."
Arthur's eyes roamed over the campground, from this, its highest point,
past the wooden fence and down slope fifty meters a new group of campers
unloaded supplies from a large van, some already had their green A-frame
tents set up beneath a stand of oak trees. Most of the younger people
stripped off their clothes and jogged toward the lake.
Ceret crunched on the apple and Arthur organized his thoughts, cocking
his head slightly, his eyes focused distant. It was the kind of pause
that always annoyed his spokesman before he answered questions. But, as
Arthur figured, a man should be extra careful when considering things
legal, spiritual or in this case supper related.
"Just got back from Rika Chorna." Arthur started. "It wasn't a very good
trip but I was relieved to find out they really didn't have much on me-
didn't have the horse tested or anything. Got me on the curfew
violation, but that was it."
�It was evening, a little after dark, when that cop marched me into the
police headquarters and up to my spokesman's office. Being so late in
the day, there wasn't much staff around. That policeman had other things
to do, I guess. He left me in the custody," Arthur chuckled, "of an
accountant! Of course she didn't have handcuff keys on her but she
didn't mind me standing up either."
�Friendly lady; looked just like an accountant is supposed to:
conservative dress, inky fingertips and eyeglasses. She was there to
balance all of Spokesman Ralkliv's client accounts. You know, she even
let me take a look at my own account. It was interesting, the Ministry
of Justice kept track of every little purchase I made, from my
toothbrush to the rolls of electrical tape I use to repair my lamp
cord." Arthur grinned at Ceret. "I've really got to stop breaking that
lamp! Anyway, we talked quite a bit until my spokesman arrived. It was
getting pretty late by that time; he basically gave me a disgusted look,
took off the handcuffs, and sent me home.
Spokesman Ralkliv was obviously tired last night but this morning he was
in top form. The lecture was so dramatic that as he finished I almost
wanted to stand and applaud. Now that I understand his native tongue, I
can really appreciate the quality of his speeches. His arguments are
clear, his timing's crisp, his message is really inspirational- Ceret,
you should hear him go on! The subject of this particular speech was on
the importance of making an effort to reform myself, so that I can meet
society's expectations and live the correct way on the correct path and
so on. I was getting really pumped up by the end of the talk but then he
started asking a lot of questions about the disturbance.
I needed an explanation for why I was going outside in the middle of the
night so I just said that I like to look at the night sky. But he keeps
asking me more questions about this and uh... I don't know why I said
it, but I mentioned something about UFOs."
Arthur made an exasperated gesture with both hands. "He looked at me
like I was crazy! Can you believe that?"
"So a little while later an armed guard escorts me down the hall to the
office of the staff psychiatrist. The guard sits me down in front of his
desk. Ceret, I swear upon the whole compost heap that this doctor looked
just like Joseph Stalin. Anyway, he questions me for about five minutes
and I try to respond in the way I think a normal sane Danubian might. My
answers must not have been as good as I wanted. I could see that he was
getting frustrated and I was getting worried; I've had some bad
experiences with the medical profession here before. At this point
Stalin gets up and walks into an adjoining room... I was curious to see
if he went to fetch a straightjacket or something to beat me with.
Instead, he came back with a stack of cards. I recognized them from TV,
it was that... Roarsh... uh Rochok... er... the inkblot test. I knew
that crazy people are supposed to see disturbing or violent images so
when he showed me a card I would tell him it was a picture of something
pleasant. That one's a rainbow, that's a four-leaf clover, a crescent
moon, that's a star and so on..." Arthur leaned a little closer to Ceret.
"They don't sell Lucky Charms here."
�After the test Stalin leaned back in his chair, smoothing down that
brushy gray mustache of his while peering deeply into my eyes like a...
communist Dracula. Then he got up like he just thought of something and
opened a filing cabinet drawer. He removed an orange folder.
Ceret, as you know I had always suspected that my mail was looked over
by the government but now I know for sure. Stalin pulled out a
translated copy of one of the letters that I wrote to my sister and one
she wrote back."
Arthur shook his head as he explained. "I didn't appreciate some yahoo
reading my mail, but being a piece of government property, I had no
right to complain. I just had to go along with it and answer all sorts
of stupid questions. Do you know how hard it is to explain a
conversation between me and my sister to somebody who has no concept of
sarcasm? I mean, this guy asked me questions like: 'Why aren't you
concerned that your sister is a mentally disabled prostitute?' Or 'why
don't you tell me about how you contracted a venereal disease from a
drifter at the bus station?' Or 'why do you and your sister hate each
other and wish to kill your mother?'
I mean... what's wrong with these people? Trying to be totally honest
all the time... It's... It's completely unnatural! And if this doctor
had to spend some time with my mother- well maybe then he would
understand.
In a while he made up his mind, diagnosing me as being on the boundary
of some incomprehensible mental disorder. Stalin tried to explain his
gibberish in simple terms. He said that I have difficulty distinguishing
reality from fantasy," Arthur scoffed. "What do Danubians know about
reality anyway? Ha! Stalin thinks I need therapy! Can you believe that?"
Arthur folded over and laughed until his sides cramped, a full minute
passed then he turned his attention back to Ceret and continued on in a
high breathless voice.
"So... he... he sets up a therapy session, in about a month I get to go
see him again- I hope he shows me more of those inkblot cards, I kinda
like those.
Um... next Stalin signed a form for me to present to my spokesman. The
good news was that I'm not all that insane; the bad news: I was cleared
to go see the judge. An hour later Spokesman Ralkliv accompanied me into
the judge's chambers. He was the same man that I saw after the
sleepwalking disturbance in September. I'm getting to know the criminal
court judges all too well!
It was a minor violation; but the judge made the point that mine was
also a repeated and willful violation of the rules so he ordered a
penalty that was..." Arthur winced, "harsher than I expected." He
steadied his breathing and blinked the moisture out of his eyes.
�I wasn't going to give in easily this time; I was going to be more
focused, brave... Arthur shook his head in disgust. �I went from quiet
determination to despair in right about 1.4 seconds. I never remember
how it feels to be strapped down or how much it hurts." Arthur took a
deep shaky breath. "I hate to give them the satisfaction but... I'm no
tough guy, got no great tolerance for pain, no stomach for violence
either- especially when it's directed towards me."
Arthur felt control slip, unable to speak for a moment; he took a couple
short breaths and pushed it away. "I'm such an idiot...I even started
praying. When it got really bad and I knew I couldn't resist much
longer, the idea of divine help seemed less ridiculous. I tried all the
deities and prophets I could think of, past and present: Jesus, Loki,
Buddha, Mohammed and uh... that one that looks like an elephant� can't
think of its name. I skipped the Danubian one; I'm pretty pissed at that
one, besides..." Arthur scoffed. "I'm not going to pray to a god that
doesn't even have feet!"
Arthur continued in a quiet gloomy tone. "Anyway, after some recovery
time I caught a ride back up here with a delivery truck, the cops didn't
send a guard or even put handcuffs on me, just had me crawl in the back
of a flatbed truck with a load of lumber." Arthur's voice hardened. "I
guess they think this beaten dog doesn't have any bite left in him."
Ceret perched on his waist-high stump with his attention focused solely
on Arthur. Arthur stood in silence looking down on the campground below,
minutes passed then he walked stiffly toward his usual seat, a foot high
stump.
Arthur's mood lifted. He never let himself stay down too long; better to
laugh at life's unpleasantness, especially when a person felt so close
to crying. Success, good fortune, positive attitudes, honesty- none of
these things were humorous; the bitter mixture of failure and suffering
would always be the mother's milk of comedy and, if nothing else, Arthur
had those in abundance.
Arthur flashed a mischievous smile at Ceret and then shifted back into
storytelling mode. "I guess I could finish my story now, tell you how my
perfect plan unraveled a couple nights ago... you'll excuse me if I
stand? Okay... let�s see... where were we? Oh... the horse and the
teens."
�Ceret, as you know I put a lot of thought into my plans. I'll admit it;
I had no contingency for the hallucinating horse scenario..."
**********
[One day earlier]
Ceret stood, greeting Criminal # 88588 in his subtle way, and then he
settled back down without making a noise, Ceret was like that, calm and
steady, a good listener.
Arthur was tired, worried, depressed, lonely... he didn't usually want
to share his thoughts but the harshness of his life was wearing more and
more on his mind. A couple weeks earlier Arthur started visiting old
Ceret, a spiritual advisor of sorts who was a fixture around the
campgrounds, sometimes after supper but before it got completely dark,
he would climb to the top of the steep ridge where Ceret lived.
Ceret's long face was bright in the orange glow of the western sky, his
grayish beard wafted in the breeze, the rest of him motionless as the
stump he rested on.
"You know how I said that it couldn't get worse?" Arthur asked. "It did.
Not to turn into one of those self-obsessed whiney types but I... this
is really hard..."
Arthur sat sullenly on a foot high stump, rested his forehead on his
palm and his elbow on his knee, after a few seconds he continued in a
weary quiet tone. "I just wanted to improve my life in some little
way... just a little harmless manipulation. Was that so wrong? I mean
what else am I supposed to do if everyone's already made up their minds
about me? I just wanted to do something heroic, something that might
impress people..." Arthur leaned close and whispered: "And by people I
mean my spokesman and the criminal court judges."
�See, I figured that instead of waiting for the chance, why not be more
assertive and create an opportunity? Isn't that more impressive anyway?
I mean, any yahoo can stumble into an emergency and do something heroic.
When they're interviewed on the news, what do these heroes always say?
Something like: 'I didn't think about it, I just ran into that burning
building and rescued an arm full of babies.' No planning, no
preparation, they just act on instinct.
But how many people would go to the trouble to both cause and resolve
the danger? I ask you that. See, that takes both courage and careful
planning. It's a public service really, just think of the good example I
would've set for the kids... perhaps my act of... uh... benevolent
treachery would draw public attention to a real danger that they've been
ignoring. Really, Ceret, I might have been saving lives!"
Dour Ceret glanced at Arthur, seemingly unconvinced.
�See, the beauty of the plan was that everyone wins; I get to play the
good guy, improve my reputation, maybe get some switchings canceled; and
Danubians get a feel good story, the satisfaction of seeing how their
system reforms even bad criminals like me. It's a public service,
really."
"Not buying it, huh? Well, I'll tell you what happened last night and
then maybe you'll understand. None of my plans ever went so bad. I spent
so much time going over it; observing and planning... it seemed like a
slam-dunk. Ended up more like a technical foul." Arthur kicked at the
dirt in frustration. "And that's two free-throws plus possession!" He
shook his head. "Ugh... anyway, the idea came into my head about a week
ago."
�You remember when I was telling you about the kids, the scouts in the
ranger's class? They had just gotten to the part of their course where
they go out into the wilds and catch fish or gather mushrooms and edible
wild plants. Today was the part I had been waiting for; they were going
to prepare a meal from all that stuff."
" See, all the work that the ranger's don't want to do they normally
give to me, so for the past week I've been like these scout's personal
slave or something- but that was perfect because it put me in position
to play the hero. I just needed to make one little change to the menu in
the middle of the night without anyone noticing. But last night," Arthur
groaned. "My plan unraveled almost immediately."
�I set out after midnight, holding the secret ingredient in my right
fist as I crept carefully out of stable. I needed to get to the south
without walking through the middle of camp so I doubled back through the
horse pen. The night was so dark I didn't see that evil black horse
coming, just heard the thump of hooves behind me and felt the impact. I
went sprawling in the dirt.
Then it was right on top of me, probably moving close for a bite. I
rolled under the fence to get away and noticed that my right hand was
empty. I had dropped it! I went back into the pen and pushed the stupid
horse aside or tried to. I must have crawled around searching for ten
minutes but it was gone, just gone!
Then something cool and wet fell on my lower back. I turned around and
that damned black horse was right behind me again. I could see white
stuff all over its mouth, soapy foam hung from its lips, its breath was
hot, and its skin was wet. I stood up to back away and it lunged at me.
Ceret, I just couldn't believe it. That dirty horse ate my secret
ingredient!
I didn't have time to worry about that though... I got over the gate in
time, but then so did the horse. He was after me, bucking and running
erratically but still fast. I sprinted down the western trail and hooked
left, scrambling through the densest woods.
A hundred meters off the trail I stumbled into a grassy clearing...
where the power lines come across from the north. I heard a girl scream.
I got to a standing position and saw I wasn't alone. Two teenagers, who
obviously had expected some privacy, were together on the ground.
I could see their shapes but not much else. Arms flailed helplessly, the
girl continued screaming; the guy's head whipped back as he spit out an
angry and fearful mix of curse words and gibberish.
I managed to say: 'Uh... sorry kids...' There was a crash of branches
breaking; I looked over my shoulder. 'Uh...' I said. 'I'd run if I were
you!'
They did.
This morning I found out who that girl was. Ceret, it could not have
been any worse," Arthur complained, absently touching the bruise on his
forehead. "See, they got me up early this morn..."
All the loudspeakers set on poles about the campgrounds crackled with
static. Arthur flinched as his story was rudely interrupted by an
administrator's harsh voice over the P/A system.
�Attention. Criminal # 88588, you are to report immediately to the main
office."
Arthur stood up, "I suppose that would be the police arriving." He
looked down at Ceret. "They just love me and want to be around me...
like mosquitoes."
�I�ll finish up the rest of my story tomorrow I guess... if I'm able...
oh yeah." Arthur picked up a plastic bag off the ground. "Here you go,
brought you a carrot from the scraps."
Ceret leapt off the stump, hooves hit the ground right in front of
Arthur's feet. The big goat devoured the carrot in just a few seconds
and then sniffed Arthur's hands looking for more.
Arthur wiped goat slobber on the grass and scratched Ceret's tall furry
ears right behind the big curl of his horns. "Sorry dude, that's it.
That's the deal. You get scraps and I get spiritual guidance."
Ceret licked at the empty plastic bag in Arthur's hand before settling
down to rest. Arthur closed his eyes, going over his memorized story in
his head one more time, and then he hurried off toward the cluster of
park buildings to the south.
**********
[14 hours earlier]
It was an uncomfortable early morning meeting, he had expected to be
questioned about the previous night's disturbance, but what surprised
Arthur as he entered Hook's office was the teenage girl sitting in a
folding chair along the wall. The girl sat with her legs pressed
together, the simple light yellow dress she wore came down to her knees;
plain brown shoes were flat against the floor.
Arthur's pulse increased greatly as he had an unsettling thought: that
girl he had seen making out with a boy in the forest had looked an awful
lot like Hook's teenage daughter!
One sharp look from the ranger conveyed how much trouble he was in.
Arthur carefully lowered himself down and knelt on the hard floor in
front of the ranger's desk, trying to think instead of panic.
�Criminal # 88588 kneel upright." Hook stood up behind his desk, he hung
his wide brimmed green hat on the wall and walked to within two steps of
the criminal; the ranger's voice was precise and exacting though there
was obviously anger behind his words. "I have some questions I want
answered regarding this disturbance last night." He nodded at the girl.
"This is my daughter Gretya; I believe you two have met."
Arthur briefly looked over at the girl. Gretya blushed but kept her eyes
down; in her lap she nervously twisted at the yellow fabric of her
dress.
"Yes sir, I recognize her."
�Yes, I thought you would. Did you also know that my daughter was out
late last night? I caught her trying to sneak back into my house after
this disturbance of yours. This dishonored girl refuses to tell me where
she was last night."
The ranger wasn't going to be concerned about the rampaging horse at
all; Arthur's practiced explanation for the whole incident could be
thrown out the office's open window. Hook's face reddened as he waited
for response. Arthur thought he should say something.
"Sir, it saddens me to hear that there's some discord in your
household..."
If Arthur had been wearing a shirt, Hook would have grabbed a fistful of
cloth and hauled him to his feet. As it was Hook grabbed at Arthur's
neck, Arthur flinched back, the ranger slapped hard grazing the left
side of the face while growling some curse, then he connected solidly
with the back of his hand the second time, a third strike slammed palm
against forehead and knocked Arthur sprawling on the floor.
�Father, father please!" Gretya stood pleading. "He didn't do anything!"
Hook took a step back, breathing hard but regaining some composure.
"Gretya, go back to the house." His voice rose and he turned on his
daughter as she hesitated. "Now!" Hook gripped Gretya's left arm and
forcefully walked her out of the building.
Left alone in the office, Arthur clutched his stinging face and looked
down the hallway where the ranger had marched his daughter. He heard
them outside- the girl sobbing, and Hook's low angry tone. Arthur's
whole face, especially the left side ached; he wiped the back of his
hand across his nose to check for blood. He blinked rapidly to clear his
vision and looked down the hall, waiting, listening.
Sobbing faded away, a door opened and shut, he heard footsteps. Arthur
got back into position on his knees and stared straight ahead at the
ranger's old gray metal desk.
Hook stalked his way slowly back into the room, stopping a couple steps
behind Arthur. "Criminal number 88588." Hook said after a long silence.
"Did you touch my daughter?"
�No sir." Arthur shook his head vigorously and swallowed hard. "I swear
on my mother's grave I didn't touch her."
The dull black rotary telephone mounted on the south wall rang. Hook
went to answer and Arthur began breathing again. After a brief angry
exchange Hook hung up the phone and turned to glare down at the
criminal, who was still kneeling upright on the wood plank floor.
�Dishonored criminal spy," Hook spit out the words. "You are dismissed
for now but I will be sure to let the police know about your
disrespectful attitude and your curfew violation; then I'm going to go
have a talk with my daughter. I will find out what happened, Criminal #
88588, and if I find out you're lying to me I'm going to make your life
miserable."
You'll have to get in line. Thought an already miserable Arthur.
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Arthur
vs... - Chapter 5
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