| Before I can tell Toody my name, a very handsome lady, just out of middle-age, bursts into the room and clasps me in a tight embrace. “Toody! Toody!” she says. Then she peers closely into my face. “You’re not Toody. Excuse me.” She goes to Toody and clasps him in a tight embrace. “Toody! Toody! It’ll be alright. I’m here for you. Who is that guy?” “He was about to tell me, Mom,” the Duke replies. “So speak up, mister. What do you call yourself?” Before I can get it out, a party of two bursts into the room, one of them a young man lathering at the mouth who I recognize as Knots, and the other a young woman carrying a ledger book and a portable abacus. I figure she must be Calculotta. She notices me a moment before I notice her, and for some reason, she goes stock still, and stares at me like a scared deer. Knots rushes past me to his brother, only to stop short of the sight of the parent-child configuration. His face twists in disgust. “Great. GREAT. Mommy kissy dukey-wookey on him widdle cheeky-poo? Huh?” “Knotsy-flotsy, I’m not going to leave you out. You always get your share.” Knots is momentarily unraveled when he finds himself raveled up in his mother’s arms. “He’s such a little monster,” she says to me. Then she turns back to Toody and asks, “Who is this guy?” The younger son whirls free from his mother’s embrace. “Mother! You are addressing the HEAD of STATE. You were embracing the COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF of the ARMED FORCES of this city. You are the GRIEVING WIDOW of the FOUNDER of the city, a man once visited by a GODDESS. A very silly goddess, but a GODDESS NONETHELESS. Try to show some DECORUM!” “Speaking of decorum,” bubbles his mother, taking Knots by the arm, “I’ve come up with a wonderfully cute outfit for those City Guardians of yours . . . “ “City GUARDS. They don’t need outfi . . .” “And who can remember that name. City Gardenias, whatever. Let’s call them ‘Knotsies,” after you, baby.” She twiddles his cheek. Knots explodes: “THAT’S THE SILLIEST . . . “ he thinks a moment. “M-m-m. ‘Knotsies.’ Has a certain ring to it.” He thinks some more. “Naw-w-w-w. My BROTHER is the DUKE, isn’t he?” He wraps an arm around his cringing sibling. “Let’s call them ‘Tootsies’.” “Tootsies?” The Duke is obviously repulsed at the idea. “Sure. What do you say, Your Grace?” pleads Knots sarcastically. “Please,” says his brother, “I have a . . . “ “You have a HEADACHE?” Knots punctuates his sentence with a slap to the back of his brother’s head, then gently strokes his hair, as if to straighten it. “That’s too bad. Why not retire to bed? I’ll take care of everything.” He begins to lead the Duke to the door of his bedchamber. “Later I’ll be coming in with a couple of decrees to sign, okay?” “Decrees, what decrees?” Toody pushes away from his brother. “You mustn’t worry about them,” Knots smiles. “Decrees for what?” “A pair of decrees. One decree is always so lonely all by itself, don’t you think?” “What are they for?” Toody demands. “These are just sounds to you, Toody, meaningless sounds, so I’ll tell you once. The first one declares a state of emergency and suspends civil rights, and the second one declares martial law under my jurisdiction and control.” Toody shakes his head. “I’m not signing any decrees.” “Of COURSE you are. Mother make him,” Knots appeals. “Now Toody,” says his mom,”Be reasonable. Your brother doesn’t get to be duke, so let him have his decrees, or whatever. Don’t you think so?” She’s asking me. “What did you say your name was?” “I don’t agree, ma’am, and I haven’t told you my name yet. But, your grace,” I turn to Toody, “as your Assistant Prime Minister . . .” “ASSISTANT PRIME MINISTER?” Knots is in a lather again. “WHO MADE THIS GUY ASSISTANT PRIME MINISTER? HE’S NOT EVEN FROM AROUND HERE!” “Uncle Pisser hired him,” says Toody. He encourages me.”What were you going to say?” “If you sign these decrees,” I volunteer, “In effect you will be abdicating in favor of your brother, and that’s easier to do than to undo.” (Calculotta, who has been staring at me all this time, breathes a heavy sigh.) Knots breaks in: “Well, why shouldn’t he abdicate? We are under siege, aren’t we? I didn’t want to alarm you,” (Knots says this to his mother, who isn’t at all alarmed,) “but there are Spartan soldiers at the gate.” “What kind of soldiers, darling?” She shines. “Spartans,” says Knots. “Spartitians? Well, invite them in,” she responds. “Soldiers can be big spenders. We’ll show them a great time.” “You don’t understand, mother. These are vicious butchers, heinous pillagers, great brawny monsters whose chief delight is spoiling everybody’s day within a fifty mile radius. And sure,” he continues, “sure, I admire them. What red blooded male wouldn’t? Hey, Calculotta!” He addresses the young woman.”You think Toody’s abdication is a good idea, don’t you? You told me so.” “You did?” Toody seems hurt. “Well, no . . . uh, not exactly. It’s just . . .” She struggles awkwardly with her ledger, pencils and abacus. “You see, Toody, leading economic indicators indicate that you’re not leading us very well . . . uh, economically, and, uh . . . and . . .” She drops her stuff all over the floor. I dive to help her pick it up. She must do the same, because we bonk heads pretty hard. “Oh no!” She exclaims.”Are you alright?” “Sure,” says I. “Are you okay?” We are both kneeling over her jumbled works things, practically nose to nose, and who knows? Maybe it’s the blow on the noggin, or maybe it’s the peculiar cast her green eyeshade casts over the upper part of her face, but I appear to be peering into the greenest eyes ever to peer upon the green earth. Boing. Thump. Cupid carves another notch in his belt. Calculotta gathers her stuff, staring at me staring at her the whole time. We both stand up straight, yammering unintelligible syllables. “Oh boy,” she finally blurts. “Ohboyoboy!” Then she dashes out of the room. “What’s with her?” Knots puzzles for a moment.”Well, back to our crisis. Do I get my decrees?” “No.” Toody is firm. “The issue can be forced, you know. I am not without resources of persuasion. I CAN MAKE YOU SIGN THOSE DECREES!” Knots insists. “Nothing can make me sign those decrees,” Toody asserts. “Mother, let’s leave,” huffs the generalissimo. “The Duke has a headache.” He looks at me. “Did you say your name?” “No,” I respond. “Well, good night, then,” he says, apparently satisfied. They are out the door. I turn to Toody. He is so deep in thought, I am reluctant to disturb him. “Let’s go,” he says suddenly.”We’ve got to see somebody.” So we go to see somebody, the Duke and myself, who shall remain nameless |
| Ancient Greasepaint Copyright 1990 Louder Than a Lie Publications, LLC and David Keith Johnson All Rights Reserved |