| The judge bangs his gavel and speaks. “This is an action for breach of contract, for tortuous interference with an intended matrimonial relation, for a loss of consortium, failure to perform, and out and out revenge and spite brought by the deity Apollo, appearing pro se, against the member of the bar known as N, represented by at least two counsel from the firm of Barnum & Bailey. You sir,” the judge addresses Fred, “are you Mr. Barnum or Mr. Bailey?” “Bailey, your honor,” he answers, “Bill Bailey. Can I please go home?” “No you may not.” The judge doesn’t get it. “All rules of service, notice, discovery, evidence and fair play having been waived sua sponte by the judge presiding, we shall proceed to opening statements. Lord Apollo?” “Fred interposes.”Your honor, will we be impaneling a jury?” “No counsel,” answers the judge. “The case is to be heard by the bench.” “Walls have ears, Your Honor,” asserts Fred, “not benches. You’re sure it’s not going to be heard by the walls?” “No, the bench.” “Object to the lack of jury. Without a jury, how is counsel for the defense supposed to score laughs?” Apollo the attorney speaks without rising, without even looking up from his papers.”Nothing in the local rules provides for the scoring of laughs by defense counsel, your honor.” “Overruled,” cries the judge. Dad turns to me and mutters, “Going to be one tough house, or a tough house of one.” Apollo the attorney drags himself to his feet and begins his statement. “Your Honor . . .” Dad interrupts. “Objection! Counsel for plaintiff is talking to himself.” The judge grants, “That objection is incompetent.” “Hey,” says my ectoplasmic father, “I do the best I can.” “Please continue,” the judge smiles to his other self. “Your honor,” continues the lawyer half of the double team, “We propose to prove by a preponderance of the evidence that defendant irreparably harmed us through his failure to perform an agreed-upon service; and for the aforementioned failure to perform, we pray the court grant injunctive relief, to wit . . .” “Too-woo!” whistles Fred. “Silence!” the judge hollers. “ . . . to wit:” continues the lawyer, ”the defendant to be enjoined from existence on this or any other plane of reality.” “What did he say?” Dad asks me to interpret. “He wants to atomize me,” I answer. “No, not even that. He’s going to make me disappear, forever. I won’t even be ectoplasm.” Fred is serious behind his clown makeup.”This bozo is trying to deprive me of my son’s company a second time. No way!” He turns to the bench. “Your Honor!” Apollo and Apollo are grinning at one another. The judge shakes his head and exclaims, “Brilliant. Brilliant. What an opening statement. Well, the bench is ready to rule on this matter.” “You’re ready to decide, are you?” The comedian is really steamed. “Well then, I’m ready to appeal.” “Appeal?” says the judge incredulously. “I haven’t even rendered my decision yet.” “Don’t argue technicalities with me, bub!” Fred growls. “I’m going right over your head.” “There’s no one over my head!” The judge is indignant. “Like to bet?” jeers my mouthpiece. Then he calls to the ceiling, “HERA!” Both Apollos turn even pastier faced than before and moan in unison, “Mother!” I could swear they shrink a little in size, like old balloons. The roof over the lobby parts neatly in the middle and opens skyward. A heavy scent of old lady style perfume pours into the hall with a downdraft that scatters papers and tousles hair. A huge set of gaudily made-up eyes peer into the hall, and in a voice I feel in my chest bone, the court of last resort announces her presence. |
“FRED, DARLING. IS THAT MY BOY APOLLO THERE WITH YOU?”
| “It is,” replies my Dad. |
“AND MY OTHER BOY, APOLLO? WHAT’S THIS? WE CAN DISPENSE WITH THE PARLOR TRICKS, MY DEAR.”
| “Yes mother,” the Apollos mumble, and instantly our ration of law gods and Icapuses is cut in half, with both of them consolidating in the middle of the staircase, Apollo on the higher step. The instant the judge’s seat is vacated, the overhead eyes disappear. A woman with the tallest hairdo I’ve ever seen materializes suddenly in the judicial chair, and the ceiling is restored with a crunch. She is bedecked in every possible type of jewelry, the most striking item being her matched set of enormous eyes. I realize they are the same eyes that looked down on us a moment before. “Fred, sweetheart,” smiles the lady, who I presume is Hera, queen of the gods, “We’re holding a party on Olympus this evening for the Three Graces, a sort of coming out thing. You know, they’re coming out again. What else is there to do when you’re forever young? It’s a bore, I know, but you will entertain, won’t you? Save the evening?” “It depends, babe,” Fred replies soberly.”I’m not feeling too funny. Let me introduce my young companion.” “Charmed, I’m sure.” Hera leans forward in her chair, smiling sweetly. “This is my second son, Not Fred.” “Not Fred,” chuckles Hera. “You kill me, Freddy-boy, after a manner of speaking.” “He’s a lawyer,” adds my father. “So is my boy Apollo, here,” says Hera. “Well, your boy was about to disappear my boy, so I would never see him again.” “Ghastly. I wish I could say I was surprised, but he’s been a perfect monster lately.” Hera glares at her son.”What sort of phase is this you’re going through, you idiot son of mine.” “Mother,” pleads Apollo,”this impious dolt promised me something and failed to deliver. That shouldn’t go unpunished.” “Oh. A promise to a god,” clucks Hera. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” Before I can speak, Fred breaks in. “I need to call a couple of witnesses to show why this promise was no good.” “Just called them to mind, darling, I’ll get them here,” says the lady in charge. At the bottom of the staircase a huge jumble of papers materializes. The torsos of first Mars, and then Knots, both human scale, erupt from the pile. They appear to be pretty fogged out. Documents slide to the floor all around them as they emerge. Mars looks up. “Mother!” He growls. Then he notices Apollo. “Brother!” There is blood in his eyes he goes for his sibling. “Boys! Boys! Fighting again? Stop it this instant!” Hera’s eyes spit lightning bolts that zap both gods on their respective butts. “Yow!” they holler. “Here are your witnesses, Fred,” she says. “Go on.” “Mars, please take the stand,” commands my Dad. Mars does so. “Do you know this mortal?” Dad points at me. “Of course,” grins the god of war.”I stole him from his cradle when he was but three days old. He’s got a strawberry mark on his tush.” Fred’s addresses the bench.”Did you need to verify the tush mark, your highness?” “No, no,” she answers. “It’s the first thing I noticed about him when I looked in here.” She gestures to the ceiling. It’s hard for me not to feel funny about this. Fred resumes the examination.”How did you come to steal this baby from his cradle?” “One day, I was telling Apollo . . .” “This Apollo?” Fred points to the deity in question. “There’s only one Apollo,” scoffs Mars. “You should have been here a minute ago.” “What’s that?” Mars is puzzled. “Please continue,” says Fred. “Anyway,” continues Mars,”I tell him I’m crazy for this Thalia, the Muse of Comedy, but she won’t come across. So Apollo says he’s got this great idea. At Thalia’s city, the Duke has just had a new offspring. I should do a switch and put one of my people’s brats in there, and when the time comes, the brat will open the city for me and put me in a superior negotiating position. You get my point,” the god chortles. “What child did you substitute for the strawberry tush mark baby?” inquires Fred. “That fellow there,” says Mars. “The one who makes those marvelous teacakes.” He points at Knots, who is still pulling himself out of the pile of documents. “Where did you find your substitute?” Fred follows up. “No problem finding a baby for a god of war. My armies leave little souvenirs like him behind them wherever they go, and they go everywhere.” Hera rolls her huge eyes, and curls her elegantly painted lips.”Disgusting!” she snarls. “What did you do with the baby you stole?” Fred presses the examination. “Apollo said he’d dispose of him for me. I thought he did, but I see that he didn’t.” Mars smiles at me in a most unfriendly manner. “Thank you, that’s all my questions,” Fred concludes. Apollo attempts to interject. “Cross examination!” Hera silences him.”I shall do the examination, and you may be assured, I am plenty cross. Oh, strawberry baby,” she addresses me, “who raised you?” “That fellow over there, Apollo’s clerk, Icapus,” I answer her. “Oh, Icapus.” She does justice to the pronunciation of the name. “Is that how you came to be an attorney?” “Yes, ma’am.” “So you owe supreme loyalty to Apollo as a result of this subterfuge.” She puts it together. “And what promise to my son did you fail to keep?” “He made me promise to get Thalia’s signature on a marriage contract.” “My niece, Thalia?” glows the goddess. “Such a character! Caught between two obnoxious gods. However, all’s fair, young man. You made the promise, didn’t you?” “Yes ma’am.” I feel hope slipping away. “Why didn’t you get the signature?” She asks me. “Thalia got married to someone else before I could get her to sign,” I explain. “My brother, in fact.” “Are they in love?” She pursues her inquiry. “Absolutely.” “Ahhhh.” This seems to throw a whole new light on the subject for her. “So your highness,” Fred begins to conclude, “you have a doubly guilty party . . .” (he gestures at Apollo) “a party who not only conspired . . .” Fred stops in mid sentence. “What do I know from lawyer stuff? Hera, doll, you don’t need a ton of bricks to fall on you, let alone a ton of words. You see this ain’t right. So come on, don’t let your boy mess up my boy any more than he already has.” “Of course I won’t,” she renders her decision. “Was that all that was bothering you, Fred?” “Yes, your majesty,” smiles Fred. “So we can count on you for the party tonight?” she asks him. “The Graces are crazy for you, you know.” “Of course, sweetheart,” Dad assents. “Splendid.” Her sweet face goes sour with a particular thought.”Oh, Apollo.” “Yes, mother?” Apollo is shaking with frustration. “Are you still driving the sun chariot?” demands Hera. “Well, no, you see,” Stammers Apollo, “I’m so busy with the law . . .” “I don’t care how busy you are,” she says, “whoever you put in charge of the sun is lazy. He’s flying it too to close to the earth. Your sister Ceres complained to me she can’t grow enough grain to make a decent bowl of corn flakes out there.” “Well, you see it’s this greenhouse thing . . .” “Just fix it.” “Yes, ma’am.” The door to Toody’s chamber opens and Toody staggers out with an empty water glass in his hand. He looks as if a very warm, very dry wind has blasted him with happiness. “Oh,” says Toody, “you people still up?” He notices Fred. “Dad! What a surprise! You’re dead, aren’t you?” “Yes, my boy, dead as a doornail.” Toody smiles and shakes his head. “Dreams. I love ‘em. Well, if I take my dream cup to the dream bathroom to get some dream water, then maybe I won’t be so dream thirsty anymore.” He shuffles past Hera and makes his way to a bathroom and closes the door. Thalia floats out of Toody’s chamber about a yard off the ground, doing a kind of aerial dog paddle, giggling uncontrollably. She sees Hera. “AUNTIE HERA!” she shrieks, swimming to her elder’s arms. “Love is a MIRACLE!” She sees Mars and Apollo.”Oh it’s you bozos. Did you fix this mess, auntie?” “Yes, darling, thanks to Fred, here,” her aunt replies. “Oh, Fred, my reliable one,” glows Thalia. ” I’m your daughter-in-law now!” “How delightful,” smiles the funny man. “Did you come for Pisistrato tonight?” Thalia asks. “Among other things,” Dad answers as he places a ghostly hand on my shoulder. “He’ll be here in a minute,” says Thalia. “Goodnight N, Fred, Auntie Hera, and all you also-rans.” Thalia does giggling aerial somersaults back into Toody’s room. “Well, we’re done here,” observes Hera. “Let’s run along.” The gods and extra furniture disappear all at once. “Fred?” We hear the Pisser’s voice down the hall. His partner answers, “Down here on the main floor, my goat of many odors.” With an otherworldly spring in his step, the Prime Minister bounds to the top of the stair where the judge’s bench stood a second before. “This ectoplasm body is the best,” he bounces. “You bring my donkey?” “You want we should take the cross-town bus to the after world?” Fred turns to me. “Take care of your brother and mother, N. Take care of our city. But you know, we’ll all be together someday, and make up for lost time. Not too soon, but soon enough.” I nod to him. “Let’s go.” Fred pauses, then turns to Knots who remains sprawled on the floor. “You know, you’re still my kid. I raised you. I expect you’ll find a respectable job for yourself. What was it Mars said about the teacakes?” “Yes, Daddy,” mumbles Knots, his eyes downcast. The roof opens again and two donkeys descend. Fred and the Pisser hop on, trading jovial insults as in their road days. The donkeys rise into the night sky, the roof closes up, and all is as normal as things can get in Thaliopolis. Knots and I are alone in the amber glow of the big chandeliers. Toody emerges from the bathroom. He smiles at us. “N, Knots, I just had the best dream about Dad. He was doing his lawyer routine, and . . . I can’t remember the rest.” He smiles again, heaves a big sigh. “Well,” says my brother, “goodnight.” “Goodnight,” I say. |
The Living End
| Ancient Greasepaint Copyright 1990 Louder Than a Lie Publications, LLC and David Keith Johnson All Rights Reserved |