| Mama?” she repeats, understandably puzzled. “Mm, uh, you know, I don’t know what to call you . . . correct form . . .” In my mind I’m thinking, Beautiful, I’d call you beautiful, Mama. “Mama.” I say it again, my eyes a little worse for accumulating moisture. “You’re a sweet boy,” she coos, touching my cheek. “Do you have a mama?” “Yes!” I say this for the first time in my life. My laugh bubbles through a swelling deluge, and she laughs with me. “Yes,” I repeat, “yes, I have a mama.” “You miss her?” “Not right now I don’t. Not one bit.” “What do you mean?” “But I have missed her. I’ve missed her badly.” “You’re a dear, sweet boy. I feel somehow that you and my Toody will be such good friends.” “He’s already like a broth . . .” I’m gone at this point. Absolutely blubbering. Poor Mama doesn’t know what to do or say. She notices a scroll in my hand. “What’s that?” She gently pulls the scroll from my ever-loosening grip, unrolls it and starts to read. “Marriage contract between . . .” I grab it back. “Legal papers,” I say. “Oh,” she frowns, “I don’t care about that, do I?” “No, I wouldn’t think so.” “Was my Toody here last night?” Remembering the secrecy of the liaison, I dummy-up. “Uh, why do you ask?” “Well, about a half hour ago, I was on my way to the market, and — this must have been the fifth time I’ve seen this — I see a man I think is my son sneak out of this place.” “Why would he sneak?” “Just like he’d burped at the dinner table and he was hoping no one would notice.” We giggle together. Having a mama is fun. “So was he here last night?” She presses her question. “The last time I saw him was last night,” I reply. “I didn’t see him this morning.” The astute, or legally trained, or devious-minded (or all of the above) will notice I didn’t answer her question. “I see. So how did you get here?” “Toody was showing me around the town. I was very tired, and fell asleep here.” “You must have been exhausted.” “I still am.” “Well, you silly boy. There’s a perfectly good room for you at the Palace.” “I could use a bath and a shave.” “And some breakfast. How do you like your eggs?” “With the shells off.” “Why I don’t believe I’ve ever prepared . . . Oh, you silly boy!” She laughs. It’s a pleasure past describing to make your Mama laugh. “You know,” she says, “you remind me of my late husband.” “I DO? I’M LIKE DADDY?” “Toody’s daddy, yes, in some . . .” “OH! MAMA!” I collapse into her arms, sobbing. I would like to draw the curtain on this scene if I could, but I’m forced to keep it open because of what happens next. Yikes, this is embarrassing. There is a terrible clamor in the street. The clop clop of a pony’s hooves on cobblestones cuts through the swelling crowd noise, and soon we hear Knot’s voice, calling out. “To arms! To arms!” I’m suddenly dry-eyed. Mama and I face one another. “That’s Knots,” she says with some alarm. “Let’s go.” We make our way out to the street, where the wet pavement is gleaming with morning sun and steaming with last night’s rain. People are crowding to the intersection at the end of the block, where we can see Knots on a pony, swinging a heavy sword above his head. “Now is the time, citizens!” he calls. “We must strike the Spartans before they collect their whole force. All those with weapons of any kind — FOLLOW ME!” No one has weapons of any kind, of course. Knots is halfway up the street before he realizes he is all alone. He reigns in his animal, turns around and charges again, pulling up short at the edge of the crowd. “Idiots!” he growls under his breath. Then he speak aloud. “Okay. Okay. All those with names beginning with the letters Alpha through Lambda, line up on this side of the street.” He gestures with his sword. “All those with names beginning with the letters Mu through Zeta, on the other side.” We all obey, sorting ourselves out as if picking sides for kick ball. Mama and I end up opposite one another. “Now,” calls Knots, “FOLLOW ME!” He storms up the street again, again a one-man blitzkrieg, again realizes he is alone, pulls up again and storms back to the intersection one more time. “What’s the matter? Can’t you understand plain Greek? Follow me!” “Where to?” inquires a small voice, speaking for the whole crowd. “To a . . . oh . . .” he gropes for an idea. “To a gag fest. That’s it. A gag fest.” “A gag fest? What’s that?” queries another crowd person. “A festival where people get together and tell GAGS,” answers Knots, “jokes, you know.” “OHHHH,” the crowd breathes its recognition. “Alright,” crows Knots, “let’s GOOOOOO!!!!!” He takes off, at long last not alone. I’ve worked my way close to Knots during this exchange. Before he takes off I recognize the pony he’s riding. It’s the poor dinky horse who carried the Spartan guy who did the chant. You remember — I ANNOY YA YOU ANNOY ME, etc. I find this fishy in the extreme. I’ve got to find Mama. The crowd is flowing up the street in pursuit of Knot’s promised Gag Fest. I’m working my way cross current. I see her, and with some application of elbow and excuse me, I get to her side. “What’s he up to?” she shouts over the hubbub. “No good,” I shout back. “Let’s go see Pisistrato,” she calls as she pulls me by the elbow into a narrow by-way running perpendicular to the streaming crowd. She stops me abruptly and stares intently into my face. “There’s a question I’m dying to ask you,” she says. “So ask.” “I’m too much of a lady to ask. We’ve got to go see Pisistrato.” “Why Pisistrato?” “Two reasons. He’ll think of something to stop whatever Knots is doing. AND he’s not too much of a lady to ask.” “Ask what?” “You’ll have to ask him.” She tears down the byway with me in tow. Framed by the buildings at the end of the block, I can see a tall slice of the Palace across the main square. Just before we step into the square, she turns to me and throws her arms around my neck. “I hope it’s true,” she says. “I hope, I hope, I hope!” Then she lets go of my neck, but continues dragging me by the arm. As we cross the square, we hear a shout from some distance. Looking down a main thoroughfare off the plaza, we can see Knots recruiting more citizens for his Quisling brigade a couple of blocks away. Mama signals a halt. “He’s going to all the neighborhoods. That could take him a couple of hours. What’s he up to, I wonder? Let’s go.” “What’s going on, Adelle? What’s all the fuss?” It’s Pisistrato addressing us, standing at a second story balcony in robe and slippers, sipping his coffee. “Knots is up to something,” my Mama answers him. “Is that my Assistant Prime Minister down there with you?” “Yes, sir,” I call to him. “It’s me.” “Have we decided on a name for you yet?” Mama breaks in “We may have decided on more than that.” Suddenly a shutter slaps open at the third floor level. It’s Calculotta, looking spectacular. I turn to my mother. “I really need a bath and a shave.” “A bath? That would be perfect,” she brightens. “There’s always time to give a boy a bath.” Before you know it, we’re up the stairs, I’m soaking in a hot tub, and down the hall bacon and eggs are on the sizzle. I should feel great, but my mind is crowded with unwelcome thoughts. Apollo expects me to get him Thalia for a bride. Mars wants her, too. That makes me the red god’s enemy. Thalia wants Toody, but can’t have him until Calculotta is out of the way. Calculotta has taken a shine to me, and I think rather highly of her as well. That is not a triangle. It’s an inverted pyramid scheme with guess who at the bottom. At least I’m getting a mother out of the deal, I think to myself. I hear the door behind me creak open slowly. Visions of a certain ravishing accountant dance in my head. I hear discreet footsteps and can practically feel her breath on the back of my neck. I twist around in the tub and lunge, only to find myself with my arms around Toody’s neck. Behind him is Thalia. “Shall I leave you two love birds alone?” she twinkles. I switch attitudes and postures, then let Toody go. “Self-defense technique,” I mansplain. “You’ve to to promise never to sneak up from behind me again, Your Grace, especially when I’m naked.” “Right, I’ll remember that,” he says. “N, we have got a Plan!” The Plan that he and Thalia impart to me is very screwy, as far as I can tall. I’ll let you know details as they unfold. Suffice it to say the Duke and his undercover goddess think it’s the best thing since sliced pita bread. The Pisser and Calculotta are supposedly in on it, too, so maybe it’s me has the screw loose. You judge for yourself. As the two of them are leaving me to finish my bath, I stop them with a question. “What about your marriage plans?” “Oh!” they both say, then look at one another, blush, giggle and kiss. I think to myself, They’ve gone and gotten hitched. “We’ve gone and gotten hitched!” swoons Thalia. “We did it early this morning while you were asleep. Of course, there’s been no time to REALLY act married, if you know what I mean . . .” “Bedelia!” Toody cautions her. “What about Calculotta?” I ask further. Toody answers: “She’s fine. We went to her before the ceremony, confessed all, and she said no problem. She seemed more interested in finding out where you were than anything else. Anyway, I transferred her marriage contact to my brother, so she would stay in the ducal family and wouldn’t loose face. That was Bedelia’s idea.” “Your BROTHER!” “Yeah, you know — Knots,” says Toody. “Knots,” I repeat automatically. “But he’s in cahoots with the Spartans.” “Yes, but what with this Plan, we’re as good as home free. The Spartans are finished. Knots is bound to be real embarrassed. And he IS my brother, after all. He’s entitled to a mistake or two.” I ask some lawyerly questions of my unknowing sibling. “What were the terms and conditions of this agreement with Calculotta?” “She was so distracted while I talked to her. It was like she wasn’t listening. Just kept giggling and sighing, saying ‘Whatever you say, Toody.’ Really weird.” “The agreement, counselor,” Thalia interjects, “was that Calculotta would marry Toody’s brother, plain and simple.” “Right,” affirms the Duke. “Witnesses?” I ask. “Me and Mr. Pisistrato,” replies the muse. “N, we know what we are doing. Some of us know more than what we’re doing.” I’m suddenly a little dizzy. I start to settle deeper into my tub of bubbles. Marry his brother. “WHOOPEE!!!” I splash the suds. “Isn’t it a great Plan? Isn’t it a great life?” He’s slapping me on my wet back. He turns to Thalia. “Let’s go, Bedelia. Save the city, then honeymoon.” “Bye-bye!” quivers the immortal one, obviously dying a little inside with anticipation. They exit. Never mind that I have made the Least Likely to to Survive the Evening lists of two Olympian gods, I’m a happy, happy guy. I hurry to finish my bath when once again I hear the the door behind me squeak. Light, perhaps lissome footsteps approach. This has go to be her. “Darling,” I pant as I turn “Sweetheart.” This time it’s the Pisser. “I beg your pardon. I thought you were someone else.” “Don’t mention it.” “I understand you have something to ask me.” “I do.” “I’m waiting.” “Okay. Do you . . .” He thinks a moment. “Actually, I doubt if you would know. I’ve got to see for myself. Stand up and bend over.” “What?” “Do as I say. This is very important to Adelle, the Duchess.” I’m embarrassed, but I comply with his request, rising from the bath water and bending over, looking backward to an upside down world. “Well, you got suds there.” He takes a cloth and daubs my derriere. At this moment, I see that behind us both, and unbeknownst to the Pisser, the door opens and Calculotta enters. She is somewhat taken aback at the interpersonal interrelationship of the Prime Minister and me. “Ah-HAH!” cries the Pisser, slapping me smartly on the tush. “Welcome home, baby boy.” Mama bursts into the room. I straighten up and start looking for a towel. There are none to be had. “It’s him, isn’t it?” Mama wails. Then Knots bursts into the room through another entrance. “Everybody out in the square,” he shouts. “NOW!” He stomps out. “Toody!” the Pisser shouts, and runs out the door to find the Duke. Mama runs to me and throws her arms around me. She is kissing me and kissing me. “My boy, my poor baby boy!” Toody bursts into the room. “N! N! Come on!” He grabs my hand and pulls me from the bath tub and the embrace of our mother. We get to the door and he suddenly pulls up short. “MOTHER!” He is shocked. He finds a towel and throws it around my waist. “We’ll have to talk about this later!” he intones sternly. Soon I’m out of the room, into my clothes, and into the Plan. |
| Ancient Greasepaint Copyright 1990 Louder Than a Lie Publications, LLC and David Keith Johnson All Rights Reserved |