| A young woman is looking at Toody. I THINK she is Thalia, the muse of comedy, but it’s dark enough, I can’t be sure. She’s standing a yard or two away from him, out in the square. He takes no notice of her. If it’s Thalia, I figure this must be an inspirational visitation. If not for the weather, the muse’s timing couldn’t be better. However, raindrops are increasing their work on the torches and the drums, resulting in accelerating hisses and bung-bung-be-bungs, clear warning that we’ll all be soaked and in the dark in a matter of moments. That last thought would be very helpful all by itself, but this is the instant I somehow remember the big news. I’m Toody’s brother. Mars said so. Why would he lie? He certainly wouldn’t kid. I also choose this moment to remember that I’ve got it bad for my brother’s fiancee, and unless I’m remarkable naive, (a possibility, mind you,) she’s mighty hot for me. On top of this, there is a guy who everybody thinks is my brother’s brother, but who is not, and he is intending to lead the Spartan meat cutters’ local in an attack on my adopted city under the sponsorship of the aforementioned god o’ war. Go figure it. What do you normally do in a situation like this? As I stand there, the young woman speaks. “Toody,” says she. I’m sure this is Thalia. In the nick of time, thinks I. Some divine explanations are in order. I head in her direction, jaw aflap, ready to speak, when Toody finally looks up at her. “Bedelia,” says he. They rush to one another’s arms, and launch into a serious lip-lock. Confusion intensifies. “Did you see it?” Toody asks. “We’re not alone,” says Bedelia/Thalia, and points to me. “It’s what’s his name,” cries Toody, “my Assistant Prime Minister.” This is the moment I choose to tell him my name, and the moment I’m choosing to tell you, too. But first, a bit of background on your favorite esquire. This’ll take just a minute, I promise. I was a foundling child, left on the doorstep of a poor lawyer’s clerk. He undertook to raise me alone, since was used to obeying, and assumed I was left at his house at the behest of some higher authority, never mind which one. He was a quiet man; in fact he never spoke, only mumbled. My upbringing was incredibly dull, since he worked all the time, and had no concept of how to play with a kid. But he was an intense groveler, and he got me apprenticed to a personal injury mouthpiece. I was out of the house at the tender age of twelve, chasing ambulances all across upper Attica. This is not as exhausting as it sounds, since ambulances are drawn by oxen and double as funeral coaches. So this is the big moment, and since I have it on divine authority that I am brother to this very appealing guy in the clown suit, I expect the revelation of my name to bring a flood of joyous recognition to his heart. His arms will fling out spontaneously to clutch me to his bosom with the cry of “brother” on his lips. Feeling hyper-fraternal, I deliver the news. “My name,” says I, “is N.” “N?” asks Toody blankly. “Yeah, N,” I affirm. “Like the letter — N?” he follows up. “Yes. Initial N.” “That’s all? What’s it stand for?” The Duke is confused now. “They never told me,” I say as my heart sinks. Then with hope I add, “I was a foundling child.” “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” he says. “Well, we’d better get out of this rain.” Nothing. Not a flicker of recognition. “Come on!” cries Toody. The rain is getting intense. He grabs his kissing partner by the arm, snatches a torch, and leads us to yet another side street. I’m surprised we’re not headed back to the palace. We twist and turn down a few dark, narrow by-ways, different than the ones Knots and I traversed, until we come to a street of small store-front shops topped by a story or two of walk-up apartments. Toody goes directly to a building situated toward the middle of the block, descends the little doorway to the entrance under the stoop, opens the door and shoos us both inside before him. As I pass the door, I see a sign hanging over it, which I can barely read by the light of Toody’s torch. “Bedelia’s Magic ‘n’ Masks” it says, with a picture of a clown face in the middle of the words. I’m reminded of my vow of silence about Thalia’s true identity. All three of us are inside and close to the hearth in no time. I’m wet enough that getting warm is more important than bemoaning my brotherless state, and I’m tired enough that I have ceased to care if Bedelia and Thalia are the same person, or wholly-owned subsidiaries of a major multi-national corporation. Down and down I go, round and round I go and fall asleep, clunk, right there in front of the fire. When I wake up, it’s still dark. My body isn’t ready to arise, but it must be fed, and now. I’ve lost the strength to go on sleeping. Upon opening my eyes, I see silhouetted in front of the glowing hearth — our boy Duke and our girl goddess. By all indications, a serious clinch is about to transpire. The two of them are slowly sinking lower and lower, down to a furry rug, as their faces get closer and closer to one another. This looks like it could be Toody’s big moment. Only a jerk would spoil it. Then I see the soup cauldron steaming over the hearth and my obligations become as crystal clear as the empty space inside my stomach. I cough and yawn, and suddenly the two lovers make like the domestic help, Bedelia stirring the soup, Toody fetching fire wood. “Miss,” says I, “we haven’t been introduced yet, but could I trouble you for a bowl or two of that soup?” “Certainly, sir,” says she. “Sit down by the hearth.” She pulls up a stool for me. She pours me a bowl. I peer closely into her face. Her eyeballs turn bright orange. It’s Thalia, alright. “N,” says Toody, “you did say your is just N, initial N?” “That’s right. Ring any bells?” Hope springs fraternal. “I’ve never known anyone named N before. But, I feel I can trust you, anyway. This lady is Bedelia, the mask maker.” “Pleased to meet you,” says I. “Likewise, it’s mutual, I’m sure,” smiles the divine fake. “You might wonder why we are here instead of the palace. Let me explain.” Toody stops talking. He can’t explain. “Come on, Your Grace,” I coach him, “give it a shot.” “Okay,” agrees Toody, “here goes. I know I’m supposed to be betrothed to Calculotta . . .” “Oh, that,” says I. “That’s not such a big deal.” “But it is,” says Toody. “I’m in love with Bedelia, here.” “He wants to marry me,”swoons Thalia. “That’s right,” says Toody. “We’ve been meeting secretly for a long time.” “Years,” she pipes in. “This soup is very good,” I squeak. “Please, can we call an intermission? I’m too hungry to think about all this you’re telling me.” “Sure, go ahead and eat,” Toody lets me off the hook, smiling and patting me on the shoulder. “After you’re fed, we can talk some more.” “I do want to talk about this, your grace,” I answer. “I appreciate your understanding.” “Eat up,” says Thalia. “It’s green goddess alphabet soup.” “Divine flavor,” I quip. “Charmed, I’m sure,” she quips back. I look into my bowl. The alphabet noodles are doing a half-time routine among the vegetables. |
| I gobble the noodles quickly. “Why GREEN goddess?” I inquire of Thalia, meaning to ask a lot of other questions. “Can’t you taste the avocado? she says. I get back to my my midnight snack. |
| “A penny for your thoughts,” chimes Thalia sweetly. “I’m sure you can get them for much cheaper than that,” I shoot back. Doesn’t the Pisser know about this arrangement between Toody and you? I think into my soup. |
| This is annoying. I look at Thalia, and she shrugs at me. “Your grace,” I say aloud, “does Pisistrato know about the lady here?” “No,” replies Toody. “I’ve kept it a secret from the family.” “I’m flattered you would confide in me, Your Grace — or is it Ellen this time?” “Just call me Toody.” This makes me very happy. I look down into my soup. |
| “I’ve never seen a question mark-shaped noodle before,” says I. “Oh,” says the Duke. “Let me see.” I gulp the message in a flash, just about choking on it. Then I really digest it. “His brother!” I cry aloud. This is the confirmation I am hoping for. “Whose brother?” asks Toody. “No, no bother, don’t bother about me,” I nervously stutter. “I want to see that question mark noodle, N. Where did it go?” “I’m sorry, Toody. I ate it.” “Oh, that’s okay. Just be sure to call me if you see another.” |
| What’s he going to do, I think back at my soup, when he finds out you are a goddess and not a mask maker? |
| You want to hear something really grand? I say in my head. Mars has given over his Spartans to Knots! |
| Sorry to be the one who has to tell you, thinks I. |
| The soup starts to bubble. Couldn’t have said it better myself, I think again. |
| You’re scared, I say in my mind. I’m petrified! |
| The soup starts boiling as Thalia gives out with a burst of laughter. “What’s the matter, dear?” asks Toody. “I think our guest’s soup is cold,” Thalia answers him. I look down at my soup. It has turned to icy green slush. |
| She sloshes a hot ladle-full into my dish, and in a flash all is green and steaming again. “Are you feeling revived yet?” the Duke asks me. “Yes, I’m alright now,” I tell him. “First of all, where did you go?” he inquires. “When?” “When we got up on the platform. One second you were with me, then you disappeared.” “I followed Knots. I felt he was up to no good.” “You spied on him?” The Duke looks at me narrowly. “I followed him,” I assert. “You spied on him,” Toody confirms. “I’m sorry.” “Well, it’s not so much the principle of the thing,” he says, “it’s your health.” “My health?” I don’t get it. “Yes. Spying is hard on the eyes. Too much of it, and you have to be fitted for spy glasses.” Thalia involuntarily spits her soup at this half-witticism. I think to myself, The Duke of Thaliopolis is the King of Cornball. |
| “You finished with your soup?” asks mine hostess. “Yes, thanks,” returning the now empty bowl to her hands. “How did you like it?” she quizzes me. “Lively flavor.” “Well, I use active ingredients,” she coos. Toody interjects with pride. “Her cooking is so good it practically TALKS to you!” “Mmmm,” I assent. “Now you boys,” the goddess blushes, “enough flattery.” “So what did you see when you spied on Knots?” Toody gets back on track. I turn to Thalia and think as loud as I can: What shall I tell him? “Another bowl of soup?” she merrily offers. “Bedelia, darling,” says Toody, “I’m going to ask you not the change the subject. Contribute to the conversation by all means, but we’ve got to solve some very sticky problems very quickly.” “Many apologies,” she says in a way to melt butter.. Then to me: “You’re on your own, bub.” This puzzles Toody. “Alright,” I say, laying it on the line, “I saw Knots sacrifice a tea cake to the god of war, Mars.” “So what,”replies the Duke. “He’s done that every day since he was eight years old.” “So what if Mars actually appeared to Knots?” “So what if donkeys could fly?” Toody hoots. “I’m telling you I actually saw Mars appear to Knots!” Toody studies me for a long moment. “I thought you were my friend,” he says. “I had this feeling of trust for you.” “You can trust a feeling of trust,” interjects Thalia. “I always do.” “But how can I trust someone who is so full of nonsensical stories of gods and such?” he moans. “Why, earlier he told me that Thalia, the divine muse of comedy, appeared to him in the countryside.” “That,” she says, “I find a little hard to believe.” “Thanks a lot!” I am getting a little steamed. “But it’s not impossible!” She succeeds in salvaging my good will. “No, it’s not possible, Bedelia,” says the Duke. “Why not, dear Toody?” “Because it’s Greek mythology — MYTHS — which means it’s not true,” he says. “No, my dear,” she gently points out, “mythology is more intensely true than reality.” We all three have to stop and chew on this one awhile. It’s the kind of thought that makes you very sleepy. “Let’s hit the sack,” yawns the Duke. “Save saving the city for the morning.” Both Toody and Thalia look at me, very embarrassed. “Look, you guys,” I tell them, “I’m a lawyer, not a judge. Sleep where you want to sleep. Don’t be embarrassed.” Thalia replies, “I’m embarrassed because Toody always sleeps on the couch.” “I’m saving myself for our wedding night,” says Toody. “You’re not joking, are you,” I observe. “No, it’s no joke,” says Toody. “Besides until I figure some way out of it, I’m still betrothed to Calculotta.” Thalia looks at me in a way that makes the orange eyes trick look normal. “Don’t be ashamed, kids,” I say. “I’ve traveled all my life. I’ve tried all kinds of strange cases, seen and heard about all kinds of bizarre and even perverted sleeping arrangements. I’ll just have to add a new one to my list.” “But if I sleep on the couch, where will you sleep, N?” puzzles the Duke. “Oh, come on and sleep with me, Toody,” croons the goddess. “I promise I won’t touch you. I won’t even think about you. Let N have the couch.” “Won’t even touch me! You think I could control myself, lying there, you scantily clad in your shift, your velvety skin shimmering in the moon light . . .” “There’s no moon tonight, Toody, what with the rain.” I’m trying to be helpful. Toody thinks a moment. “Okay. You take the couch, N . . .” (Thalia brightens.) “. . . I’ll sleep on the rug in front of the fire . . .” (Thalia clouds over.) “Goodnight, boys,” whimpers the muse. “I’m going to go stand in the cold rain about an hour.” She rushes to kiss Toody goodnight, then sends him to make a fire in her room. She comes to me, grabs my arm and whispers, “You catching on to what this is all about?” “I’m catching on,” I tell her. “Somehow I knew you’d work out just fine,” she sighs with a sweet, sad smile. She retires to her boudoir as Toody re-enters the parlor. As far as I know, he falls asleep on the rug as planned. But that’s strictly a supposition based on facts not in evidence, because in no time I am hard at it, sawing logs. But there is no rest for the divinely inspired. I have this dream. |
| Ancient Greasepaint Copyright 1990 Louder Than a Lie Publications, LLC and David Keith Johnson All Rights Reserved |