Peculiar Tales

by Ron Miller

  But it turned out that whether a deity actually existed or not, or had any active interest in the activities of mankind, was of small interest to most religions, so, after a little regrouping, most of them got along just as they had before.

  It was the larger issues that caused the problems. The big things—gravity, photosynthesis, time, the electromagnetic spectrum and the like—were easily and smoothly taken over by the large corporations. They were used to working on a massive scale so that the privatization of the natural utilities went on pretty much as before. Consolidated Edison, for instance, took over the production of the Earth’s magnetic field, subcontracting the aurora borealis and aurora australis to Industrial Light and Magic. Except for the fact that compasses now pointed precisely toward the geographic north pole, which was an improvement I understand, I doubt if many people ever noticed the difference.

  As I suggested, the privatization of the natural utilities was a bonanza for the big corporations, but that still left plenty for the enterprising entrepreneur.

  “Everyone should be a god at least once in their lives,” said my friend at breakfast this morning. “I can certainly recommend it. When I worked with Barnum, I was the biggest thing there was. You just have no idea, Wally, what it’s like, being the biggest and best at something. It’s quite a dizzying experience, I can tell you, and it can quite easily go to your head if you are not careful.”

  I am sure he was right. He usually is about such things.

  Day II

  You will probably have noticed that I have been using Roman numerals to designate the days in this diary. This is because of a certain laxness that has crept into the products of Federated Mathematics that I attribute to the pervasive influence of unions and the indiscriminate use of foreign labor. For instance, just two days ago I went to the grocery to purchase a few necessary items. I reproduce a facsimile of my receipt here:

  Aspirin $2.58

  Vitamins $4.98

  Q-Tips $3.12

  Clove oil $2.19

  Chocolate bar $0.75

  Total: $14.00

  Of course, I saw the error immediately: the cashier had rounded the total to the nearest whole number. I might not have said anything, except that the error had occurred in the store’s favor. I brought the discrepancy to the attention of the assistant manager, who agreed that it did not look correct, but no matter how many times we added the figures, it always came out to fourteen dollars. Even when I took out my own pencil and notebook and totted up the numbers by hand, there it was: fourteen dollars.

  Nothing but inexcusably slovenly work on the part of the employees of FedMath. I wrote a sharply worded letter to the management. At least now you can see why I have had to resort to Roman numerals. Here, I’ll show you. This entry is being written on Day 27.3. See what I mean? And I just looked back to check the date I gave for God’s retirement. Just as I expected: it is entirely wrong. No one is paying the slightest attention. Fortunately, I know the fellow at FedMath who is in charge of Roman numerals. Been there for years and years and in spite of the fact that practically no one uses the things any more, he takes enormous pride in his craftsmanship. I shall be sure to let him know about this diary—it will give him some pleasure, I am sure, to see his numbers put to such good use.

  “Jenny Lind used to feed me peanuts,” my friend said this morning. “They tasted of lavender, from the touch of her fingers. But for one time, I never got to watch her sing since we were all herded back to the menagerie during her performances, the lions and tigers and horses and the other elephants, though I could hear her, of course. We all could.”

  “You said but for one time?”

  “Yes . . . yes . . . It was an extraordinary evening. That was back when there was still a moon, you know, quite a while before your time. She came out to my pen, like a will-o’-the-wisp in the moonlight she was, and sang to me. You can’t imagine what she sounded like, Wally, you’ve never lived in a time when there were anything more than eight whole notes. But it was heaven, Wally, or the nearest thing to it. Just thinking about it brings a tear to my eyes.”

  And he was speaking the truth, too, since I saw him myself wipe away a bead of moisture with the end of his trunk. I felt a little embarrassed at this display of emotion and changed the subject.

  The sun seemed to set a little early tonight and I didn’t approve of the sunset colors at all. There are some things that ought to remain traditional.

  Day IV

  I suppose I should have mentioned right off the bat that I work for General Naturalistics, Inc., where I have been assistant manager of Surface Tension for nearly ten years. It is a position of some considerable responsibility. The average person takes surface tension entirely for granted, but let them try to do without for a day! Listen to the howls of complaints that would rise then! But, I am proud to say, our department—at least as long as I have been associated with it—has never allowed surface tension to vary by more than 0.00012 percent. Let’s just see Viscosity or Friction try to match that figure! And as for Inertia, why, they are hardly even in the running!

  “Gargantua and I would share a bottle of wine a couple of evenings every week,” my friend said. “He was one of the most pleasant companions one could possibly wish for and probably the best friend I ever had at Barnum’s. It was too bad about his face—it had been scarred terribly by acid—but it didn’t bother him in the slightest. ‘Jumbo’, he would say, ‘This face has been my fortune and, besides, I don’t have to look at myself in a mirror if I don’t want to, so what difference does it make to me what I look like?’ See what I mean, Wally? Gargantua was like that, a real philosopher. Could bend a steel rail like a paper clip but wouldn’t hurt a fly. Would you please pass the marmalade?”

  The water has been rising I see. Whether this is due to the cutbacks in United Gravity’s budget or not I am in no position to say, but I do feel unusually light on my feet today.

  Day XII

  I’m sorry I complained about the sunsets earlier. Today I learned that in order to avoid laying off the entire staff of its Spectrum Department, Amalgamated Prismatics has instead cut back on the number of colors. Instead of red, orange, yellow, blue and green we now have just red, yellow and blue. I suppose that will do for most people. Goodness knows, though, what this means for the future of taupe and mauve.

  “It’s funny you should ask,” said my friend as we finished our morning coffee. “I hardly recall my youth at all—that is, the years I spent in the African jungle before joining Mr. Barnum’s great organization. Just fleeting images that mean very little to me any more: large green leaves, open plains of yellow grass, tremendously bright sunlight—not like the sunlight you get nowadays, not since Universal Illumination & Heat cut output last year—but the real thing, so bright you could see it with your skin.”

  “You must have missed that, I suppose.”

  “No, not that I recall. Perhaps I did for a while, but I was too young. The circus was a wonderful adventure, you know, one that any child would have given its teeth to have been part of.”

  Federated Mathematics, Inc. adjusted the Laws of Diminishing Returns for the second quarter in a row, creating quite a nice dividend for its stockholders. I’m not so sure I approve of the new amendments to the Law of Averages, however. The Division of Probability has ties to gangsters, I am positive, no matter what anyone says to the contrary.

  The sun set late again today, but at least the sunset didn’t look too bad, albeit a trifle monochromatic.

  Day XVII

  I can’t say I am in the best of moods, not after the past few days. I am normally a placid sort of individual, but I do have my limits. I cannot be imposed upon with impunity.

  I am in the habit of taking public transportation to and from my place of employment. It is inexpensive and I believe it my duty to help in even that small way to reduce traffic and pollution. Normally, the ride is a quiet and comfortable one and I employ the time usefully by reading the newspaper or a good
, edifying book. But lately . . . Well, the first thing I shall do after completing this entry in my diary will be to compose a very sharp letter to General Geometry, Ltd., telling them in no uncertain terms the havoc their slipshod standards have played with the wheels of my bus. Making pi equal to three, indeed! I shall write to my senator if need be.

  “Have you ever been to London?” my friend asked as he poured himself a fresh cup of coffee.

  “No, I’m afraid I have never had that pleasure.”

  “Wonderful city! Just wonderful! I believe I’ve told you it was my second home after leaving Africa. Lived in the Paris zoo first, for a short while, but I don’t have very clear memories of that place. Took a rhinoceros in trade for me, I understand, which just goes to show you something. Well, I lived in London for some three years and was the darling of the city. The kids just loved me, I tell you. Whole city raised a hell of a stink when Barnum came and wanted to buy me. I was flattered beyond words but the zoo couldn’t say no to ten thousand dollars. To tell you the truth, I think they were just tired of feeding me.”

  “Really? Why, if anyone were to ask me, I’d say you eat like a bird!”

  Day XIX

  The speed of sound was lowered today and the speed of light cut even more drastically. It is making my typing difficult. But I suppose it is necessary so that more essential services can be maintained. Momentum will only operate from 6 am to midnight on weekdays, 6 am to 6 pm on Saturdays and not at all on Sundays. But I usually stay in on weekends, so I will probably never notice any difference.

  “People have said a lot of ugly things about P.T. Barnum,” my friend said as he picked toast crumbs from his chin. “But I tell you I liked the man. Yes, sir, I did! Did I ever tell you about what he did after that train hit me? Well, the man cried like a baby, he did. Bawled his eyes out. Couldn’t bear to see me buried, so he had me stuffed instead. I continued to travel with the show for years and, to tell you the truth, I hardly felt dead at all.”

  “Must have saved Barnum a fortune on food, I imagine.”

  “There is that, now that you mention it.”

  Pluto was canceled as well as the asteroid belt and the moons of Uranus and Neptune. Just as well, I say. In my opinion they were an unnecessary waste of natural resources.

  Day LVI

  I see in today’s paper that they’ve decided to eliminate ghosts, poltergeists and imaginary friends. At first this worried me a little, but the elephant is hardly imaginary. And would a ghost make breakfast for me? As for being a poltergeist, I understand they are extraordinarily mischievous and destructive. Aside from some wear and tear on the sofa and the unusually large quantities of toilet paper I purchase, I would hardly know he was there at all.

  Among other things, jackals, flatworms, nutrias, armadillos and eleven species of spiders have been canceled as well, I see. I do miss robins and squirrels, but I daresay it won’t make much difference to me one way or the other about nutrias. I don’t even know what they are. Good riddance to the spiders. Nasty things.

  “I do have to watch what I eat,” my friend said, nibbling at his bran muffin and gesturing with a butter-laden knife. “Even though I was once one of the largest animals ever displayed publicly, I have no desire to return to my old state of corpulence. No sir! You just try being eleven feet six inches tall and tote around a good seven tons and you’ll see quick enough that it’s no fun.”

  “I can imagine,” I replied, nibbling at a piece of melba toast I had soaked in a little warmed skimmed milk.

  “You know it took one hundred and fifty men to haul off my carcass after that locomotive rammed it?”

  He’d mentioned that before, but I feigned surprise.

  Day LXII

  The most distressing thing happened today. I was halfway through my breakfast before I realized that my friend was not eating with me! How strange and disturbing it was, to not have noticed. After all, we’d had breakfast together every day for years and years. I wonder where he has gone to?

  He did not appear for lunch or dinner, either, which is most unlike him. I checked his room and his bed had not been slept in. This worries me.

  It is very hard typing this today. I don’t approve at all of the recent changes instituted by Refraction—they are making my glasses practically useless. I called their service representative, but she told me it was all to blame on the new speed of light. I don’t believe her for an instant.

  Letter arrived from the Entropy Commission. Appears that there will be even more leaks. No wonder I’ve been feeling so run down lately.

  Day LXIII

  I find I have some difficulty in recalling just what my friend looks like. Isn’t that the oddest thing? Perhaps I need an aspirin, though I dislike taking medication unnecessarily. When I close my eyes and concentrate, all I get is an impression of two small, pleasant eyes and a good deal of grey.

  Day LXIV

  I don’t think he is coming back. I don’t think I will remember him any longer, either. I close my eyes and there is nothing there. I’m writing “him” because I don’t quite recall if he had a name. I’m sure he must have. I went to check his room again this morning, but it seems that I have never had a spare room down the hall from my own. His coffee cup is missing from the cupboard, too.

  I had better write this down before he is gone forever. I don’t want to forget him, I really don’t. He is the best friend I ever had.

  I miss my elephant.

  Day LXV

  Isn’t that the oddest thing? I just reread my entry from yesterday and it doesn’t seem to make the slightest bit of sense.

  I see that due to reductions in government subsidies and a series of strikes that twilight, mitosis, sleet, Bernoulli’s Law, violets and parallelograms have been canceled. The water keeps rising, too.

  TERA SAPIENS

  The woman sat on the edge of the stained mattress and scratched her stomach, each broken nail leaving a dull red streak. Behind her, stretched flat on his back, the man stared unblinkingly at the ceiling. He hadn’t blinked for hours. It was sweltering in the room and both were naked. The woman was leaning forward slightly, her sagging breasts supported by a pale stomach that in turn lay on bluish, veined thighs. She thought of the man on the bed, and tried not to think of him. Jesus, she wondered, and not for the first time, whatever have I come to? She placed her fingers below her collarbones and pulled on the loose skin. The breasts raised, but they were empty, flaccid things and the nipples still pointed toward the rolls of flesh below. Used to be real different, she thought. The Navy boys used to tell me they pointed up and out like them ack ack guns on the battleships down there in the harbor. She let them go and they fell back into place with soggy slaps.

  She didn’t look at the man but she knew he was laying there with his eyes open. He never closed them. They were dull and dry-looking, like a pair of stale croutons. She didn’t like looking into them. She didn’t much like looking at him, either, for that matter. She didn’t like his grey, oyster-like skin. It was sleek and poreless and had an oily sheen even when the weather wasn’t hot as hell, which it was.

  She coughed a hard, gargling cough and looked around for a tissue to spit the result into. There wasn’t one, so she held the phlegm in her mouth until she got to the sink and spat it into it. There were red flecks, but they’d been showing up for months and she ignored them. When she returned to the bed, the man was sitting half-propped against the headboard. Not for the first time she shuddered. I used to get the best-looking boys, she thought. All them pretty Navy boys and the boys what worked out down at the gym, them boxers, and the ones who threw steel around at the mills. Now look what I got to shack up with to keep me in liquor and rent. What a lousy shame.

  The man on the bed returned her gaze with his lusterless eyes. His skin was greyish and slack, with heavy folds and pleats, as though he were slowly melting in the heat. She had figured from the first time she’d seen him naked that he was one of those people who’d been obscenely fat and
when they’d gotten all that blubber sucked out their skin didn’t fit them no more. But maybe no skin’d fit him, she thought, because he really didn’t match anywhere. His legs and arms all looked like they were each of them from different people. Even his fingers weren’t the right length and shape. The middle finger of his right hand, for instance, was the shortest one, while the thumb was long and bony and seemed to have an extra joint. His left hand looked more like a paw, like the super’s had looked after he’d hit it with a hammer that time and it’d swolled up like a balloon.

  The man’s face looked like those pictures she dimly remembered from her high-school biology book, the ones that showed how the face of an unborn baby evolved from month to month. The man’s looked like the one from maybe the first month or so. Except grey. And slack-skinned. And oily. He was the ugliest thing she’d ever seen. But he had plenty of money and didn’t mind spending it.

  She padded over to the dresser and picked up the square bottle that sat on it. There was still a healthy slug of gin in it and it was as good a breakfast as any.

  “Gotta make a trip to the liquor store this morning,” she said.

  “Take what you need from my pants,” the man replied. “You know where the money is.”

  He had a strange accent. Nothing she’d ever heard before—but maybe it was just a speech impediment. With a face like his, you couldn’t tell. All sorts of things might be wrong inside. When he spoke it sounded like soft things were bouncing around loose in his throat.

  “You never did tell me where you’re from,” she said, turning, leaning her soft, yellowish buttocks against the edge of the dresser.

  “No, that’s right. I didn’t.”