A Highly Unlikely Scenario, or a Neetsa Pizza Employee's Guide to Saving the World

by Rachel Cantor

  I can!

  They administered potions and unguents, they put drops in my eyes. I saw things, dear friend, too horrible to mention, too beautiful to describe. My waking hours were as sleep, my sleep more vivid than any life. It was then that they taught me, or rather it was through their example that I learned, for they assumed I already knew. They saw how strange I was, how I had come from far away, they assumed I was like them. They are separated from their kind by vast distances, you see. But I think that is all I will say for today. Leonard?

  Yes, Milione?

  I have been in battle, I have crossed the raging seas, I have relied on my fellows and with them I have survived every hardship known to man, sorrows such as I hope you never experience. But you alone have become my friend.

  Really? Leonard said.

  You have an ability …, Mill said.

  To listen? Leonard asked.

  Yes, Mill said. To listen.

  Rusty’s manner

  Mill had all but abandoned his nighttime tales. These days he spoke only of Rusty, the poncy blowhard who’d undertaken to write his history.

  I do not like his manner, Leonardo. He will not speak plainly. With him it is always You must take it as a fact, or I assure you most heartily that, or I will give over my wife to you should you find that it is not as I say … When a man speaks in such a manner, I know he lies!

  His ideas about what might interest a reader are most peculiar! he said on another occasion. I promise you, the only thing worth recording is these desert adventures of which I have not yet fully spoken. Others will soon return from the lands you have heard me describe; they will recount the customs there—this will happen sooner than you think, and quickly my little book will disappear. But only I can describe the marvels I saw in that desert place, the things I learned to do there. Rustichello is stubborn, however: he will not hear of it! If I write what you say, says he, the world shall call us crazy and foolish and, he is at pains to remind me, he is neither crazy nor a fool. What he wants, though he will not admit it, is to win back his place at court. He cannot stop talking about Edward of England, though what a king would want with such a man, I cannot say.

  What does he want to write about? Leonard asked.

  Frippery! This is his entire interest! Wealth, excess, opulence—any evidence of riches. Ordinary riches are not sufficient. If I speak of a tower made of silver, he wants one made of gold. If I speak of a palace, he subdivides it into a fantastic number of rooms, each filled with gemstones and silks, the finest paintings, porcelain, and napery. A dinner for one thousand in his telling becomes a ten-day feast for ten thousand. The world knows ordinary riches, says he. No one wants to read about ordinary riches!

  Who wants to read about any kind of riches? I reply.

  But I misspeak. The knave has another interest. He wishes scandal, he wishes … but my mouth can scarcely form the words!

  Try, Leonard said.

  He wishes …, Mill had started whispering. He wishes … an affair of the heart. He wishes an amour! Preferably with the wife of the Khan. But I would never! Molesting the wife of my liege would mean death! Do not fear, says he. I shall write it so that you may escape his clutches. In the dark of night! Yes, the dark of night! Wearing the garments of a lady-in-waiting!

  I punched him, of course. What choice had I? Despite what he might now say, he landed nowhere near the spittoon, but it is his manner to tell tales that cast himself as victim.

  He also has that fascination with war that afflicts those who have never experienced it. He quizzes me most intently about battles I did not witness, battles with no bearing on my tale. It must have been like any other war, I venture. There were elephants, of course, and arrows. People were betrayed, people died. His face turns an unhealthy red when we discuss slaughter on a large scale; he goes into his dank corner, breathing heavily, and scribbles.

  There are some things he will not write about, of course. He will not believe that Cathay is bounded by a long, tall wall, fully the length of the country, so he will not write of it. He believes me when I say that cultured folk in Cathay drink an infusion of sticks and leaves, but he finds the practice disgusting and will not describe it. He will not write about foot shrinking …

  Foot shrinking?

  In Manzi, they swaddle a girl’s feet so tightly her feet will not grow, but instead bleed and exude pus and foul odors until they shrink to the size of an apple. It is on such feet that the poor creature must hobble the rest of her days. The women do this willingly because their men prize small feet. This is the truth, I have seen it! But we must not write such things! he says. Stories such as this will upset the ladies! We must not upset the ladies!

  He is a liar and knave, and would make of me the same! Mill stormed.

  We can’t have that, Leonard said.

  We cannot! Mill cried.

  Leonard has a subtle mind

  It is an outrage, Mill reported to Leonard a day or two later. The man has been in his corner for days, his back to the rest of us, scribbling. I sensed some outrage was afoot, so when he was on the piss pot, I grabbed his vellum. Do you know what he has written there?

  I do not, Leonard said.

  It is too shocking to say!

  Please try, Leonard said.

  You shall take it for the truth! Mill said.

  I shall not, Leonard said.

  He has heard rumors of Princess Kokachin—all of them untrue! We delivered her intact to Arghun—or rather, to Gha-zan, for by the time we arrived, as I’m sure you know, the lord of the Levant was dead. It is true that she and I developed a rare friendship, it is true that she was young and fair like a rose and we were many months at sea and she wept copiously at our parting, but there was no amour! The prince’s women confirmed that she was whole!

  And Rusty?

  Rustichello has contrived scenes in which I look at her longingly and she at me; according to his tale, we sleep on the deck of the ship separated only by a sword (dulled, of course, in bloody battle), and that in the midst of a squall, when it seemed we might die—but it is too despicable!

  He has gone too far! Leonard said.

  I drowned his vellum in the piss pot, I had no choice, but the man is crazed, he says he does not need me. Did he need King Arthur’s approval to write about him? Oh, Leonard, what shall I do? If the world believes I have betrayed my sovereign, I shall never work again!

  Your sovereign?

  The Great Khan.

  Well, that’s it, isn’t it? Remind Rusty that you work for a king. He’s impressed by that sort of thing, right?

  He knows I was frequently sent on missions by Kubilai, that we conversed often about what I saw when I returned.

  Tell him more. Tell him you were a minister in his government, a Deputy Leader or something.

  I do not know what position that might be, but I understand the spirit of your suggestion. You wish me to lie, dear Leonard?

  Not lie, exactly. More like a metaphor: invent a position that captures the high esteem in which you were held. The position then becomes a symbol that expresses the truth of your relationship. See what I mean?

  Your mind is subtle. I did offer invaluable assistance to the Great Khan in matters of salt …

  Think bigger, Leonard said.

  Nothing is bigger than salt! Mill said.

  Sometimes Leonard forgot whom he was talking to.

  Right, Leonard said. Then make yourself the senator of salt, if that does it.

  I shall call myself Chief Emissary of Salt!

  No, Leonard said. You must be at least a governor. Chief emissary is not enough.

  The governor of Yang-chau! Mill said. I was there for a time. You know, they use paper lucre in Yang-chau.

  That’s a start, Leonard said. But we need something more. Rusty’s a war nut, right? Tell him about your fierce battles, tell him you killed many warriors with your bare hands. Make him fear you.

  But I have killed no one! Even the galley I commanded at Curzo
la was captured before we laid eyes on the enemy.

  Find a way to make the statement symbolically correct.

  I understand you, dear Leonard! I understand you. I heard someone speak once of deadly trebuchets …

  Excellent! Leonard said.

  A compromise

  Rustichello and I have come to an understanding, Mill said the next night. He will destroy all tales of Kokachin, and I will allow him leeway on matters related to war and wealth. I have told him that humility prohibits me from speaking at length about my governorship or about my role in breaking the siege of Siang-yang-fu; he may mention these facts but I will not elaborate. Your advice, dear Leonard, has saved my reputation and that of Kokachin. Please, tell me if there is anything I may do for you—absolutely anything! When I am released I will speak to the officials who imprison you! I shall be rich then and all will know me. I will hire you as my advisor—you shall meet the Great Khan!

  I’m good where I am, Leonard said.

  I daresay you are not! Mill replied. But I have never asked: How is it that you have learned this mystical connection? You know that I have learned it from … well, you know from whom I have learned it. I recall well the days in that arid land. You know I met others there from Italy, though they did not travel there by ship. One, a Spaniard from Saragossa, had settled in Sicily. He was a Jew, with a Jew man’s beard and puzzling paraphernalia. He was freakishly tall and had a pronounced gap between his teeth. He juggled letters in the air. Look, he’d say, look! The letters are dancing!

  Dancing? Leonard asked. The letters were dancing?

  Letters are insubstantial, I know, but in that unusual place many things were possible.

  Dancing? Leonard asked. Did you say they were dancing?

  Another man arrived, a Greek obsessed with mathematics. He had settled in Crotone …

  Like Pythagoras, Leonard murmured.

  I believe that was his name! Mill said. Do you know him? You have traveled perchance in the south?

  Not likely, Leonard said. He’s been dead thousands of years.

  When the Jew with the letters met the Greek with the numbers, he wept. Can you imagine? You live! he cried. We are one! cried the Greek, and together they danced. They juggled letters and numbers together, making the most glorious patterns, which the people of that place turned into the most peculiar paintings, some of them made with sand. But you—how did you learn such fantastic methods of communication? How is it that you and I speak?

  I just pick up the telephone, Leonard said.

  You just pick it up. Fantastic, Mill said. No need to mutter formulas or turn this way and that around an invisible circle?

  A what? Leonard felt the hairs in his afro stand on end.

  You must be very advanced indeed, Mill said.

  I gotta go, Leonard said, and hung up the phone. And did something he’d never done before: he took the phone off the hook, disabled call queuing, and walked out of his White Room in the middle of his shift.

  The world was strange

  The world was strange; the moon shone silverly on the safety swing, on which Felix seemed to have left some crowdies.

  Milione knew about the circle? It was one thing to say he’d met Pythagoras in a desert, and saw a Spaniard with dancing letters, but the circle? Leonard sat on the swing facing the moon and held the crowdies out to Medusa, who was suddenly there. He pushed himself forward and back inchwise with his toe, not caring whether he dirtied his whitesuit.

  A rare bird cried out in response to the swing’s rhythmic creakings.

  How could a crazy man in the Finger Lakes District know about the circle? What was the circle? He seemed to think the circle enabled mystic communication …

  Thwack! Leonard felt a sharp thrusting pain in the back of his head and fell forward, insensate, into the besoiling mud.

  Whagghes

  When he awoke, it was still night. Carol had him under the armpits and was dragging him through the mud toward her house.

  Whagghes, he murmured. Carol looked back at him. There were actually three Carols in the starlight, three Carols all in fuzzy outline, wearing black climbing suits and dust caps, clutchbags slung over three of their six shoulders.

  What were you doing out here? they hissed at him in unison. You’re supposed to be at work! What am I supposed to think when I look out my window and see a stranger swinging on the safety swing?

  He knows about the circle, Leonard mumbled. Who do you think he really is?

  If you can talk, you can walk, Carol said, dropping his arms so his head fell back again into the mud.

  Am I wasting my life, Carol? Leonard asked, looking up at the stars. Should I find a ship, head out to sea?

  Come inside for some chicory, she said. We’ll talk.

  The world is full of wonders, Mill had said. All places have their fascination, you only have to pay attention. Bravery is easier, in the long run, than the alternative. The alternative being loneliness and fear.

  Leonard rolled and turned gingerly onto his knees, then waited for the yard to stop swirling. When he finally stood, the back of his head pounded like justice sticks smashing against a door.

  Inside, Carol had disposed of her clutchbag and was now wearing nightgear, as if Leonard really had disturbed her sleep with his spectral swinging. She was brewing chicory in a large earthenware samovar.

  Leonard thought she was going to quiz him on his outrageous behavior, leaving the White Room in the middle of his shift, but no, she wanted to talk about Felix.

  He’s the best boy in the world, isn’t he? she asked.

  Of course, Leonard said, sitting down in a high-backed chair.

  We’d do anything for him, wouldn’t we?

  We would, Leonard said. Are there any tatties left?

  We would never let anything bad happen to him, would we?

  We wouldn’t, Leonard agreed.

  We would protect him no matter what, Carol suggested.

  No matter what.

  Good, Carol said. I’m glad we had this little talk. Chicory’s almost ready. See you in the morning!

  It is Isaac

  I must tell you, Milione said the next night. Some days when I speak to Rustichello, I see someone looking out through his eyes. It is not Rustichello, for he is a shallow man; nothing lurks behind his eyes but lunacy and the basest of passions. No, it is someone else. Can you imagine this?

  Leonard said nothing. His grandfather’s eyes on occasion had slipped from blue to palest green, his pupils expanding, becoming one with the deepest dark: then young Leonard had looked into something strange and black, an emptiness larger than the world he knew. His grandfather would return then and say, Boychik, you’re trembling, what do you see?

  You think me mad, Mill said sadly.

  No, I have felt this, Leonard whispered, and wiped a tear from his eye.

  You understand! Mill said. I knew you would. Leonard, you are like my very own brother. It is Isaac, he confided. I know it is he. But why?

  Who is this Isaac? Leonard asked. Why do you dream of him?

  He is a Jew, he is blind, and a holy master of secrets—this is all I know.

  What does he want from you?

  He wants me to talk with you, that is all.

  With me? Leonard asked.

  No other, Mill said.

  Do you know a story about four men who walk into an orchard?

  No.

  Do you know a story about demons in the third ether?

  No, but if it is a good one, I will gladly hear it.

  But you know about the invisible circle? You know what to do with it?

  Of course.

  And this is what you propose to write about in your book?

  Yes, I will do this.

  Leonard’s heart began to pound. This was very wrong. Leonard knew this because his grandfather had told him so, and because the thought of it made him sick, a sickness he knew would never leave him if Mill did as he said. Only the grandson of grandsons cou
ld know about the circle.

  It is a bad idea, Leonard said. A very bad idea.

  No, Leonard, it is a very good idea! Imagine how useful it will be for seamen and merchants, separated as they are from their families! Imagine if kings could speak with each other as we do now, separated by immense distances: trade could be conducted, and wars averted.

  Leonard had to think quickly; there were no Listener algorithms to help him now.

  Have you used your circle and formulas to speak with anyone but me? he asked.

  Not exactly.

  You’ve tried?

  I tried to reach Kokachin, Mill admitted.

  What happened?

  Nothing. I heard a sound like forests falling inside the ocean. It was quiet but for six days it deafened me.

  And when you got me you were trying to reach someone else, right?

  This also is true, Mill said.

  Forgive me for saying so, but you don’t seem very good at this just yet. Maybe you need more practice? So no one gets hurt?

  Mill didn’t reply.

  You could write about this in your next book, perhaps? Leonard said, knowing somehow that there would be no next book.

  Still no reply.

  Mill? Are you there?

  Leonard, you are a most trusted friend, and you speak wisely. I shall consider your words; possibly I shall do as you say.

  When they parted that night, Leonard had no way of knowing he would never speak to Milione again.

  INTERLUDE

  BOYCHIK

  A friend

  The complaints returned the next night. The phone didn’t bleat—instead, the usual clients-in-pain called complaining that they’d ordered Neoplatonist, not Neapolitan. Leonard listened, used approved nicknames and the Lateral Sales Strategy to good advantage, demonstrated largesse with Neetsa Pizza coupons, and gained a more or less average number of converts, but his heart wasn’t in it. Where was Milione? Was he okay? Leonard was sure now that Mill had rerouted Leonard’s calls—how had he managed to do that? Now that the complaints had returned, did this mean Mill had gone away? Was he in trouble? Was his invisible circle dance the one Leonard knew? Would he hear from him again?