This is more like it, Isaac said.
We hate traitors
The room was quiet again and no longer a White Room. Leonard had opened the door and let in Medusa, who deposited a dead chipmunk by the cat-chimney. He was yanking the flimsies off the windows when the phone began to ring like a siren.
Yes, sir, Leonard said.
High Command advises that there has been a breach of the White Room.
Yes, sir, Leonard said. I have to take a break, that’s all, which is to say, I can’t work for you anymore.
Medusa jumped on his lap and began to purr.
It’s not the Heraclitan Grill, is it? Our Listeners are never happy there. They come crawling back, but you know our policy.
Yes, sir, you don’t like traitors.
You know the only support they get is a can of Flame-Off for if they set themselves alight.
I know, Leonard said.
Was it the attack on our pizza grottos? They’re under control now, you know.
I hadn’t heard about that. No, it’s something else. I can’t talk about it.
You recall that you signed an echemythia agreement?
I agreed to be silent about—
Our recipes ingredients White Room Pythagorean Papers soul tracing aptitude tests meditation scripts algorithms policies and punishments.
Punishments?
You signed the agreement. Keep it and you’ll have nothing to worry about.
Right, Leonard said. I won’t tell anyone.
We know about your true-ray blocker.
Goodbye, sir.
Don’t you come crawling back! We hate traitors!
For the second time that night, the doorbell rang. It was Carol and Felix.
I saw the shades were up. You okay?
I quit my job.
Good, Carol said. You can watch Felix. Don’t worry if I don’t come back straightaway. I’m going to a book-club convention.
She was wearing her climbing suit and dust cap and was carrying not her usual clutchbag but a six-gallon grabbag over her shoulders.
Go on, Felix. Uncle Leonard will take care of you.
She pushed her son forward but he clung to the ridges of her climbing suit.
Don’t go, Mommy! Please don’t go!
Big boy, Felix. Clootie dumplings and head cheese in the freezer, lucre in the peanut-butter jam square jar.
She pecked Felix’s cheek and, before he could grab her waist, slid down the garage chute and cycled off on her Roadster.
Come on, Felix, Leonard said. I have something amazing to show you: the White Room isn’t white anymore!
Really? Felix sniffed. Can I wear my lumberjack suit in there?
Yup.
And my peaked cap?
You can wear anything you like.
Wow, Felix said, trying to take that in.
We can de-white the walls, Leonard said. I think we should do that right now, don’t you?
Can’t go back there
While Felix was changing, Leonard thought about what Isaac had said. Go to the University Library. That’s all. The rest will happen and you will know what to do.
What do you mean? Leonard had said.
Go to the University Library, Isaac said. The rest will happen and you will know what to do.
Oh, Leonard said. Will I meet her there?
Really! Mebbe you can trust me just a little?
How will I know it’s her?
You mean, will she give you refreshment from a well?
Isaac was being sarcastic. Leonard decided not to ask.
I haven’t left the house in three years.
I know, Isaac said. And tomorrow you will.
I’m a little scared, Leonard said.
Bring Felix.
He has school, Leonard said.
No he doesn’t.
Then he was gone.
When Felix arrived back at the no-longer-white room, Leonard could see he’d opted for his rainbow suit and shiny slippers.
Good choice, Leonard said.
Felix beamed.
You having a problem with school? Leonard asked.
Mom’s taken me out. I have to be underground-schooled with other kids in her book group. No more brainwashing. That was before she got the call on her red pocket phone and went off. My teacher said, Raise an ignoramus for all I care. So Mom called her an imperialist tool. I don’t think I could go back even if I wanted to, which I don’t.
Not to worry, Leonard said. I’ll take you to the University Library tomorrow. You’ll learn a lot there, we both will.
But as they commenced to drawing on the walls of the no-longer-white room, Leonard couldn’t help but wonder what.
PART TWO
THE BRAZEN HEAD
The caravan
The next morning, Felix was up bright and early, while Leonard was still on night-shift time. The boy was wearing a little fur jacket and white pants on which he’d embroidered images of his heroes—mostly people Leonard didn’t know, but Leonard was also there, on Felix’s knee. Bleary still, Leonard made some cinnamon buns, put jujuberries in a chokebag for later, and left some mealie pudding next to the cat-chimney for Medusa. Then he consulted the Brazen Head about library hours and caravan routes. To humor Felix, Leonard had the Brazen Head fart his reply. He then gathered coins from the peanut-butter jam square jar and was about to usher Felix out the door when Felix said, You’re wearing that?
It was only what Leonard usually wore—green army pants and a roomy silverscan overshirt—but Felix seemed to think a trip to the University Library demanded something special, so they went to Leonard’s closet and chose a flowered climbing suit Leonard had never worn and a long gabardine coat that had once belonged to his grandfather. Thus attired, they made their way.
It had been three years since Leonard had left the house, not counting the Time between Here and There. There were no scripts to follow, no Probable Scenarios, no saying he wouldn’t get dumped onto the municipal compost heap, or the adult equivalent, whatever that was. Aside from clients-in-pain, the Chipmunk Patrol, and the occasional screen-yak, Leonard had spoken with no one outside his family since the day he’d made himself a White Room. Until Milione. And Isaac.
When the caravan arrived, Leonard helped Felix up the ladder onto the back. Felix was fine, but Leonard was shaking. So many strangers! But the passengers hardly noticed their arrival. A man in a straw hat was talking soothingly to some chickens in a mesh bag, another was playing backgammon against himself and grumbling when he lost, a family was sitting on black carryall bags, looking dejected. Two teenage girls occupied most of the floor space, lying down with pillows and gossiping about a boy named Jet. Along the sides were posters introducing the Leader’s new Chipmunk Patrol: a group of smiling policemen who promised to make every neighborhood clean and optimally safe.
You sure this is the right caravan? Leonard whispered to Felix after he’d negotiated seats amid some businessmen in shark suits on a bench that ran along the side. Felix consulted his fart printout, then, to be safe, consulted the Brazen Head on the navigation watch Carol had given Leonard for his birthday.
Yup, Felix said.
The caravan jerked to a stop and from below someone shouted, Suburban Shopping Mall! The two girls quickly stood, gathered their pillows, and climbed down the ladder. The man with the chickens got off at the City Slaughterhouse. Three men in shark suits got off at the Business District. All the while, Leonard kept his eyes shut and firmly squeezed Felix’s hand. Finally they heard the University stop called, and Leonard helped Felix down the ladder and paid the driver some lucre. The driver insisted that they owed him more, because of the new security tax.
Leonard consulted the Brazen Head on his navigation watch, which called the driver a bloody liar. The man blushed and said, Have a nice day!
The sun was bright in Leonard’s eyes—he hadn’t thought to bring a diffuser. Felix, who was apparently thinking more clearly, attached his to the visor of his peaked cap, then took
Leonard’s hand.
Fun, huh? Felix said.
Leonard leaned over a holly bush and vomited.
The University Walking Grounds
Thousands walked the University Walking Grounds, many of them from foreign lands, or so their attire suggested. As Felix and Leonard followed the signs to the University Library, they saw Survivalists wearing camouflage and offering samples of dried chipmunk; Heraclitan Grill flamethrowers in their characteristic fireproof togs; also, royal pages from the monarchists’ Food Court, barbecuties from the Whiggery Piggery, even a few Dadaists (the latter didn’t have a food chain, as the Dada Dinner Diner had famously failed for want of a menu). Neo-Maoists, recognizable by their black climbing suits, were the favorite targets of proselytizing pizza greeters: Can I interest you in a Neetsa Pizza? Leonard heard a well-groomed boy with a clipboard ask a neo-Maoist girl. How about some Pythagorean literature? There’s more to the world than materialism and class struggle! he shouted as she rushed away.
The most attractive and confident young people wore primary-colored stockings and thick sashes of bright veneer, their hair cut in swatches—this was the style, apparently. Leonard felt embarrassed in his flowered climbing suit: no one was wearing patterns! If only he’d stayed at home, but that had been out of the question.
When they arrived at the library—an immense structure built in the late Domestic Imperial style—Leonard’s heart was beating so fast his health meter gave a soft vibrating alarm. He steered his nephew to an engraved rockseat, where they sat.
I’m supposed to meet her here, Leonard said, pulling out jujuberries for Felix.
Who? Felix asked.
My true love, Leonard mumbled. How will I know it’s her? And why would she like me?
Felix’s eyes opened wide.
Here?
Leonard nodded.
Excellent! Felix said. Can I help? What does she look like?
I don’t know.
That makes it harder, Felix said.
Isaac said something about her drawing refreshment from a well.
Who’s Isaac?
I’ll tell you later.
This satisfied Felix, so Leonard practiced a five-second Pythagorean meditation that brought his heartbeat back to normal.
Okay, kiddo, he said. Let’s do it.
The Book Guide
Leonard’s Book Guide was Sally. She was his age, which is to say, about twenty-four and a half years old, and she wore her light brown hair on top of her head in a waterfall of curls and headbeads. She was lucky enough to have freckles, which she accentuated with freckledot makeup. Her clothes were old-fashioned—a combination of the heavy materials Leonard remembered from his last year of school, which is to say, when he was fifteen, and the neoclassical outfits Carol had worn at that age.
Sally shook Leonard’s hand and he felt electric sparks way past his elbow.
I will be your Book Guide, she said. Come this way that I may offer you some lemonade.
They followed, and Leonard liked the way she walked: it was as if all the air in the world belonged to her and made way when it saw her coming.
Pink, yellow, or green? she asked when they arrived at the serving station. She picked up a ladle, prepared to dip into one of three large wells.
Felix tugged at Leonard’s suit.
It’s her, he said.
I know, Leonard said.
Just looking
Do you find the lemonade refreshing? Sally asked.
Very, Leonard said.
Then finish it, please.
Leonard and Felix obliged, and she said, What shall be your destination today?
We don’t really know why we’re here, Leonard said. We’re just looking.
It will rather waste my time if I can’t guide you, Sally said.
I suppose we’d like to see whatever you find most interesting, Leonard said.
Sally’s face brightened.
I’ll take you to the Voynich manuscript! Check me out for three hours!
Leonard did, then Sally led them through the lobby with its vaulted ceilings and clerestory windows, through the din of the talking-books room, up a dark staircase into the silent scriptorium where pale undergraduates worked feather pens, down another staircase, through a hallway painted aqua and green, into a long, wide room containing many scholar tables. Sally stopped at one, retrieved a heavy leather clutchbag from a locked drawer, and on they walked till they reached a bubble-glass partition. We have to be absolutely invisible! she whispered, and blew on an antiquated breathreader. When the door opened, she pushed Leonard and Felix through ahead of her. More long hallways followed—and dark staircases, in which Leonard could now hear marching music.
That’s Peter, Sally said, no longer whispering. He works for me. When he’s on duty he pipes a military tattoo into the stairwells.
Leonard looked at her quizzically.
Don’t worry, she said. It’s a good thing.
I’m not worried, Leonard said, because already he trusted her, utterly and with his entire being, this woman who would be grandmother to his grandsons—and he wondered what he might give her, to show her his love. Milione had said women want only three things: wealth, position, and compliments. Well, Leonard had neither wealth nor position, not since he’d quit Neetsa Pizza. But he could offer compliments.
You guide very well, he said.
She ignored him.
They eventually passed through a wooden revolving door, marked with a sign that read Priceless Manuscripts, into a paneled room full of empty study tables. An old man peered at them from a curved desk that dominated the room.
That’s Peter, Sally said. I’ll vouch for you.
Thank you, Leonard said.
Peter said nothing, just handed them some antiseptic silk gloves and pressed a button, allowing them into a small room to the side.
The small room to the side
The room was small but opulent: stucco friezes of angels cavorting amid orchards framed the lower part of the walls; above waist level, the walls were painted with strange botanical specimens, huge plants with drooping buds, and roots that dug deep into the earth; the ceiling was adorned with gigantic gilt flames; and the floor was covered by a thick carpet of yellow, gold, and pink rosettes. Against the back wall was an elaborately carved blackwalnut wardrobe that looked like it belonged in the Leader’s domus. In the center of the room was a scholar’s table with four matching swirly chairs.
The local Society of Cathars commissioned this room in 1873, said Sally. They wanted the manuscript to abide in magnificent surroundings. They are convinced that it is a lost Cathar treasure. They are wrong, of course.
Leonard nodded, not knowing what a Cathar treasure might be. He wished he could slip into the hallway and ask the Brazen Head, but Sally said, Gloves, please! and stood before the wardrobe—for a long time, as if gathering her strength—then opened the door with a key that was already in the lock. Inside, resting on a green plush dais, was a book—small but thick, about seven inches wide and ten inches long. On a bottom shelf were other old books, leather bound and stained, covered by a dustproof cloth. Sally removed the cloth, laid it reverently on the scholar’s table, and placed the book from the dais on top of it.
This is the only unreadable book in the universe, she said. It is written in a code no one can understand. Emperor Rudolph II of Bohemia purchased the manuscript in 1586, though it is known to be older than that. The emperor was a strange man who amused himself with games and codes. He collected dwarves—
Dwarves? Leonard asked.
Don’t interrupt, Sally said. If you interrupt, I forget where I am and have to start over.
Sorry, Leonard said.
He amused himself with games. He collected codes—no, he collected games. Gosh darn it!
Sally sat down and looked flummoxed.
I believe he collected dwarves, Leonard said.
If you know so much, why am I telling you? Are you from the Cathar Society? Is this
a test?
I promise you, Leonard said, we are just an uncle and a nephew interested in books.
I think you should go now, Sally said.
But we’ve checked you out for three hours! Leonard said.
Sally looked defeated.
So you have, she said.
They’re doing it! Felix said. Leonard, look!
The two adults turned quickly to look at Felix. His small face was rapt as he stared down at a page opened at random.
They’re dancing! he cried. Just like in Grandpa’s books, quick, look, the letters are dancing!
No one’s supposed to know
Before Leonard could see what Felix was talking about, Sally pushed the boy with both hands; he fell backward and knocked against a stucco frieze. Leonard rushed to stand between her and his nephew.
What are you doing, pushing a small boy like that? Are you crazy?
She pushed Leonard then. She was surprisingly strong and Leonard also stumbled backward.
Who are you? she shouted, her curls and headbeads trembling. Did you come here to make fun of me? All I have to do is press that alarm over there and Peter will come with his tranquilizing gun. He’s a Baconian too, and we take the Voynich very seriously!
You’re crazy, Leonard said. You just pushed a small boy against the wall because he has a reading problem!
I don’t have a reading problem! Felix said. It’s just the way I see things.
Then Sally shocked both man and boy by beginning to cry.
No one’s supposed to know! she said, slumping onto one of the swirly chairs. How did you find out? Did my oculist tell you? Is he a Cathar? I knew he was a Cathar! All that talk about light and dark! I knew he wasn’t talking about my iris!
We don’t know what you’re talking about, Leonard said softly, but if you’re in trouble, we’d like to help.
I need both of you to leave now, she said, blowing her nose into the dustproof cloth. Leave your gloves in the catchment box as you go.
A Highly Unlikely Scenario, or a Neetsa Pizza Employee's Guide to Saving the World Page 7
