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

by Rachel Cantor

  MOM! Felix shouted in a voice twice as loud as the one he’d used the day before. Buildings shook and trembled as his cry echoed across the avenues of the Business District, each reverberation growing louder and louder, rattling Leonard’s spine and jarring his bones.

  Sally reacted first.

  Leonard! she shouted. Felix isn’t moving!

  Is that pizza I smell?

  It was true. Felix was frozen solid like the dry-ice walls around the Leader’s domus.

  Leonard patted his nephew’s cheek, which was cold and unmoving, his mouth still pursed together forming the last momentous M!

  In the intersection, everyone was likewise frozen; only the horses moved about (Felix liked horses), sniffing bodies and debris, looking for dinner, perhaps. A white spotted pony trotted toward Leonard and Sally, his jouster tottering on his saddle because his legs no longer clamped the horse’s sides.

  Even the eatery odors had come to a standstill.

  Check Felix’s health meter, Sally said, putting her collapsible-beacon hat back on.

  Leonard lifted Felix’s shirt. The health meter, which should have been slowly pulsing toward calm, wasn’t moving at all! Leonard flicked it, in case it was stuck. It wasn’t.

  Sally and Leonard looked at each other. They knew what this meant. Unless and until Felix’s health meter returned to normal, the world would not move, Felix would not move.

  Carol! Leonard said, and rushed to his sister, who still lay curled in her defensive position. Not moving, but not frozen—unconscious. He tried to lift her from the cobbles, ruing that Pythagorean discipline had not required strength training. He gestured to Sally, who ran over to help him. Together they moved Carol twenty paces onto the side street beside Felix.

  The spotted pony, who was nuzzling Felix as if to wake him, or to thank him for stopping the fighting, whinnied and shook her mane, which caused her tottering jouster to topple stiffly to the ground next to Carol, his legs now straddling air.

  Now we really need a plan, said Sally, who had jumped out of the way of the jouster. But while Leonard was thinking again about how good he was at making plans, Sally said, I’ve got it! She tore a long slit in her orange-skin gown, then climbed onto the back of the pony, kissing and patting the pony’s alabaster mane. Where there are policemen, she said, there are police caravans. Large enough to take the four of us home.

  You know how to drive? Leonard asked, dumbfounded.

  Of course! Sally said, and was off, headbeads bouncing, leaving Leonard in darkness once again.

  The only ones licensed to drive in their town were policemen and bonded drivers of caravans, wagonettes, and liveried lorries. Police vehicles didn’t even have breathreader ignitions: who would steal them? Leonard tried to imagine what the world would be like if anyone could drive—chaos, he decided. Unimaginable freedom! And Sally, already an expert! What else did he not know about this extraordinary woman?

  On the ground, Carol opened her eyes.

  Is that pizza I smell? And then she was out again.

  Fish swimming in a sea of peasants

  They managed to get Carol curled into the front seat of a police caravan. Leonard propped Felix against the side of the vehicle’s holding cell, which was connected to the driver’s cell by rubber voice loops, and contained a supply of yellow sashes and sniper muskets. And they were off! Sally was a very skilled driver! She didn’t know Leonard’s house, but she did know the caravan routes (there really was an Archive of Severely Damaged, Unreadable, Out-of-Date Caravan Directories); Leonard promised to guide her from his neighborhood stop.

  So what does your Pythagorean training involve, Sally asked, if not driving and urban-survival tactics?

  Well, there’s Listening, and the welling of compassion, and Pythagorean meditation, and use of preapproved Listener algorithms. And receptivity, and easing of clients-in-pain. Plane geometry, of course, and tuning theory, metempsychosis and advanced soul tracing, eternal recurrence, and the spiritual qualities of the decad.

  Oh, Sally said. Well, I’m sure that’s good for something.

  He didn’t say lyre, because he’d failed lyre, and wished now he could sing Carol a Pythagorean healing song.

  Leonard made Sally park at Felix’s school caravan stop. He would go ahead to check heroically for nonfrozen police.

  Do you have a police scanner? Sally asked, grabbing what looked like a fountain pen out of her clutchbag. When she clicked it, it shot red rays and emitted a low hum.

  Leonard shook his head.

  What about an ID scrambler? she asked, waving another miniature device, which looked like a sterling needle-pusher or portable ice grinder. No? Then you had better stay here.

  Leonard nodded.

  Back in a tick, she said, and ran down the street, her orange-skin gown glowing in the starlight.

  Leonard very much wanted to have a plan ready for her return. A good plan. For what they would do when Carol and Felix came back to life. The police would still be outside, maybe frozen, certainly ready to arrest Carol and maybe take Felix away. Where was Isaac? Why wasn’t he helping?

  But Sally was back and pushing a wheelbarrow.

  There were six of them, she said, positioned around Carol’s house, each hiding behind a tree, wearing leafy camouflage. Almost in plain sight, she said, disgusted. She hadn’t needed her police scanner at all. But she did scramble the house ID: for the next long while, anyone looking at the house would be convinced he saw an abandoned caravan stop.

  She wheeled Carol in the wheelbarrow, and Leonard carried Felix like firewood to the garage apartment, where they placed them gently in Leonard’s bed, under warm blankets, in case that made a difference. As it happened, Leonard didn’t need a plan at all: Sally had everything figured out. Under her direction, they moved the majority of Carol’s clothes and other essentials out of Carol’s house and into Leonard’s garage apartment—specifically, under Leonard’s bed. The remainder of her things they left sloppily about and forged a note: Dear Leonard and Felix, I have left our beloved land for good and taken most of my belongings with me. You must forgive me. I know you knew absolutely nothing about my activities, and were therefore entirely innocent and blameless. In fact, my own activities were innocent and blameless. Soon the police will understand this and I shall be able to come home. Leonard, Felix belongs in your conscientious care because no one else can care for his special needs as you can, and he is such a credit to our Leader. Be good to him, as I know you will. Long live the nonviolent, law-abiding Revolution!

  Then they gathered emergency supplies: coin, ready edibles, string, warm hats. Sally took inflatable pockets from her clutchbag and showed Leonard how to attach one to his belt. We need to be ready, she said.

  I agree, Leonard said, but can we have dinner first?

  No, Sally said. First we have to move the policemen.

  With the help of the wheelbarrow, they moved the stiff, leaf-covered men to a neighbor’s yard, propping them against trees that encircled a house quite like Carol’s. Then for fun, they moved one or two to a house across the road.

  Now we have to scramble all the house IDs, which she accomplished up and down the block. After she positioned the stolen police caravan neatly in a parkspot at the municipal compost heap, Sally agreed that, yes, it was time for dinner, but first they had to change into on-the-run clothing. Dark colors, Sally said, blend-in styles. Quiet shoes. She chose a tan house tunic and trousers from Carol’s closet, and pocketed some of Carol’s undergarments. For himself, Leonard chose a slim-fitting caftan and trousers that he thought showed his long legs to advantage.

  Can you run in those? Sally asked. Bend? Twist? Show me.

  Leonard ran a circle through the house, then, wheezing, chose a larger caftan and exchanged his open-toed clogs for some black sailing shoes.

  Finally Sally agreed it was time for dinner and, no, she didn’t know how to cook. So while she checked on Carol and Felix (no change), Leonard defrosted a Fish Swimming in a S
ea of Peasants casserole in Carol’s flash cooker and found a few scraps of haggis for Medusa, who followed Sally around as if attached to her heel by a piece of string. They ate on the settee in the no-longer-white room, with a view of Felix’s drawings on the wall and the doors open, in case either Carol or Felix stirred in the other room. Neither spoke as they ate their dinner, both of them ravenous and none too dainty. When they finished, they set their bowls on the carpet and sighed and leaned back on the settee.

  It was the first time they had been alone together.

  Leonard wished he had some jokes to share. Look! he wanted to say, but he had nothing to show her. Why, she had more interesting things in her clutchbag than he had in his entire apartment—or his entire life.

  He looked at her dumbly, all admiration and despair.

  Which was when she kissed him.

  Clams and sea flowers

  She tasted like clams, and sea flowers. Leonard had never experienced anything so delicious, or disorienting. His heart was flummoxing, his ears let in far too much air.

  Good we got that over with, Sally said, pulling away and slapping her thighs.

  I’m in love with you, Leonard said, helplessly.

  Yes, well, she said, we have more important things to think about.

  Leonard could think of none.

  Marry me, he said.

  Don’t be silly, she said. So what’s this?

  Leonard wanted to say, Your entrancing face, because that was all he could see, but Sally was pointing at the no-longer-white wall, where Felix and he had drawn pictures. Or rather, where Felix had drawn pictures—exuberant drawings of devilish monsters and eerie landscapes—while Leonard, to keep Felix company, had confined himself to a small corner behind his screen, where he drew geometric representations of the Pythagorean theorem:

  He’d not had much of a chance to examine Felix’s drawings, which were vivid and engaging. The ugly guy over there, now that he thought about it, had to be the demon Kafkaphony with his two wives, because the two women were fighting with drawn swords—and there, in separate sandboxes, were leprous babies and babes with two heads. And that guy, standing over by the goats that looked like people, had to be Kafsephony, surrounded by infants who jumped about the ether.

  Hey, Sally said, standing and looking more intently at the demon pictures, is that what I think it is?

  Leonard jumped up, but he wasn’t listening, for on the next wall, in front of a stand of fruit-bearing trees—the orchard of Felix’s dream, of his grandfather’s stories, it had to be—blocking the view of the two Bens, the other one, and the rabbi who were about to enter, was a marvelous drawing, clearly in Felix’s hand, of Leonard’s grandfather! Whom Felix had never met, whom he had never even seen in a pictograph. The figure was waving his arms, madly.

  As in, literally: his arms were moving, right there on the no-longer-white wall; he was trying to get Leonard’s attention!

  Grandfather! Leonard shouted. Isaac! Talk to me! How do we get Felix back? How do we keep Carol from the police?

  Leonard? What is it? Are you okay? Sally asked.

  Don’t you see? Leonard asked, pointing at the wall.

  Boychik, she don’t see it.

  You don’t see it! he said. It’s Isaac, he’s waving. He’s talking! From the wall!

  Don’t worry about her, boychik. I need you to listen good. You did very very good with the Baconians.

  Sally tugged on Leonard’s caftan. Who’s Isaac? The new Chief Librarian? Is this one of your tricks?

  Shh, Leonard whispered. Go check Felix. I’ll tell you later.

  She left the room, reluctantly, looking at Leonard over her shoulder.

  Felix is okay, boychik, but you have to get him, I am sorry for this. There is no other way.

  Get him? Now?

  Leonard turned to leave the room and saw the shadow of Sally, hiding behind the door.

  No, boychik. I don’t mean from the other room, I mean from the other century.

  We’re listening

  Boychik, I need you to listen good. Felix is with a very good, very important man. This man is taking care of him, but I need you to bring him home.

  An important man? Another century? What is he doing there? Where is Felix!

  Listen, you don’t know this man. He is Abulafia.

  Abulafia? Spanish mystic? Worked with Hebrew letters?

  Yes, I forget. The girl.

  Abulafia? said Sally from behind the door.

  Isaac! What is Felix doing in the thirteenth century! Where is he?!

  Not to worry about it. I had to send him, or his brain explode. He is too young for this, boychik. Nothing for it. He need Abulafia to control his powers. Very simple.

  Sally and Felix have Abulafianism, Leonard said.

  Abulafia? Sally said from behind the door.

  Silly phrase, but yes, they share this Special Gift.

  Sally thinks she’s lost it. She’s very sad.

  Not lost, never lost. You fix the Voynich, you did good, this is very very necessary. Now I need you to listen good. Boychik!

  But Leonard was behind the door, hugging Sally.

  Everything’s okay, he said. You still have your Special Gift. Felix is with Abulafia, we’re going to get him!

  Abulafia is dead!

  Isaac knows what he’s doing.

  Boychik!

  WHO’S ISAAC?

  Leonard led Sally by the hand back to the no-longer-white room.

  Sally, meet Isaac; Isaac, Sally.

  Yes yes, Isaac said. I need you to listen, Lenny.

  Where is he? Sally said.

  We’re listening, Leonard said.

  Finally! Isaac said. So this is how it goes.

  Stop kissing the girl

  Isaac explained to Leonard, and Leonard to Sally: Carol and Felix would be safe in Leonard’s garage apartment until they returned; they would find and know Abulafia by unmistakable signs. Most important, to save Felix, they had to convince Abulafia not to meet Pope Nicholas till Rosh Hashanah—later was okay, but any earlier and Felix, and they for that matter, would remain in the thirteenth century forever. The current world, then, the world they knew and loved, would stay frozen until the End of Days. Only there would be no End of Days, because there would be no Messiah to bring on the End of Days, heaven forbid!

  Repeat after me, Isaac said.

  He wants us to repeat after him.

  I can’t hear him.

  You repeat after me, buttercup.

  Repeat after me, Isaac said. What do you convince Abulafia of?

  What do you convince Abulafia of?

  What do you convince Abulafia of?

  No! You are not listening!

  Isaac! We are listening!

  Isaac! We are listening!

  Start over, Isaac said. You are such a literal boy. Answer my question: What must you do to save Felix and unfreeze the world?

  We must convince Abulafia not to visit Pope Nicholas until Rosh Hashanah!

  We must convince Abulafia not to visit Pope Nicholas until Rosh Hashanah!

  You know what is the Rosh Hashanah, boychik?

  No.

  No.

  We’re not repeating anymore, Leonard whispered to Sally, and then, because he couldn’t help it, he kissed her muddled forehead.

  Birthday of the world, boychik. You explain this later. She will come up with the explanation that will convince Abulafia, you trust her.

  Leonard kissed Sally’s forehead again.

  You’re going to save us, he whispered. You’re going to figure it all out!

  Sally looked very pleased with herself.

  You trust her with this one thing, Isaac said, but you don’t tell her anything what we do. The time will come. She will choose her destiny, then she can know anything. Not till then.

  Leonard nodded and turned to Sally. You will choose your destiny, he said. Then you can know everything.

  So what will happen, boychik, if you do not do as I sa
y?

  If we don’t do as you say, we will be stuck in the thirteenth century forever and the world will never unfreeze.

  Sally gasped.

  Not till the End of Days, Isaac said. Only there won’t be an End of Days.

  Not till the End of Days, Leonard said. Only there won’t be an End of Days.

  So stop kissing the girl, boychik, and listen.

  PART THREE

  THE SIZZLING ALEPH

  Can’t do better

  Can’t do better, a man was saying.

  They were standing on wet cobblestones on a dark, narrow street, conversing with a man who wore a yellow straw hat over his pageboy haircut, and a knee-length tunic over a linen shirt and hose. On his feet were soft leather slippers that looked like they’d been turned inside out. His fingernails were indescribably dirty and he smelled like fish.

  Where had Isaac landed them? The thirteenth century, presumably, but where?

  No decent establishment will take ye on spec, the man added. Go elsewhere and ye’ll have to share yer chamber with indigent Frisians and Franks. Whereas I am willing to wait till ye locate florins amongst yer alleged relations here.

  Leonard nodded, abstractly, trying to catch up with the conversation, which seemed to have started without him. It had rained recently; the air was steamy with moisture and already sweat was accumulating on Leonard’s forehead and back. How wise Sally had been to insist he replace his slim-fitting caftan and trousers!

  Who is this, then? the man asked, pointing at Sally. Yer wife?

  Sister, Leonard said, just as Sally said, Wife.

  ’Tis Abraham and Sarah, ’tis it? the man said, laughing at his own inexplicable wit. Not to worry, this is no uncivilized land where a man must call his wife sister to save himself from murder. No one is opportuned or misabused in my hostellery! Though I fully admit yer caution, I do, and there are other hostelleries—all of them, in fact—where’d ye’d be not so keenly looked after. Have we decided, then? Shall we go up? What has happened to yer staffs, by the bye, were they stolen along with yer scrips and yer baldrics?