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

by Rachel Cantor

  I can’t leave just yet, Leonard said, and the man returned. I have to see Felix. I have to take him home.

  Oh, no. Sorry, the man said, looking up to where he executed a double roundabout juggle that caused the letters to circle each other in both backward and forward motion. That won’t be possible. I need him. Big shame! I would have liked to have talked with you about Pythagoras. I met him once, you know, in Tibet. Wonderful man! But now it’s time for you to go. Cheerio! and again the man started to fade.

  You can’t keep him! Leonard said. He’s needed at home, we need him at home. He froze the world, you know.

  The man returned to focus, looking a trifle put out. His juggle was simple now: just four simultaneous circlings.

  It doesn’t matter. The world’s going to end, Felix will help me. It’s a two-man job. So take care now, you hear!

  He has to come home.

  The spirit-man floated closer, perhaps to impress Leonard with his prodigious height. The letters left his hands and rose to the timbered ceiling, there to loop and spin.

  I think you’ll find, Mr. Leonard, that Asher prefers to stay with me. So you can go now. Goodbye!

  He won’t stay with you! Leonard said. He won’t. I’ll find you. I’ll find you and bring him home.

  Oh, no! the Abulafia spirit-man said, floating now just inches above Leonard, forcing him to look straight up in the air. The letters were circling his head so fiercely his face could barely be seen. You have to stay away! Why do you think I’ve come to you? People are already watching us because of you. You were seen, by the Inquisition. You’ll bring danger to everyone, Asher included. And get away from this church—there are Orsini everywhere! Okay, it was nice meeting you. Bye!

  Before Leonard could ask what an Orsini was, the floating man and his letters had fizzled away.

  The sizzling Aleph

  But one of them dropped. One of the letters Abulafia had been juggling, it popped out of formation just as the spirit-man dissolved and landed on the marble floor, the coolness of which Leonard could again feel, together with the sweetness of Sally’s head upon his shoulder.

  The letter smoked a little about the edges, and vibrated. Leonard, not sure what to do, reached for it and put it in his underarm pocket, where the vibration soothed him, so much that despite his intention to protect Sally from Orsini and men with big boots, he went quite thoroughly to sleep.

  You look like a Survivalist

  I had something of a vision last night, Leonard explained when Sally woke him. A slight vibration under his arm reminded him that Abulafia’s letter was still in his pocket. I saw Abulafia. He said they saw us, the Inquisition, that man with the boots, he saw us—I guess when we were running away.

  Sally put her hand to her cheek.

  That’s not possible! What can he have seen? Just the back of us, just the back of two ordinary pilgrims …

  She put her hand on Leonard’s afro.

  They saw this, she said softly. They think you’re wearing crayon-colored sleeping togs, that’s okay, but they also saw your hair.

  My hair? Leonard said, already feeling the loss.

  I can take out my headbeads, but you were running behind me, what they saw is you. We’ll have to cut your hair.

  The glorious equanimity Leonard had felt the night before, his exaltation over the fecund majesty of the world, was gone; his lower lip trembled.

  I can do that, he said.

  You’re very brave, Sally said. I don’t suppose we’ll find hair-shears here. You’ll have to borrow a knife from those folks over there, the ones who are carving that enormous, delicious-looking loaf of bread. The one with the intoxicating aroma and the oil dripping all over it.

  I’m hungry too, Leonard said.

  Try not to be conspicuous, Sally said.

  Leonard laughed at the idea that any one person in this vast hall of rushing, ecstatic, limping, crying, snoring, shrieking, feasting, singing citizenry might ever be singly conspicuous.

  Leonard introduced himself.

  The bread-eating family turned out to be Cumbrian.

  Ahreet, marra! the elder exclaimed, holding out his hand. Oust fetal? Werst t’ frae?

  Was this the best Isaac could do? Leonard couldn’t understand a word. When he didn’t respond, the elder explained to his family, T’boyo’s an offcomer, and they nodded knowingly.

  Leonard offered multiple gestures. The Cumbrian family gladly lent Leonard their knife, though the youngest and strongest accompanied him to the nearest tomb, where, affecting an ague, Leonard twitched and moaned and cut off his curls, depositing them at the foot of the reclining figure, much to the approbation of a pair of black-robed Sicilian sisters.

  The youngest and strongest ran his hand approvingly over Leonard’s partially shorn head.

  Slape! he said, and Leonard smiled uncertainly.

  He gave his thanks to the Cumbrian family. They pointed at their food.

  Scran? they asked. Snig? Skemmy? Kets?

  Leonard’s gaze lingered possibly rather long on their bread, for they gave him one-quarter of it with their blessings.

  As he walked off, he heard the youngest and strongest, his hand in his hair, explain to the others: Biddies! he said.

  You look like a Survivalist, Sally said, also running her fingers through Leonard’s unevenly cropped hair. I like it!

  Leonard would willingly have hacked off all his hair on meeting Sally had he known it would please her. And yet, he pondered, such a gesture would have been evidence of neither wealth nor position, nor would it have involved pretty compliments. How puzzling! Milione had been wise about many things, but maybe he didn’t know about women.

  Or maybe Sally wasn’t like most women. Being a paragon, this was, in fact, likely.

  I like your new hairstyle, he said.

  Sally had removed her headbeads and given them to a Cumbrian child, who was already arranging them in colored polygons on the ground.

  They finished their breakfast and stood to go.

  Today would have to be the day.

  This is your world

  They departed the basilica, Leonard taking just one moment to admire the colored window, flower shaped, high above the door, through which entered the most brilliant blue light, and another moment, in the courtyard, to gaze at the gold-backed mosaics—more men wearing gowns—on the church’s facade. He was about to point Sally’s attention to the tower they’d seen the night before—in daylight he could see that its top was gilded with silver and gold—but Sally sighed. Her expression was downcast, her demeanor despondent.

  You feeling any better? Leonard asked.

  I’m fine. Why do you ask? Do I seem not fine? I feel fine.

  Leonard didn’t want to argue with her, so he said, You didn’t seem fine last night. Last night you seemed kind of blue.

  Sally was about to deny it but didn’t. Instead she leaned against one of the fountain’s red columns and looked intently at her leather slippers.

  This is your world, she said. Not mine. I like things to be clear; I don’t like signs and wonders. I don’t like being in a world where I don’t know the rules, where you have visions I can’t see, and some invisible guy named Isaac tells us what to do. Back home, I know how things work: give me a task, and I’ll find the best way to do it. Here I do my best and nearly get us killed!

  But you’ve forgotten, Leonard said, standing in front of her and draping his arms over her shoulders.

  Forgotten what?

  Sally wouldn’t look at Leonard: she was still staring at her slippers.

  What Isaac said.

  What did Isaac say?

  That you’ll be the one to convince Abulafia to wait …

  For the birthday of the world …

  Before visiting the pope!

  That’s going to be me, isn’t it? Sally said, looking up. I had forgotten.

  Which doesn’t mean you can’t figure out what fish have to do with Felix, he said, playing with her unbeade
d hair.

  What are we waiting for? she said. Let’s get to the river!

  Soon or someday very soon

  Are you getting signs and wonders about which way to go? Sally asked when they reached the river. Around them dank, watery smells hung heavy in the thick summer air.

  Abulafia said we should stay away from the church. Something about the Orsini, whatever that is.

  The pope is an Orsini, that’s his family name. What? she said, smiling. I asked the Brazen Head back in the future. Born Giovanni Gaetano Orsini, pope from 1277 to 1280, died in Soriano, Italy.

  He dies?

  Sally gave him a look.

  It’s 1280 right now! Leonard said. Remember? August 1280. Bobolo told us.

  He dies this year, then, sometime in the next few months, Sally said.

  And we’re the only ones who know this, Leonard said.

  You don’t suppose that …

  He couldn’t, Leonard said. Abulafia? Kill the pope? It’s not possible.

  We don’t know anything about him. Maybe he’s a murderer! Maybe your Isaac, whoever he is, sent us to stop a murderer! Leonard, the man has Felix!

  Felix has to be okay. Isaac said Abulafia was a good man.

  And you trust this Isaac who’s been dead forty-five years why?

  Because my grandfather trusts him.

  Your grandfather who’s also dead.

  Yes.

  And I have to trust them because I trust you?

  I guess so.

  But you don’t trust me enough to tell me about Isaac, or how you talk to people who aren’t there.

  I’ll tell you everything soon.

  Soon, really?

  Soon. I promise, or if not soon, someday. Someday very soon.

  Sally shook her head.

  Promise, Leonard said.

  The ghastly ghost

  They crossed the bridge, again making their way through pilgrims and touts, and began walking along the riverbank in the direction of the island.

  What are those things? Sally asked, pointing at the strange floating structures they’d seen the night before.

  They walked another twenty cubits toward the nearest, which was made of wood and affixed to a floating dock; on one side, in and above the water, an enormous wheel turned with the current. A loud and unpleasant grinding sound issued from within.

  Can’t be a fishing station, Sally said, turning her head sideways to get a better view of the wheel. There are no fisherpeople. Or nets, or explosive devices. Do you suppose it’s for the amusement of children?

  There are too many of them. Must have something to do with Custom and Commerce, Leonard said, and wished Milione were there: assuredly he’d seen perplexities such as these on his travels. It would be nearly twenty years before Mill was back from his travels. Right now, he’d be in the court of Kubilai Khan, or some such place.

  I’m going to make sure these aren’t fishing stations, Sally said.

  What?

  I’m going to see!

  Careful! Leonard shouted as Sally tripped down the stone path.

  Hallooo! she cried, standing at the gangplank that led to the structure. Hallooo! Mr. Fisherperson! I’m looking for some fish! Is Felix here?

  A ghostly man stepped out of the first miniature cottage, his face and arms powdered white.

  Sally screamed, and ran.

  The fisherpersons

  Wait, Leonard said, grabbing her as she tore past and pulling her to him. It’s okay.

  Run! she screamed too close to his ear, struggling to get away.

  Sally! It’s okay. Look! He’s not a ghost. He’s a grain smasher.

  Ridiculous, Sally said, peeking over Leonard’s shoulder at the baffled grain smasher. There are no camels here to rotate the powdering stone.

  It’s the wheel, he whispered, holding her even tighter. The powdering stone is water powered.

  Sally stopped her struggling, but she was shaking and her health meter vibrated. The white-covered man had not uttered a word, was just looking at Leonard and Sally.

  I’m afraid of ghosts, she whispered into Leonard’s ear. I maybe forgot to tell you.

  Leonard had never seen Sally afraid before; she had never needed his comfort. As he stroked her shoulder blades, and smelled the good scent of her hair, and listened to her breath, he thought again of Milione. Everyone fears something, Milione had said. It may not be what you think. The brave person pursues that thing, or at least manages to stand in its midst.

  Sally broke away and smoothed her hair.

  The grain smasher was still staring.

  We’re looking for a boy named Felix! Leonard shouted, but the man remained dumb.

  We’re both tired, Leonard said, leading Sally some cubits away. Shall I check your health meter?

  Sally put her hands protectively against her chest.

  I’m fine, she said. Absolutely fine. There’s nothing wrong with me.

  Did you have a bad experience with a ghost once?

  It’s nothing. Let’s go, she said, and started walking ahead. Keep looking for ghosts and wonders, she shouted back at him.

  Signs and wonders.

  That’s what I said, Sally said.

  Signs and wonders, yes, Leonard thought. Observe, pay attention, listen. You’ll find Abulafia through unmistakable signs.

  Wonders were all around, of course. Brick towers; a strange white column taller than any building, against which the sun, barely risen, shone with exotic brightness; the river itself.

  Maybe there were too many wonders in this particular world, Leonard thought. Milione never tired of them, but they might flummox a sensitive sort like Sally.

  A few cubits ahead, rowboats tied to the bank, some men in rough-cut tunics lingered. Fisherpeople! They had to be.

  Sally ran toward them.

  Kind sirs!

  They saw her and muttered among themselves.

  Kind sirs! she said again, drawing closer.

  Avast, me hearty! Be ye a strumpet? one of them ventured.

  I’m looking for fish, Sally said.

  Fish? the man asked. They muttered again among themselves.

  You are fisherpeople, right?

  Fisherparsons, the leader said, offended.

  Also a boy, Leonard added, caught up with Sally. We are looking for a boy.

  Arrr! their leader said, thoughtfully. If it be boys yar after, we haven’t none of those, not goin’ in far that sort of thing. We arrr women-preferrrin’ fisherparsons, all of us. But our landlubber matey Petruccio at The Very Olde Sailorparsons’ Taverne can help ye, ain’t that so?

  The other men nodded.

  Is it a vary young boy yar after?

  His name is Felix, Sally said.

  Red afro, Leonard explained. About this high.

  Yar tastes are vary partickalar, the leader observed.

  Sometimes his name is Asher, Sally said.

  Asher! one of the fisherpeople shouted, and again the men conferred in low tones.

  Asher! the leader said. You shoulda said so afore! Arrr! He be the lad that assists the Jew magician, over at the fisherparsons’ marrrket.

  The other men nodded.

  I don’t think he’s far sale, the man added. The others agreed.

  And the fisherpersons’ market is where?

  Whar the fisherparsons sell fish, the leader explained; the others nodded—and, in nodding, seemed to nod in the direction Sally and Leonard were headed. Heartened, they bid their new friends adieu.

  Do you think they really were Long John Silvers? Sally asked when they were a safe distance away.

  I think Isaac never met a man of the sea.

  They giggled. Sally took Leonard’s hand. Maybe she was going to be alright.

  Talking the pilgrim talk

  If the fisherpeople had seen Felix with Abulafia, then he had to be okay. Leonard and Sally would find him and convince him to come home, which shouldn’t be hard; Felix would defrost the world, and the three would live
happily ever after, with Carol. Leonard almost did a little dance.

  I don’t think I can come home with you, Sally said.

  What? Leonard said.

  It’s 1280. Roger Bacon is no longer under house arrest—he’s studying in Oxford, at the Franciscan House. Don’t you see?

  You want to visit Roger Bacon?

  I want to know what he wrote in the Voynich. I need to know.

  Sally, that has to be very far away from here!

  I know, I know, I’d have to pass through Cathar territory, it’s a problem, but in 1280 they’re between Inquisitions. If I can pass as a pilgrim in Rome, I can pass as one returning from Rome, right? I have the gear, I can talk the pilgrim talk. Test me, go on, test me!

  Sally, you’d end up in this century forever! I don’t know that we could get you home again.

  Leonard, I don’t have anything to go home to. I’ve lost my job, my friends, my Special Gift.

  You haven’t lost your Special Gift! You have a destiny, Isaac said so! You only have to choose it!

  Maybe this is my destiny, to find Roger Bacon! He could teach me—I’d belong here, then.

  Leonard didn’t want to remind her that the pilgrim’s journey was a treacherous one, and there was no guarantee she’d find her idol, much less convince him to teach her. Instead, he took her hands and said, It isn’t your destiny, my treasure, it isn’t. Isaac said nothing about your staying always in the past.

  Who is this Isaac? Sally said. Does he care one whit about me? One day I’m reading the Voynich, the fate of the Latter-Day Baconians in my hands, the next day I’m humiliated, my powers gone, forced to run away. A fugitive, all because of this Isaac! Now I’m in Rome, chasing a man who’s probably a murderer, hungry, tired, alone, with no clean undergarments …

  Not alone, Leonard said, wrapping her again in his arms, but he wasn’t sure she heard.

  So many things

  Look, he said, retrieving the shimmering letter from his underarm pocket, wanting to show her a wonder, so she might be heartened. I got this from Abulafia.