Kalifornia

by Marc Laidlaw

  Kai Corgi, who rose to global stardom after successfully fighting an involuntary euthanasia order all the way to the Monday Night Court of Appeals, is unsparing with his savage analysis of how Hollywood (here, a microcosm for society in general) has led to global oppression of teegees through ignorant stereotypes. An active champion of animal—and not merely teegee—rights, Kai has lately withdrawn from wire-show performances, although he made an exception recently to portray his close friend Cornelius in an adaption of the Kalifornia story (airing tonight: see Schedule for times and channels).

  We watch in sympathy as Shemhamphorasch, a trained Shakespearean actor whose highest aspiration is to “tread the boards” as Hamlet or Othello (but whose genetic sources remain a matter of open speculation) finds himself cast again and again in the role of menacing alien blobs with monosyllabic lines . . . if any. Let us hope that the industry’s eyes are opened to the talents of this underrated actor, and that he gets the chance to play some of the roles he certainly deserves. I, for one, would tap deep credit for the opportunity to experience E.K.S. as Willy Loman.

  The most depressing moments, however, come in the study of Wayne Clutterbuck. Here is a teegee at the peak of his career—and his salary is anything but “chicken feed”—trapped at the bottom of an abyss of personal torment. Cornelius ably targets the source of Rooster Man’s anguish in his inability to come to terms with his transgenic roots. Straddling the vast moral gulf between man and rooster, unable to embrace or reject either identity, Clutterbuck is a truly tragic figure. The segments detailing his various drug addictions are shatteringly painful and sordid. This is a wirecast to experience with your children, and should open the eyes of any parent who expects the wires to play the part of unsupervised nanny and tutor.

  In spite of Cornelius’s proficiency with wires, it is the flat-screen segments that add the most dimension to the show, distancing us from the subjects and thus reminding us that we can never know another’s mind completely, despite the misleading evidence of our polynerves. With the sharp eye of an insider, Cornelius takes us into a world he knows well—and a harrowing journey it is, rife with injustice and bigotry, yet ultimately full of great hopes for an expanded, enlightened view of . . . not of humanity, but of intelligence itself. For what is most noble in these creatures is not necessarily their human qualities: it is something I cannot easily name. We should be grateful to Cornelius for his daring and insight. I await with trembling anticipation his next foray on the wires, whether he follows his bent for serious social commentary or plunges straight on into nerve-tingling entertainment!

  ***

  The Baja sun was hot in the afternoons, even in the green shade of the valley. Cornelius put down the review with which he had been shading his eyes as, sneakingly, he read it over again. Lying in a soft chaise lounge, he sipped a margarita and nibbled on some fresh chilled trout he’d hooked from the stream below the house just that morning. He thought of his relatives sunning themselves on craggy, barnacled rocks covered with sea-gull excrement, and had to pity them. They would never know the pleasures of a purely terrestrial existence. On the other hand, they didn’t have to put up with so much nonsense. This afternoon was a distinct and rare departure from his recently hectic schedule. Real seals had no concept of—no need for—vacation.

  Maybe there was something in all this for his next project. He was fishing for ideas with increasing desperation now that his first feature had been released. He must remain true to his roots, that much was certain. Despite the promised corporate sponsorship of McNguyen Industries for whatever his next effort might be, he had promised himself to liberate the suppressed humanimal energy he felt crackling around him every day, seeking avenues for release. So much injustice. If only he could focus all his ideas into one grand concept. An overarching plan eluded him, but he could feel it coming. . . .

  He perked up as Dyad called him from the shaded depths of the house. Going inside was like diving into cool water. She was waiting in the study. “It’s time.”

  Among the shelves of antiquarian books was another antique, a twenty-seven-inch color television set. Because the three of them lacked polynerves, it was more than merely a curiosity. A leather loveseat and several padded chairs sat in front of it. Cornelius dropped down in one of the chairs, and Dyad took the loveseat. A few seconds later, Raimundo came in and sat beside her.

  “I don’t know why you force me to watch this garbage,” he said with an aristocrat’s pride.

  “This is a big moment,” she said. “Something to rank with a new episode of ‘Gilligan’s Island.’”

  “I don’t know how you can compare the two,” Raimundo said scornfully.

  “Oh, Raimundo, get a tan.”

  He appeared to be sulking, but that was his continual expression. Beneath his moody surface, Cornelius found him to be an agreeable fellow. He certainly couldn’t blame him for disliking the wire shows. No one exactly trusted the wires right now. Television and holography were experiencing a renaissance—probably temporary—which pleased Raimundo beyond words, except when the programs themselves drove him to caustic criticism. He was a connoisseur of vintage sitcoms; the newer creations he considered pale, derivative crap.

  The screen lit up with a blue glow. Baroque fanfare was followed by a somewhat embroidered version of a tune Cornelius had heard thousands of times before. It was music he heard in his dreams. The Figueroa theme.

  “Tonight. . . finally it can be told . . . a stirring dramatization of the story behind the story everybody knows. ‘The Rise and Fall of Kalifornia!’

  “Starring . . .”

  Cornelius watched bemusedly as the cast was unveiled: “Dane Magyk as Alfredo! Helouise Magyk as Marjorie!” So much for the pope’s vow of silence to Sandy; he had sold his inside version of the story to the networks, risking prosecution for the chance to play himself. “Nona Magyk as Poppy! Danny B. Magyk as Sandy! Miggles and Pepe as Mir and Ferdi! Baby Wego as Kali! And Special Guest Star: Kai the Wonder Dog as Cornelius!”

  The casting was bizarrely inappropriate, though Cornelius had given Kai his blessing. Alfredo was an eight-foot Zulu, Marjorie a tiny Filipino woman. They both, however, had beautiful singing voices and he had long enjoyed the Magyk 7’s musical numbers. Sandy was the only remotely Caucasian member of the group, a short and somewhat pudgy redhead with a high-pitched nasal voice. And little Kali, plainly, was a dwarf.

  As the story began, with a reenactment of Kali’s birth in a luxurious suite of the Laguna Cliffs Marriott, Corny’s attention began to recede. Fortunately, at that moment, the phone buzzed.

  “Allow me,” Cornelius said.

  He moved to a corner of the room and switched on the screen. Sandy—the real Sandy—looked out at him. “Are you watching it?”

  “It’s on, but I can’t say it has my full attention.”

  “I can’t bring myself to . . . you know.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll be able to give you an accurate report.”

  Behind Sandy was a cavernous region full of huge machines; sparks flew from blowtorches, illuminating the dark regions in bursts; the sounds of clanging and drilling and sawing nearly drowned him out. Sandy himself was smeared with oil and grime. He had discovered happiness in the Holy City, and had returned to finish his education—and perhaps live out his life—with the Celestial Mechanics.

  “Who cares?” he said. “What’s important is the kind of work you’re doing. ‘Grats on your show, man. I really thought it was tan, Corny.”

  “I’m glad you made it last night,” Cornelius said. “It was good to see the family together again.”

  Their reunion had caused a small stir at the VC Theater. Miranda and Ferdinand were cresting on the popularity of “Child Bride” (Ferdi played the role of brother-in-law, a part somewhat smaller and far less controversial than the one he’d planned for himself), but Poppy and Kali had not been much in the public senses since the night of the Overload. Last night, they had looked much like any other moth
er and daughter. Kali, whose alarming growth rate had slowed quite a bit, was walking now—and on her own legs. Poppy had allowed Kali to keep her wires, but she remained tuned to her daughter constantly, supervising their usage. Alfredo, for once, seemed almost oblivious to the crowd’s attention; he was more concerned with keeping an eye on Kali, playing little games as if she were in danger of being bored. Alfredo did not quite grasp the implications of her astonishing intelligence and her recent brush with world domination. To him, she was simply a grandchild, to be teased and adored and looked after.

  Someone out of sight called Sandy. He held them off with a gesture, then nodded to Corny. “Well . . . let me know if it’s any good. I can always catch a rerun. Later, Corny.”

  “Good-bye.”

  When Cornelius returned to the program, things had deteriorated further.

  Raimundo made a noise, got up, and wandered away.

  Dyad sighed. “Excuse me a minute, Cornelius. I think Raimundo’s upset about something.”

  “I can certainly understand that.”

  The fat little Santiago character was waddling along breathlessly next to Kai-Cornelius at the oceanside. He tossed a stick far out into the waves, and the dogman plunged after it, barking joyfully in very poor imitation of a seal and apparently unaware of the fact that Cornelius had never learned to swim.

  Cornelius licked margarita salt from his lips, thinking briefly of the sea. Genetic memories surfaced, tantalizingly, giving him a moment of fear before they subsided. He envied Kai the ability to splash about in the waves; in this respect, the program’s portrayal was an improvement over the character himself. Cornelius was a seal who couldn’t swim. What else had he lost when he gained his humanity? And what exactly had he gained?

  Thumbs were the main thing humans had to be proud of. Even a teegee had to admit they were useful.

  He used one of his to turn off the TV.

  FOOTNOTES

  * * *

  * If you want to get technical.

  *At which the clairaudient, mind-hopping immortal alien intelligence, better known as Dr. McNguyen, breathed a sigh of relief and turned its full attention to a large stack of documents labeled PLAN B: TEEGEE REBELLION (WIRELESS).

  Table of Contents

  PART ONE

  S01E01: Live Birth

  S01E02. Seascraper Soirée

  S01E03. A Hag-Ridden Coach with No Wood on the Sides

  PART TWO

  S01E04. Revolt of the Wage Slaves

  S01E05. Seersuckers

  S01E06. Poppies Will Make Them Sleep

  S01E07. Trauma in Tinsel-Town

  S01E08. Kalifornia, Here I Come

  PART THREE

  S01E09. The Meatpuppet Master

  S01E10. Ba-Ha-Ha

  S01E11. Who Will Babysit the Babysitter?

  S01E12. Zing! Went the Strings

  S01E13. Sequelitis