Jim Krusoe - The Sleep Garden

Madeline:

So let’s you and I live dangerously. Let’s see what happens.

She starts chopping up the onions and beets, and puts them in a frying pan with a little oil. HEATHER watches for a while, then loses interest.

Heather:

Well, I’ve got to go. I’m expecting a phone call any minute.

Madeline:

What? Oh, sure honey. Don’t forget what I said about Jeffery. He’s pretty special.

HEATHER leaves, MADELINE continues stirring. VIKTOR walks in and sniffs the air.

Viktor:

Hey! Is that food I smell?

I’m getting rich , Viktor thinks, but not quite rich enough just yet . Still, a little rich anyway, and a person has to measure his life against something, so why not make it money? There’s love, of course, but how can a person tell if he’s ahead or behind in love? There’s health and all that goes with it, but that’s a one-way street, he knows; a person can hold back the water of that particular dam only so long, and then the water is going to win, is going to pour over the top, and if that person doesn’t pick up his camping gear and get the hell out of there he’ll be buried in a wall of mud. As for Madeline, well, she’s okay enough, and sometimes she sings crazy stuff to him, which he likes, but — hello — when Viktor gets out of here he won’t be taking her. Sorry, kid. Tough break.

Madeline is a survivor though, so Viktor’s not worried about her. Really, the guy Viktor feels bad for is the Duck Man because he was the one who stole Madeline from the Duck Man. But when he lets her go, maybe Duck Man can get her back. Fair enough. And if she thinks Duck Man is so great, she can have him, Viktor thinks. And does Viktor care? Not much. The mystery, if there is one, is why she ever left Jeffery.

I am such a pig.

I am such a pig.

I am such a pig.

I am such a pig, Viktor says to himself.

And oddly it feels good to say this, like waving to himself from across the street, seeing a sort of familiar stranger, a mirror image, but one that reflects a truth that seems irrefutable, a truth that, once having been recognized, allows the recognizer some considerable latitude of behavior. Yes, thank you, Viktor, Viktor says. You are right. You are such a pig. And happy as a pig in mud.

Then Ballerina Mouse has an operation, one that’s done by little mouse doctors and mouse nurses, who take tiny X-ray pictures and move things this way and that, and pretty soon they turn her foot around so it faces a different direction and everything is better. But of course then Ballerina Mouse has to start practicing with her newly redirected foot, learning everything over again, in part because she’s had so much downtime, what with her stay in the hospital and all, but also because some of the muscles she’s now using aren’t used to working in that direction at all, but in fact the opposite one, so it’s like starting from scratch.

And Ballerina Mouse does work hard — even harder than she did before, which was already indisputably hard — so bit by bit her old skills return and she learns new skills as well. She gets a small role, and then a larger one, and then a larger one, and, at last, she becomes a star.

Well, no.

Who would believe that?

Among insects — the Captain thinks — among fish, among rats, iguanas, reindeer, dogs, lions, and tigers, there are no celebrities, nor are there celebrities among orangutans, or chimps, or bonobos, or apes. No, among none of these is there a need to raise one of their own above the rest, except to lead, or breed, or teach. No raccoon will ever choose another raccoon and set it off as an object of desire and envy. No snake ever said: I wish I could be you , to another snake. No toad ever fantasized about being a toad different than itself.

So what is this desire, the Captain wonders, we humans have to live out an alternate story to our own lives? Is there an entirely different life out there for him, one he never lived or has still to live or a whole series of possible lives heading off into infinity, like seeing a mirror reflected in another mirror? He looks around. On one hand there is the coffeepot, the microwave, and, in the next room, the giant TV screen — himself reflected on the surfaces of each in a way — and on the other hand, there is the leather couch with its feet resting on little rubber cups so as to keep it from digging holes into the Persian carpet, the coffee table, and, lying on the table, the Walther, right where he left it after having given it a thorough cleaning. And there he is too, standing amid all of it, a celebrity. But what would his life be like if he were just an ordinary seaman?

Madeline thinks: Has anyone down here in the Burrow ever taken a minute to recognize how important cooking is? I mean, what else does a person do three times a day, every day? Not sex, that’s for sure. But here, even with the limited facilities, it’s still possible for a stong-minded person with a talent for combining odd ingredients to carve out a gracious meal from the groceries that come, more or less in the middle of the night, several times a week when no one’s there to witness their arrival. Let’s see — kale, eggs, and breadcrumbs. How about a kale omelet with cheese covered with golden breadcrumbs? That sounds good, I think I’ll try it, but will my fellow renters even notice, or will they just take it for granted as they have so many, many other things? Will Viktor care? Jeffery? Even Raymond? Who am I kidding? And what about that twit Heather, who walks around in pretty much a daze, making faces to herself and jumping to one side whenever I pass her in the hall, like she’s afraid I’ll give her a smack? Honestly, I’m afraid the girl is headed for a breakdown, and I just hope I’m not around to see it when it comes; I have the feeling it could be messy.

I should charge people for my services, but then, if they said they didn’t need them, the truth is that I’d be bored without cooking, so I’ll just keep on doing what I do. Iron Chef Madeline . On-the-job training for some future career. No. Not just a career, but for being the queen of all celebrity chefs.

The fact is, Raymond’s head is small for his body, a trait that Madeline used to poke fun at in the days when she and Jeffery were, as Jeffery used to say, “an item.” Back then, the two of them would speculate on the man’s strange affinity for ducks and Madeline would say, “I can’t imagine any woman finding him attractive, can you?” then give Jeffery a little squeeze.

But toward the end of their relationship, just before she was about to leave Jeffery for Raymond, she once said, “You know, if you look at any of these decoys around Raymond’s room, you’ll see their heads are small too, at least compared to their bodies, and they are beautiful.”

So Madeline, Jeffery tells himself, is now onto this string of two guys in a row: the first with a small head, and the second with overlarge hands. What does this say about her? Does Madeline have some kind of thing for freaks? And more important, is it possible there is something weird about him too that Madeline can see but he can’t?