Christopher WunderLee - The Loony - a novella of epic proportions

So there was the awkward doctor amidst the elite of the institution, none of which understood what exactly he’d done or hadn’t done, even with lengthy explanations by Dr. Brecht and Co. However, with the free champagne and all the pats on the back, dear Al was feeling pretty good, and when his aged mentor, as tipsy as he was, led him stumbling back to the laboratory, arm-in-arm, her Bavarian voice whispering perversities into his chilly ears, he went ahead and bum rushed her against the university’s multi-million dollar telescope after she appeared in the double-doorway of the planetarium in only her white lab coat. Next thing he knew, Dr. Brecht was straddling him in his twin bed a few hours later and screaming something that sounded like: Gawd est toad, gawd est toad… Albert awoke with her snoring against his cheek the following morning and tried to make one more go of her, but she’d already regretted the whole damn thing, and dressed quickly, avoiding his eyes, and departed without much of her clothing.

He’d given up on her, actually contemplated trying to make it to the lab, when the door rattled almost apologetically. “Back for another helping… are we? Felt so good,” he triumphantly taunts as he swings it open and frames himself, in all his skeletal beauty, in the doorway, only to be quite shocked (and a little dismayed) to find two rather serious looking gentlemen in matching navy blue suits and finally groomed faces, standing in formation and staring back at him.

“Mr. Albert Lochner,” the robotic lips sputter out.

“That’s doctor,” he corrects, stepping back and grabbing the first piece of cloth he can find, which just happens to be her blouse, slightly ravished, and puts it on as if he wore a peach with honey dew flowers and lassos shirt everyday.

“Dr. Albert Lochner,” the robotic lips repeat methodically, “this is special agent…”

Lord Lochner, with his crown slightly askew and his scepter beating time to the chaotic rhythm of a sitar player and a belly dancer all the way from Persian Superior, burps wildly and places his royal red robe with white trimming over his shoulders.

He clucks at the unforgiving sun, boiling the rain puddles that gathered desperately during the night rain and pecks like a pendulum at the feed. He cocks his neck, quickly surveying the barnyard for a foxy predator and returns to his soil laden breakfast.

High above the tent, the audience transfixed like a congregation watching the return of the messiah, and swoops like a raptor over the bar, loops his kneepits around the wire and flings himself with abandonment out into space, feels the tight grip of gravity begin to tug at his limbs, just as his partner, the Amazing Arlo, catches his wrists and swings him like a child’s doll onto the perch.

He’d blacked out, faint vignettes of royalty and chickens and acrobats, the soldier kneels above him with a dirty glass of yellow water, mouthing the words in a prank of deafness, just like those kids used to do on the dorm, until he can gather his strength.

* * *

Albert stands amidst several seated clinicians, in the middle of a rather habdab routine, a mix of the jazzy Skipper and the subdued and dignified Whoopee, his arms are swinging in great gyres, as his feet, he has decided he’s wearing tap shoes, are doing the best jig this side of Lawrence Welk, and he’s humming a few notes of his own composed dirge, although much of it is borrowed from Mozart, he’s feverishly reaching the climax, has thrown in a clap in three-fourths time, and screams: “ohh, oohhh,” after the break. They, for their part, are taking notes, and monitoring his progress.

“Albert, Albert, are you on any drugs?” the spectacled fellow leaning against the corner, perhaps to hold it up, its obviously made of some sort of gelatin snack, requests politely.

“Show you right,” Albert responds haughtily, a little annoyed by the interruption, after all, it takes a great deal of concentration to maintain the routine.

“And how long have you, or what is the extent of your current situation?” he asks, after penning on his clipboard for a time.

“This is obviously completely acephalous, which is probably why I’ve been brought in, or at least,” he pauses and then realizes he’s broken stride, “partially. You need an astrophysicist, there are certain factors that need to be relayed accurately, perhaps not for the time being, no, they could be fooled, but for the future, when the concepts of interstellar trigonometry are as commonplace as arithmetic, or subtraction, and I, I volunteer. As long as I don’t have to go to Korea, I volunteer, I’m qualified.”

“You feel as though you are being interviewed.”

“Have I got the job?”

“What would you like to do?”

“Of course, this is all a formality, I’m sure,” Albert has slowed the pace; he’s simply skipping his taps at this point, in order to impress the officials. “Being right out of college, you know I have a PhD, I couldn’t expect anything better. But that’s a prime point, you see, I’m malleable, pliable, I have no morals, not at this point, I haven’t acquired them yet, there’s no incentive for me to yet, no children to pass down my hypocrisy to yet, no wife to impress into giving up her honey pot, that’s a clear advantage. You know, we really seem to have clicked, you too enjoy a good groove and I can tell, I’m observant, you’re impressed by my tapping. This could be an everyday kind of thing, we could jam daily, before coffee and doughnuts and the day begins. I could teach you. Then, there’s the professional aspects, we see eye-to-eye, I’m sure I’m quite impressive to you at this point.”

“Tell us more about the job.”

“Oh, I see,” he’s snapping his fingers and dancing lightly on his toes, “one of those kind of things, yes… well, we’re all afraid of Sputnik and Beatniks, the yellow army has invaded our children’s subconscious, neuroses is rampant, they’ve been beaming some sort of mood enhancing agent down, all the bombs in the world can’t protect us from them if they’re the emperors of space, McCarthy knows about it, we’re in serious trouble. I’m a patriot, I really am. I’ll send them up there and get them home for you. I have the intelligence, we have the technology. Crap, we could transmit them up there like TV waves, but that’s not good entertainment, no, we need to launch them into the sky, ride the lightning… I’m prepared to assist, even lead this sort of an operation for you. I’m not afraid of the commitment, my dears. I’m not afraid of the Russians, maybe the Chinese, but they’re years behind, it’s the Reds we need to worry about at this point, Berlin’s been dissected like a high school worm experiment, uncraftily, unskilled, we need precision at this point. Sure, there are other scientists out there, Einstein might be helpful, in an abstract relative sort of way, ha, but you need youth, new ideas infused into the program. I’m your man.”

“I see,” the official seems convinced, he writes creatively in his notebook, probably nothing to do with the interview, probably a grocery list.

Albert’s gotten over his initial shyness and dismay, after the two G-men showed up and he thought he was being arrested. So, this is how they do it. “So, this is how you do it.”

“Please specify, Albert.”

“Do I got the job or what?”

“I think we can find a place for you here,” he’s clamped shut his notes and stood up. Albert rushes him and thrusts forward his hand to shake, which is accepted and handled surreptitiously.

“I’m serious about those morning practices, a little calisthenics and we’ll get right down to it. You won’t be sorry gentlemen, I’m the finest mind of my generation, constructed by sanity, well-fed, composed, clothed, dancing my way through the mulatto avenues of twilight. This is going to be a grand experiment, and I will not let you down, no sirs. Now, what shall be my title? Do I get a complimentary rank or am I considered a civilian still? I think I’d like to be Captain Doctor Albert Lochner, if that’s not too much to ask. We should draw up the paperwork for me to sign. I really can’t tell you how pleased I am, this is the start of something mutually beneficial, you won’t be sorry.”