Christopher WunderLee - Moore's Mythopoeia

They had not observed Arthur Dodger leave the warehouse and the buildings schematics showed no other exit. Lt. Tobias remained in his position and observed the delayed departure of the entire band of men a few hours later. He had just witnessed a meeting. Captain Vincent was not present, as he was delayed at a subject’s residency. Of the twenty persons who entered, sixteen departed. Four remained inside and never left from the door.

* * *

“Ah-ha,” he said thumbing through the pages. “You don’t find this kind of guide book every day.”

Of man’s first disobedience, and the fruit

Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste

Brought death into the world, and all our woe,

With loss of Eden

Do you follow? It isn’t safe to follow. It adds a bleak undertone to the operation. How seriously shall he play the game? It isn’t that kind of game. No, the laurels are reserved for the foolish. He follows fine. The measure’s English heroic verse without rhyme, Homer’s Greek or Virgil’s Latin, that responsible guide of Dante. Rhyme is so barbaric in longer works, the wretched timbre. Rejected rhyme, like an old Spaniard of Italian, like Shakespeare and juicy tragedies of note. The game’s one of neglect really, a heroic bondage of language.

Placing the book inside his coat. Steal this book? He is liberating it from the prison of the shelf, as they say. Some argument, this is a how-to guide. There would be no Drydenesq treatment, not by Joseph.

She was the first to read it to him, and only selections. They’ve made it disappear along with the others. Sniff, sniff. But this one’s authentic. No adjustments or alterations to please the Sensitives.

Halts, seeing two young men pawing over The Sun Also Rises , peers over nearest boy’s shoulder. “Oh no, no, that will never do…” Joseph inserts rather socially, considering his mission. The young men turn, share ‘nuts’ glances, as Joseph removes the book from their hands. “You see, they’ve had their way with it… it’s been cleansed by the Index. Don’t bother with it,” he is flipping through the abridged pages, shaking his head, “so tragic…” he continues “this is all wrong…” reading the back cover “do you know what happened to him?” he finally looks up, into their eyes “there was no accident…” he muses, rereading the short author’s biography beside the robust image: mustached, unposed, youthful, “he killed himself, some say because of depression or futility… no, that’s not why, not if you actually read him… no, he did it for the mythology, a pure fabricator this one… his entire genesis is legend, false… injured in the Great War… tis true, but falsely so… brave man of Africa, Nick Adams, the whole expatriate scenario… this one’s an autobiographical enigma, worked fluently with lives… an inventor of his own ego, if you know what I mean… and the final act, the last great insertion into the myth of his own making, must be an artist… that’s right, he did it for posterity… remembered great… add conflicted artist to his historical resume, so romantic and tragic… what he never did shall be forgotten… what he portrays is the marrow of it… assassinated by his own psychology… the proverbial artist archetype, my boys… you see?” handing back the book, “that’s not Ernest Hemingway,” he stabs it with his index finger, covertly pulls his selection out of his coat, peers around to make sure its clear, and presents his find like a product model, one hand cupped underneath, the other framing it with swift motions, highlighting its features, he nods to the gentlemen as if they know what he’s talking about, and departs quickly…

Right passed the counter and through the door. There are no thieves to fear. Take a seat and follow his instructions very carefully. One: the serpent, or rather the devil in the serpent. Two: revolt and draw to his side a legion of angels. Three: journey to the garden. Four: evict them from their paradise. Keep it to yourself. This is a game of solitaire. He follows fine.

Captain Vincent is a spooky agent. Captain Vincent had not been invited to the marriage festivities, but he was there. He was lurking behind the backs of gentlemen, hiding within the crowd of well-wishers, standing behind the pillars and walls. He could not explain surveillance on the Greene wedding and so he was forced to go himself. He could not let her escape.

He had seen the man leaving her building, the man who had slowed the progress of her move, the man who had made the movers wait in their truck outside. She had appeared in the window, her dress held up to her chest, her shoulders bare, her face flush, her lip bleeding. He had missed something. He would not miss anything else.

The man was a writer, he wrote children’s books under a nom de plume . Children worldwide knew him as Father Nicholas; his real name was Arthur Dodger. Captain Vincent had seen Arthur Dodger leave Elisa Greene’s new apartment building with a plastic bag in his arms. He knew that Arthur Dodger had been with Elisa, he knew because he felt jealousy and he knew because of Arthur Dodger’s thoughts. Arthur Dodger had no health records, no medication regimen on file, no consumer quotas he was assigned were ever met, he did not vote, and he did not work for a living. Arthur Dodger was currently under investigation by Section 6 for impurities and the intent to undermine social harmony. He was a Class 5 threat according to Section 8.

The phone call, the appearance of Arthur Dodger, the misuse of medication, the lifestyle, the job, it was all evidence against Elisa Greene and Captain Vincent wouldn’t be able to protect her for long.

You do exist when I’m not thinking about you. You do exist when I cannot watch you.

Captain Vincent followed Arthur Dodger that day, he left his van parked outside Elisa’s apartment and walked forty meters behind the suspect. Arthur Dodger did not drive, he did not have an identification card, he was not registered in the domestic classification system, no one could say if he was A-lister, B-lister, C-lister, D-lister, X-lister or on a list of any kind. A wolf has predators too.

Dodger led Captain Vincent away from the fashionable district of the city. In the dark, a closet. That’s why she agreed to the move to the city. He entered the business district and spent an hour inside Barron’s world headquarters, a company that specialized in meat processing, packing and shipping. Barron’s was the world’s leading meat processor, packer and shipper. One of their Vice President’s was on the world’s board of directors. She’s come inside; she’s in the room. She’s outside the closet, trying to open the doors. She’s backing away; the game is on, a Clausewitzian relationship. After Dodger left Barron’s, with seemingly no purpose for his visit, Captain Vincent followed him twenty-four blocks down Dromi Avenue. Out now, she’s scared, running. Got hold of her, hurt her, make her afraid. Make her feel alive, she wants that. She’s always asked for that. That skin and that body, destroy her, ruin her, I remember that too. He’s a rapist. He writes children’s books. She wanted it that way. She invented the game.

Now Nick, don’t you, of all people, understand the story of Rapunzel? A tower, she’s locked in it. Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your beautiful hair. Ever notice how phallic castles are? The turrets are giant penises poking into heaven, great symbols of the masculinity of the king. It’s in every line, dear Nick. I want Hansel and Gretel, I want Little Red Riding Hood, I want the Three Bears, I want Cinderella, I want Puss-in-Boots, I want the Frog Prince, I especially want Sleeping Beauty and the Three Pigs.