Mark Dunn - Ella Minnow Pea

Am I not the cocky one! No, dear Cousin, I don’t think the tide is turning. The tide which washes the shores of this beleaguered island can be depended upon to follow the moon’s directives from now until the death of the planet, but lovely storm tides — beautiful hurricane-force, beach-battering, dune grass — deracinating gales do strike our beaches now and then, and leave change in their wake. Perhaps we are about to see such a storm. We will proceed on hope, comfixed in one mind and purpose upon these elite, self-deluded flayers of children.

Come down as soon as you like. We miss your smile!

As we will sorely miss the loss of “D” effective as of midnight tonight. (Have you not noticed the product of my decision to dribble this dreadful diatribe with as many uses of the doomed fourth letter as possible?) Only idiots, dear Cousin, or certifiable madmen would assign divine purpose to ridding ourselves of the tools not only with which to address Heaven itself (Henceforth “Deity” and “Divinity” and even the word “God” will be outlawed. The Council makes the following substitutional suggestions: “Omnigreatness” and “Screnity.”) but also of the ability as of midnight to discuss with anything but great difficulty everything that has occurred in the sanctified past. In taking “ed” away (Goodbye, Ed!), the most useful tool to express the past tense in the English language, we are being robbed of great chunks of our very history. This constitutes, in my opinion, a significant crime, an egregious sin, and one humongolacity of a daunting challenge.

But then, according to Nollop, that which challenges us also makes us stronger — better able to serve his memory, better able to serve one another in service of his memory, better able to serve ourselves in service of one another in service of his memory.

Sometimes I find myself laughing until I begin to choke.

Yipes! The Pony-post cometh!

Love ,

Ella

(And gooDbye for the last time!)

OFFICE OF HIGH ISLAND COUNCIL

NOLLOPTON

Friday, September 15

Dear Nollop Dweller:

Many of you have visited the Council office over the last several days, voicing concern over how best to express in the absence of the letter “D”—which leaves us at midnight tonight — each of the seven days of the week. This is a valid concern, but not one that should in any way threaten daily discourse. For instead of the calendrical terms Monday, Tuesday and so forth, we cheerfully offer the following surrogates. Use them freely and often, for their use honors us all.

For Sunday, please use Sunshine

For Monday, please use Monty

For Tuesday, please use Toes

For Wednesday, please use Wetty

For Thursday, please use Thurby

For Friday, please use Fribs

For Saturday, please use Satto-gatto

Parents: you may wish to help your children absorb these new words by turning the process into a game of some sort, simple flash cards also constituting a tried and efficient course.

Sincerely ,

Hamilton Ferguson

Chief Secretary

High Island Council

The* uick brown fox* umps over the la* y* og

NOLLOPVILLE

Toes, September 19

Ella,

Mr. Warren is here. I wasn’t aware that he was so young! Perhaps he only looks young. I chose not to ask his age so as not to embarrass him. Maybe twenty-four. No more than twenty-six, I think.

He is also very attractive. He parts his hair in the center, picking up on the style of the local boys. I can tell he wants to fit in. I can tell that he wishes not to arouse anyone’s suspicion.

He is single, as well — at least from what I have been able to learn. He was happy to show me pictures of his mother, his cocker spaniel, even his eight-year-young niece, but no beautiful fiancée, thank heaven!

I’m not sure why I am acting the schoolgirl. Perhaps because it has been so long since we’ve given welcome to such an interesting visitor. I know what you must be thinking. But I can assure you: the purpose of Nate’s visit is not to fall in love with me. Yet in my heart of hearts, I must confess: I simply cannot stop myself from the inevitable “what if”!

He got in last night, by the way.

Have I written that he’s witty? Clever to near-fault, it turns out. Not to mention the fact that he speaks with such a mellifluous Savannah-honey-voice that I come close to simply melting away each time he opens his mouth!

I must confess, as well, to being still in the thrall of two full glasses of Sonoma Cabernet. I write you — glancing at the clock near my cot — at one in the a.m. Sleepy, I know I ought to be, but I am not!

I must also relate how taken Mother is with our new houseguest. For his part, Mr. Warren has been most open to our smile-accompanying, eager-to-please hospitality — reciprocating our courtesies with southern-tangy flattery, in couplet with sweet masculine grace.

He will be staying with us for a week or so before traveling to your neck of the forest to meet with Mr. Lyttle. If I am lucky, his trip to town will concomitate perfectly with my own trip to see my most favorite cousin.

Tomorrow I shall wake, thereupon to wish none of this were put to paper, but by then it will be too late, for this letter is going into the corner mailbox as soon as I can throw on a robe to venture out. What a lovely time we have spent this evening, Sweet Ella, even without the use of the four illegal letters.

(I must own to a slippage on occasion; there was slippage from each of us as the evening wore on, our tongues becoming looser; it was almost impossible not to stumble in light of the intoxicating circumstances. But we were lucky in that when such a misspeak took place, there were no ears pressing themselves against the portals or fenesters to overhear.)

I trust, as always, the safe, nonintercept passage of this letter. For while arguable is the possibility that Nollop speaks to us post- mortem — sans mortar as it were — the one thing that isn’t contestable, that rings with pure alloyless truth, is the last thing that left our venerable vocabularian’s mouth prior to his expiration: “Love one another, push the perimeter of this glorious language. Lastly, please show proper courtesy; open not your neighbor’s mail.” (You may recall that this was a rare pet peeve of Mr. Nollop’s.)

Love ,

Tassie

NOLLOPVILLE

Wetty, September 20

Ella,

I beg you to ignore that last letter. I was in a state of shameful inebriation. Mr. Warren is a nice man. That is all. A nice man. I am near mortification!

Love ,

Tassie

NOLLOPVILLE

Wetty, September 20

My loving sister Gwenette,

I cannot teach. Without that grammatical unifier. It is impossible. I plan to resign tomorrow.

Semicolons are simply not an option. These youngsters are only seven! Young people of such age can’t fathom semicolons!

Nor can I employ an “or” when I want the other one — the one that brings together, not separates.

My brain throbs. I have a hangover. Far too much wine last night.

The wine. Plus the loss of that grammatical unifier. It is all too much.

Forgive me for my weakness.

Love ,

Your sister Mittie

NOLLOPTON

Thurby, September 21

Throbbing Sister Mittie,

Still you are luckier to be in the village. Eighteen families were sent away this morning. Many of the members I knew. Losing the first three letters was relatively easy in comparison to this most recent banishment.