Mark Dunn - Ella Minnow Pea

Slips of the tongue. Slips of the pen. All over town people hesitate, stammer, fumble for ways to express themselves, gripgrasping about for linguistic concoctions to serve the simplest of purposes. Receiving no easy purchase.

I go to the baker’s. I point. We all point. We collapse upon our mattresses at the close of each evening, there to feel … feel … utterly, wholly diminished.

There. I now happily enlist in the “first offense club.” It feels exhilarating! You know I cannot allow you to be a member of any club to which I cannot belong. I will show a copy of this letter to one of our local authorities.

I will receive my official censure.

We shall be sisters-true as always.

Love ,

Gwenette

OFFICE OF HIGH ISLE COUNCIL

NOLLOPTON

Fribs, September 22

Mrs. Minnow Pea:

We appreciate your coming to us with a copy of your letter to your sister, but it was unnecessary. Your offense was known to us even before the letter’s receipt by your sister. Effective as of September 15 the primary responsibility of our isle’s new assistant chief postal inspector has been to scan all post for use of illegal letters of the alphabet, then to make nightly reports to the Council. A report has been put on file on your behalf, your official sentence to be forthwith in issuance.

Forty-eight hours hence you will present yourself to an officer of the L.E.B. at Town Center, there to choose between cephalo-stock or public flogging, as your use of the letter-combination at the close of the tertiary paragraph in your epistle to your sister contains not one employment of an illegum, but two. Perhaps you were unaware. This is no excuse (especially in light of the fact that your choice of this letter-combination was attributable to flagrant provocation).

We might note — to allay certain fears — that the assistant chief postal inspector may not upon Council behest report the content of anything he sees in the performance of his responsibilities. His task is merely to seek instances of illicitabetical activities. Ours continues to be a free, open society. There will be no censures or prosecutions for exercising one’s free speech rights in service to the laws of this nation, even if those rights entail criticism of the High Council. You may be certain of no violation of Nollop’s terminal-cot wishes when we say that all letters, all parcels that the inspector opens which are not violative will be promptly put to seal, then sent on their way. As a further assurance of the guarantee of your constitutional right to privacy, please note: the assistant chief postal inspector is an imbecile-savant from France. English is a foreign language he has yet to master.

Sincerely ,

Hamilton Ferguson

Chief Secretary

Office of High Isle Council

NOLLOPTON

Satto-gatto, September 23

Tassie,

I cannot believe it. Neither can Pop. What was Mum thinking? We are encouraging her to choose cephalo-stock. I will not allow any mother of mine to submit to the lash.

With love ,

Ella

NOLLOPTON

Sunshine, September 24

Mittie,

I cannot imagine that they are looking at our mail without ulterior motives. Henceforth, I encourage you not to censor your text, but to give serious thought to using the Tisbee-Cohane Cross-Isle Courier Service for all letters you wish to post to me. They are as fast as the Pony Brothers Express; most importantly, their gypsy operation more often skirts the attention of the postal inspectors. I will use them as well. I will also encourage the girls to employ their services. The only potential unpleasantness I can foresee in making the switch will be an occasional stench upon the envelope, owing to the fact that the Tisbee-Cohane Cross-Isle Courier Service is run by employees of the Tisbee-Cohane Septic Evacuators.

Still, though, I think it worth it. We now live in an official police state, be sure of it.

I chose cephalo-stock, you will be happy to hear. (Following much pressure by family members.) It was not so traumatic as one might think. There were a number of others in similar straits. Many of the families brought bulging picnic baskets. There was also a lovely fish fry with hush puppies (your favorite!), buttery corn-on-the-cob, mouth-watering tomato slices … Also, the singing of tuneful Gullah folk songs. It was, I must profess, one of the nicest afternoons I remember having spent in some time. Amos was even able to sell a few of his miniature spittoons.

Two chose whipping. Valiantly, the men took their lashes — later wearing the crimson stripes as emblems of honor. You may know these two; they are from the Village — members of a sect which believes that Nollop’s wishes have been put to gross misinterpretation. Rather than shunning the letters per Council proclamation, they urge the opposite to the extreme. The problem with this position, as refreshing as it seems, is the unfortunate result that naturally follows the putting of such belief into practice.

Must go now to massage the crick in my stiff neck.

By the way, this is the sixth anniversary of Amos’s recovery. Not so much as a beer in all these years in spite of the sort of stressful circumstances that might prompt even Carrie Nation to imbibe (naturally using her hatchet as a resourceful bottle opener!).

Love ,

Your sister Gwenette

NOLLOPVILLE

Monty, September 25

Ella,

Last night, I woke from a horrible nightmare in which I saw myself sitting beneath the cenotaph as another tile fell to earth. The tile came to rest facing up. It was an “I.” I woke screaming. Mother spent the next few minutes trying to convince me that the chances of this happening were slim — that so far, Nollop has been most helpful to us by keeping all vowels firmly in place. Hearing my scream, Nate came into the room to comfort me as well.

“Then you believe in the power of Nollop?” I put to Mother.

Mother shook “no,” but then gave this response: “Here is what I believe: if Nollop actually exists — in spirit form, of course — then perhaps it is for some positive purpose — perhaps even the interposing of a finish to all this insanity emanating from Council Chambers.”

Now Nate was smiling. “The fable of Nollop has won acolytic support in the Purcy house of all places!”

Mother: “Mere supposition, Mr. Warren. I’m only saying if Nollop exists …”

Now a bigger smile from Nate, then: “So why thinkest thou, he hasn’t chosen thus far to take ‘heavenly’ retribution against this cretinous council of yours?”

My turn now: “Because he is waiting for the right moment?”

Nate shook no, while grinning his biggest grin of all. “You want the truth of what I think? Here’s the nutshell: Nollop when he was alive was pure charlatan. A veritable con man. Phenomenally successful in pulling the wool over the eyes of 35,000 naivetés, ripe for the pulling. If he exists at all as manipulating eternal spirit, I see no reason for his not being of the selfsame ilk.”

“Humbug terrestrial, humbug everlasting?” Nate was beginning to make sense.

“Humbug, yes, as well as simply not a very nice man. Listen up, my pretty Purcy postulators …”

(Nate was becoming a bit familiar; this was not a problem for Mother or for me!)

“… your council was built on power-lust. Nollop’s whole life was a construct not only of such lust for power, but of an unnatural craving for outright worship. Yet the man was without any merit, any virtue — holy or otherwise — whatsoever. Look at what befell his secretary. For that matter, look at what befell nearly everyone he met. All those instances of truth, fairness, humanitarianism, altruism: pure mythology. Perhaps worse than mythology: Nollop has become your Baal.”