Mark Dunn - Ella Minnow Pea

In turn, I gain an easiness, a level of public comfort I haven’t felt for some time. He is cheerful, but not without his own tales of sorrow. His family has left him. It is now official. He cannot follow, as he is in possession not only of a fairly profitable business (With the closing of McNulty’s Greengrocer, you’re probably aware, his will be the last grocerateria in the Village!) but other real property as well. To simply walk away from such an investment — this can only be financially catastrophic! There is also, relating to his wife, the matter of alienation of affection; his marriage is in its last hobbling months.

I believe that Rory likes me, Tassie. He seems to truly appreciate my company. I want to see more of him. I believe he seeks the same of me.

Finally! A bright ray in all the murk. I am not feeling even an ounce of concern over the loss of “K.” “K” may go. The two of us will learn to accept its loss.

You are probably at this point, examining this letter with utter stupefaction. Has your gloomy mother taken leave of all her senses?

No. I’m only allowing myself a little happiness while I am still able.

You know, as I, that time is running out.

Love ,

Mother

NOLLOPTON

Fribs, September 29

Mother,

I am very happy for you. Meeting Mr. Cummels is a positive thing; I am sure of it. I worry that there is no one looking out for you now that I am here in town. I’ll worry less knowing that the two of you may become close.

Nate has met with Council Member Lyttle. There is much to relate.

Nate began the meeting with a formal presentation. Lyttle gave it his close attention. In the presentation Nate built his (in my opinion, extremely substantial) case for the reason we, along with a number of prominent American chemists, believe the tiles to be falling. When it was over, Lyttle sat back in his chair, let his eyes close in momentary rumination, then gave his response: “It may be true. It may all very well be true.”

Then, silence. A long silence which I knew from Nate’s expression left him slightly uneasy.

Eventually, Lyttle spoke again: “I may be alone within the Council in leaving open the possibility that this theory — this careful interpretation of events as you present it to me — may very well ring true. Nevertheless, young man, it is still important for me to see more compelling proof”—Nate was obviously upset by this response, but kept his temper: “But you have the lab reports, sir. They’re right in front of you. What more is necessary?”

“You’ve given me the scientific reason for why the tiles are falling, Mr. Warren. But might not Nollop be working through the science? Have you ever thought of this? The science, in point of fact, actually serving his specific purposes. Therefore, that of which I must have positive proof — the single fact that I must know for certain is that the Great Nollop isn’t working at all! ”

“But what proof? I can’t raise the man from the grave to ask him point blank!”

“Still—”

Nate thought. Lyttle thought. Then a smile from my Nate. I knew. I knew from the look on his face what was to come next.

“You venerate Nollop for one reason, Mr. Lyttle. One reason only.”

A tip of the noggin from Lyttle. “The sentence. That awe-striking sentence which graces our national cenotaph.”

Nate went on: “But what if it turns out that Nollop wasn’t the only man capable of cobbling such a sentence?”

“But he was.”

“But what if there have been others?”

“There have been no others, Mr. Warren. We are fairly certain of this.”

“Fairly, but not absolutely. Please, Mr. Lyttle, hear me out. What if it were possible for someone other than Nollop to come up with such a sentence, in say — hmmm, what might be an appropriate—”

Lyttle wasn’t one to let others finish their sentences: “If I were to give you until the last setting sun, Mr. Warren, it cannot — simply will not happen. Why, it’s pure, utter futility!”

“But—”

“Your point isn’t a complex one, Mr. Warren. What you are saying is that if there exists such a person with such a gift, why, we might have to place that special person right up there with Nollop. On the very same plane. Is that not the thrust of your argument?”

“If he or she is successful, well, naturally we—”

“Is this a challenge, Mr. Warren?”

“Might you welcome such a challenge, Mr. Lyttle?”

“I may not welcome it. I might, however, in proper fairness, entertain it.”

“Then I’ll make it official. It’s a challenge. Will you take it to the Council?”

“A sentence of thirty-five letters or less.” Then a crinkle — no, an elaborate furrow to Lyttle’s hoary brow. He was thinking. Intense, all-important, history-making thoughts. “No. It must be conclusive. Thirty-five letters isn’t conclusive. I suggest thirty-three, no — thirty- two letters.”

“Thirty-two letters?”

“That’s correct.”

“But that leaves a mere six for replication. Six!”

“That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”

“How long will you give us, Mr. Lyttle? Remembering, of course, that Nollop spent all of his youth creating his sentence.”

“Well, I certainly won’t allow more than a few weeks. Especially with all the help you will be receiving. You’ll have until November 16—Nollop’s birth anniversary. Remember, as well, that this offer must still win approval by the Council.”

Nate thought this fair. The two men shook on it.

At the subterra meeting tonight the challenge will be put to all present. We hope to relay it throughout the nation. (Please cast it about the Village on our behalf.)

We will cross our fingers that the Council approves. We’ll know nothing until after the council session tomorrow morning.

With this most encouraging news I’ll close, but not without saying farewell to my favorite breakfast cereal. (You will, of course, remember to throw out the Special K, yes, Mother?)

I love you.

Tassie

The* uic* brown fox* umps over the la* y** g

NOLLOPTON

Satto-gatto, September 30

Mother,

So much to tell, so little time to tell it. Those who were present at last night’s meeting have chosen to embrace the challenge with absolute relish. The prospect of actually being able to control the outcome of this ghastly assault on our collective spirit, let alone our very humanity, by turning this offensive upon its cephalus, has sent some among our subterra movement to heights of unencompassable ecstasy. The best news of all: the Council is in full agreement with the challenge (It was official as of this morning.), so secure they seem to be in this asinine “unassailable” position of theirs. We approach the ramparts ourselves commensurably secure. High noon awaits.

At first Nate thought that he might get news to a computer programmer with whom he is familiar — a former college roommate in Orangeburg, South Carolina, who he is certain can crunch the letters, to, in effect, assemble the necessary sentence within a matter of hours. But if the Council were to learn that the sentence was put together by means of artificial intelligence, it might wholly thwart our primary purpose, this being to show that some other human — not Nollop — most certainly not an electronic computing apparatus — was able to come up with the obligatory sentence containing all twenty-six letters of the alphabet using only thirty-two letters in its execution. So he chose to expel that thought without pause. What it will come to will be this: one of us will create it: a sentence to surpass that of Holy Nollop. One of us shall, I am certain, achieve the goal of burying the myth of Nollop forever. For the next forty-six sun-to-suns, this will be our raison .