Mark Dunn - Ella Minnow Pea

Mine, yours, even your gentleman companion Rory who perhaps is still unaware of the other legislation to come out of this morning’s session: “All property left in state of nonoccupation through emigrantal vacatement will be given over to confiscatory oversight by the Council, then borne to official annexation into Nollopian tax-exempt ecclesiastical boroughs, thus falling within clear parameters of Council owner-management.” Even as things exist now, Councilman Harton Mangrove is in the process of moving with his family onto the estate of Georgie Boonswang, whose fish cannery after closure was left in similar circumstance of nonoccupation (but not without “proper” ownership, courtesy of egregious title-alteration!). Other Council members seem to be contemplating similar confiscatory moves.

I must close now to return to my labors with the “group”: Nate, Ella, Aunt Gwenette, Uncle Amos, each of us in pursuit of the magical, temporarily elusive sentence that shall result in our emancipation — to be sure, our very salvation! Albeit a more corporal form of salvation. Our souls, though, are another matter altogether. To apportion worshipful allegiance to both our Heavenly Omnigreatness, as well as to Nollop-the-mortal-marvel has become so very tiresome.

One Supreme Being is enough for me. I much prefer the former to the latter.

Love ,

Your Tassie

[Upon the Minnow Pea porch]

NOLLOPTON

Monty, October 2

My Tassie,

I am watching you through the pane. You sit at the table scribbling — scribbling, then erasing, biting, chewing the unfortunate pencil’s extremity as you contemplate. I share your chore. I might be your portico twin, in perch upon this fresco-chaise, performing same, were it not for glimpsing you through the glass. Such a beguiling sight — your long auburn tresses falling as cataract in shimmering filamentous pool upon the tabletop, gathering in swirl upon your notepaper — obscuring? framing? your toil. I must return to my own mental labors. But you have given me pleasant momentary respite.

My beautiful Tassie, I so love you.

Nate

NOLLOPVILLE

Monty, October 2

Mittie, my gentlenurse,

I appreciate so much the thermos of pullet soup you sent over. You will be happy to hear that I am feeling much better this morning. When I am stronger I am most eager to see you in some other capacity than nurse. (Not that you haven’t been an excellent caregiver.)

I trust that you are still well, that you haven’t caught this nasty flu circulating through the Village. These are not opportune times for any of us to be ill. There is much that we must accomplish.

I myself, in spite of the flu, have spent the better part of two nights coming up with a sentence containing all twenty-six letters of the alphabet of a length of less than fifty letters — forty-nine to be exact. I was hoping to surprise you with one of far more impressive brevity, but shall be happy with my initial effort. Still, though, it will not fit the ultimate bill; therefore, in concert with so many other villagers whose lamps burn late into the night, I will push on, whittling my count away.

Accompanying this letter is a note brought to you by Eugenia, a little neighbor girl whom you may have seen playing on the lawn next to mine. She is all of seven, but the perfect age to write my sentences for me for purpose of conveying them to you, so that you may monitor my progress. I expect you will employ a youngster yourself in similar fashion so that I may learn of your progress, as well. (What a convenient loophole the not-always-farseeing Council has given us by the exemption from these laws of little ones such as sweet, cooperative Eugenia. The only problem exists in getting across to her through a series of elaborate gestures or comic pointings my intent. For there really is no other legal avenue but pantomime to communicate my full meaning to her. Then through her, to you. Bright youngsters are a precious asset in Nollopville in these troublesome times.)

Sincerely ,

Rory

A quick move by the enemy will jeopardize six fine gun boats.

NOLLOPVILLE

Toes, October 3

Rory,

Your sentence is so much better (also shorter) than mine! I am almost reluctant to show my efforts to you. But a promise is a promise. I am in collusion with a boy by the name of Wesley, son of the Noonans who own Noonan’s Florist. Wesley is very popular; I must share his services with four of my neighbors!

I am expecting a letter from Tassie. She will report how things are going in town. Rumor has it that someone — a professor with the university, I believe — has himself come in below 48. If this is true, it is very encouraging, is it not?

Sincerely ,

Your Mittie

Back in my quaint garden, jaunty zinnias vie with flaunting phlox.

NOLLOPTON

Wetty, October 4

Mother,

Two letters fell last night. “F.” Then another “O.” The Council plans to excise “F” as of twelve o’timepiece on the Thurby/Fribs cusp. I assume they will also instruct us now to shave consumption of the letter “O” by fifty percent.

There is at present fantastic support for what we in town have come to call, “Enterprise Thirty-two.” Still, the Council laughs at us. They taunt the little ones who write our sentences, who transport them between our houses. They gather in reverent, worshipful circles beneath the cenotaph to sing praises to Nollop. It is a stomach-churning sight even forgetting the abuses the Council is currently inflicting upon the remaining inhabitants of this isle. This recent confiscation of property is a clear violation of the National Constitution, yet Councilwoman Houston says we are now in an “extraconstitutional crisis” which calls for “extraconstitutional measures.” The Council is preparing for that moment in which language, as it once was, ceases to exist. As far as I can tell, such preparation involves chiefly the feathering of the counciliteurs’ own nests.

We pray to our own Omnipresence that the final moment never arrives. We’re getting closer. Professor Mannheim has given us a sentence with 47 letters. It is a simple sentence which the chosen six-year-young courier put to scription in no time at all.

Nate isn’t sleeping. I am after him to complete his first article for Nollopiana , but he seems bent on assisting with Enterprise Thirty-two. It is an obsession. The fear is gone, though. This noble movement has given us all a special courage.

I miss you. Be well. I hope to see you soon, when all of this is over.

Love ,

Tassie

John Prady, give me a black walnut box of quite small size.

NOLLOPTON

Thurby, October 5

Tassie,

You were not at home when they came. Three L.E.B. officers in possession of papers. Papers with my name on them. Your Cousin Ella was there, though. Your aunt, your uncle as well. They will tell you more this evening.

I write this from the Office of Corrections at Town Center. I must remain here until the chief magistrate is able to see me. I have a strong sense as to what this is about.

Apparently, someone has become aware of my publication. Information about my whereabouts has brought them straight to me.

If I am to be stolen from this Isle, stolen from you, it will be my own fault, through not using an alias when I came over. Will you ever forgive me, Tassie?

Will I ever see you again?

If you are giving any thought to coming with me, I will not allow it. You must stay to fight, because I cannot. This is not an act of gallantry, of heroism on my part. I am only being practical. I want you to be practical too. To contribute where I now cannot.