Mark Dunn - Ella Minnow Pea

Be sure of it, my Tassie — that when the battle is won, we will be together again. Enterprise Thirty-two will be a success. It will be our happy fate, you’ll see.

Your cousin, your aunt, your uncle — they all agree with me. Even your mother up in the Village, I am sure, if it were put to her.

I will try to contact you before they put me on the boat. If I miss that opportunity, please write. Continue to write. You cannot let them stop you.

Soon we may all have to learn Hawaiian.

With love ,

Nate

NOLLOPTON

Thurby, October 5

Mother,

Nate is no longer with us. I enclose a copy of the letter he sent me. He was gone before I even got to Town Center. Banishment was swift. Swift, I believe, because of his alien status.

I am at a terrible loss, Mother — one I cannot even begin to articulate. Were there all twenty-six letters available for my use, my ability to translate my feelings, my thoughts of Nate to this page might still be put to supreme test.

“F” leaves us tonight. I haven’t even the strength to curse those beasts with that epithet you taught me never to say. It’s pointless at this point, anyway.

So long, “F.” So long, my sweet Nate. I will miss you. Ferociously so.

Love ,

Tassie

The* uic* br* wn* ox* umps over the la* y** g

HIGH COUNCIL

Ribs, October 13

Nollopians,

Many have come to us to learn whether or not, given the latest alphabetical prohibition, employing tetra/penta class numbers as numerals (e.g. 4; 5; 45; 54; 5,445; 554,554,455 etc.) is still allowable. It is. (As you can plainly see.) Using numbers will always be permissible. There are no numbers in the vulpine-canine sentence. Only letters.

Sincerely ,

Hamilton

Executive Secretary

High Council

NOLLOPVILLE

Ribs, October 13

Tassie,

Violation number two this morning, this hapless Ribs the Thirteenth! I was caught in the act, very near our house — right there at the piscimonger’s booth on the pier while purchasing shrimp! (It was my plan to surprise Rory with a special gumbo supper to honor his birth-anniversary.) I witlessly put to use a grapheme which I have been — at least up to now — abstaining with relative ease:

“Boil-seasoning with that, Mrs. Mittie?”

“Not this time, Xenia. I’m preparing gumbo.”

Then a most curious stare. I’m sure I won’t be able to relate to you with any great success this woman’s expression. But I’ll try, nonetheless (because it was such a strange mixture): surprise, slight anxiety, momentary consternation, then overwhelming, saucer-eye panic!

I began to stammer: “What is it? What have I—”

It then became obvious. In an eye bat. All this time — in my brain — never having seen her name written out, I was misspelling it. You see, Xenia’s name began not with an X, but with the other letter — the one that brought in this whole reprehensible era! Hers was, obviously, the legal spelling. Hence, my culpability.

This woman isn’t a stranger to me, Tassie. I am no stranger to her. There is twenty-year amity between us. This is why I am so sure that she wasn’t the one to report the violation. It was the other woman. The one in line with me wearing the worn-out tunic with all the paint splotches. Georgeanne Towgate. The ever-present, honor-bent Georgeanne Towgate!

I’m sure that she was the one whose ears got it all. My suspicion was met by a smile — a sinister simper, twisting her saliva-moist, overly rubilious lips as she apparently thought it all through — especially how important it was to bring this glaring violation to the Council’s attention as soon as possible.

My thoughts were spinning at that moment as well: giving serious contemplation to pushing this Mary Cassatt aspirant — now my veritable nemesister —right over the railing. Straightway into the heaving sea. What a pharisaic, vigilante witch! The nerve — to report me — not once, but twice!

Not being one to waste time about such things, Mrs. Towgate, I’m certain, brought in her eyewitness report within minutes; by early evening your poor mother was in ignominious cephalo-strait.

The opportunity was mine to silence the witch in perpetuity. I let it go. I am an ignoble poltroon!

Sincerely ,

Your ignoble poltroon Mother

NOLLOPTON

Sunshine, October 15

Aunt Mittie,

Tassie gave me your letter. I am so sorry. What a moronic way to spell one’s name! Give me permission; I will happily terminate Mrs. Towgate, saving you the trouble.

Enterprise Thirty-two has hit a wall at 47. Instructor Mannheim with the university, in alliance with his tireless pupils, assures us that they will soon breach barrier 44. But I am not so sure. Many others here in town, though, seem to have given up. Pop is beginning to believe it to be an impossibility — this thirty-two letter-grail (“chimera” he calls it) we all pursue. But I am not in agreement with those who own this opinion.

So many long-time isle inhabitants are now gone. Most are expulsion victims, but some are no longer with us simply because they choose not to live in such a hostile, inhospitable place. It is no place to thrive, Aunt Mittie — no place at all to raise young ones, to be even marginally happy.

Mother worries about you with Tassie not there. (Especially given what you mention in your last letter.) Is the gentleman Rory being proper helpmate/protector? It gives her solace when she recalls your mentioning his ease with language — the way he seems to clearly embrace the challenges inherent in communication with restriction. Ah, that we might all ultimately rise to such challenges.

Tassie is well — heart-ailing, but otherwise well. We will not permit you to worry about her. She is writing to Nate as much as she can. There are no guarantees that her letters are getting through to him in the States; she can only trust that those to whom she passes them to smuggle out, with proper payment, will honor their contractual agreement.

By the way, her epistles must still be written with all alphabetical restrictions intact, lest interception bring them to the L.E.B., the result being Tassie’s own banishment. (Although, I must say she is in a better position than most, without even a single violation to her name.) This is an important point; recently, several on their way to Pier Seven (then on to the States) wrote parting letters without employing the necessary caution with respect to current alphabetical restrictions, only to have the recipients themselves brought up on charges! Remember, as well, that L.E.B. thugs are still wont to engage in spot home searches, hoping to turn up anything containing the illicitabeticals. One cannot be too wary; last Thurby, a woman who lives near us was brought into L.E.B. Precinct 2. The charge: an unthought-through grocery list seen by a thug, there on her icebox.

Pop is staying out late, coming home with a pungent alcohol smell about him. (I am not eager to tell you this, but Mother will not allow me to engage her on the topic). 48 hours ago he was put on notice by his wholesaler that U.S.-Nollop business transactions were moving to hiatal suspension. Were Pop to continue to create his miniatures, especially those popular moonshine vessels, he will have to emigrate to the U.S. Which means we will have to go too. I am sorry to say, Aunt Mittie, that I was not sympathetic. Because this obviously means leaving my eighteen-year home here, who can say how long? Leaving all that I cherish. Leaving Tassie. Leaving my sweet Aunt Mittie.