Rachel Cantor - A Highly Unlikely Scenario, or a Neetsa Pizza Employee's Guide to Saving the World

The next morning, Felix was up bright and early, while Leonard was still on night-shift time. The boy was wearing a little fur jacket and white pants on which he’d embroidered images of his heroes — mostly people Leonard didn’t know, but Leonard was also there, on Felix’s knee. Bleary still, Leonard made some cinnamon buns, put jujuberries in a chokebag for later, and left some mealie pudding next to the cat-chimney for Medusa. Then he consulted the Brazen Head about library hours and caravan routes. To humor Felix, Leonard had the Brazen Head fart his reply. He then gathered coins from the peanut-butter jam square jar and was about to usher Felix out the door when Felix said, You’re wearing that ?

It was only what Leonard usually wore — green army pants and a roomy silverscan overshirt — but Felix seemed to think a trip to the University Library demanded something special, so they went to Leonard’s closet and chose a flowered climbing suit Leonard had never worn and a long gabardine coat that had once belonged to his grandfather. Thus attired, they made their way.

It had been three years since Leonard had left the house, not counting the Time between Here and There. There were no scripts to follow, no Probable Scenarios, no saying he wouldn’t get dumped onto the municipal compost heap, or the adult equivalent, whatever that was. Aside from clients-in-pain, the Chipmunk Patrol, and the occasional screen-yak, Leonard had spoken with no one outside his family since the day he’d made himself a White Room. Until Milione. And Isaac.

When the caravan arrived, Leonard helped Felix up the ladder onto the back. Felix was fine, but Leonard was shaking. So many strangers! But the passengers hardly noticed their arrival. A man in a straw hat was talking soothingly to some chickens in a mesh bag, another was playing backgammon against himself and grumbling when he lost, a family was sitting on black carryall bags, looking dejected. Two teenage girls occupied most of the floor space, lying down with pillows and gossiping about a boy named Jet. Along the sides were posters introducing the Leader’s new Chipmunk Patrol: a group of smiling policemen who promised to make every neighborhood clean and optimally safe.

You sure this is the right caravan? Leonard whispered to Felix after he’d negotiated seats amid some businessmen in shark suits on a bench that ran along the side. Felix consulted his fart printout, then, to be safe, consulted the Brazen Head on the navigation watch Carol had given Leonard for his birthday.

Yup, Felix said.

The caravan jerked to a stop and from below someone shouted, Suburban Shopping Mall! The two girls quickly stood, gathered their pillows, and climbed down the ladder. The man with the chickens got off at the City Slaughterhouse. Three men in shark suits got off at the Business District. All the while, Leonard kept his eyes shut and firmly squeezed Felix’s hand. Finally they heard the University stop called, and Leonard helped Felix down the ladder and paid the driver some lucre. The driver insisted that they owed him more, because of the new security tax.

Leonard consulted the Brazen Head on his navigation watch, which called the driver a bloody liar. The man blushed and said, Have a nice day!

The sun was bright in Leonard’s eyes — he hadn’t thought to bring a diffuser. Felix, who was apparently thinking more clearly, attached his to the visor of his peaked cap, then took Leonard’s hand.

Fun, huh? Felix said.

Leonard leaned over a holly bush and vomited.

The University Walking Grounds

Thousands walked the University Walking Grounds, many of them from foreign lands, or so their attire suggested. As Felix and Leonard followed the signs to the University Library, they saw Survivalists wearing camouflage and offering samples of dried chipmunk; Heraclitan Grill flamethrowers in their characteristic fireproof togs; also, royal pages from the monarchists’ Food Court, barbecuties from the Whiggery Piggery, even a few Dadaists (the latter didn’t have a food chain, as the Dada Dinner Diner had famously failed for want of a menu). Neo-Maoists, recognizable by their black climbing suits, were the favorite targets of proselytizing pizza greeters: Can I interest you in a Neetsa Pizza? Leonard heard a well-groomed boy with a clipboard ask a neo-Maoist girl. How about some Pythagorean literature? There’s more to the world than materialism and class struggle! he shouted as she rushed away.

The most attractive and confident young people wore primary-colored stockings and thick sashes of bright veneer, their hair cut in swatches — this was the style, apparently. Leonard felt embarrassed in his flowered climbing suit: no one was wearing patterns! If only he’d stayed at home, but that had been out of the question.

When they arrived at the library — an immense structure built in the late Domestic Imperial style — Leonard’s heart was beating so fast his health meter gave a soft vibrating alarm. He steered his nephew to an engraved rockseat, where they sat.

I’m supposed to meet her here, Leonard said, pulling out jujuberries for Felix.

Who? Felix asked.

My true love, Leonard mumbled. How will I know it’s her? And why would she like me?

Felix’s eyes opened wide.

Here?

Leonard nodded.

Excellent! Felix said. Can I help? What does she look like?

I don’t know.

That makes it harder, Felix said.

Isaac said something about her drawing refreshment from a well.

Who’s Isaac?

I’ll tell you later.

This satisfied Felix, so Leonard practiced a five-second Pythagorean meditation that brought his heartbeat back to normal.

Okay, kiddo, he said. Let’s do it.

The Book Guide

Leonard’s Book Guide was Sally. She was his age, which is to say, about twenty-four and a half years old, and she wore her light brown hair on top of her head in a waterfall of curls and headbeads. She was lucky enough to have freckles, which she accentuated with freckledot makeup. Her clothes were old-fashioned — a combination of the heavy materials Leonard remembered from his last year of school, which is to say, when he was fifteen, and the neoclassical outfits Carol had worn at that age.

Sally shook Leonard’s hand and he felt electric sparks way past his elbow.

I will be your Book Guide, she said. Come this way that I may offer you some lemonade.

They followed, and Leonard liked the way she walked: it was as if all the air in the world belonged to her and made way when it saw her coming.

Pink, yellow, or green? she asked when they arrived at the serving station. She picked up a ladle, prepared to dip into one of three large wells.

Felix tugged at Leonard’s suit.

It’s her, he said.

I know, Leonard said.

Just looking

Do you find the lemonade refreshing? Sally asked.

Very, Leonard said.

Then finish it, please.

Leonard and Felix obliged, and she said, What shall be your destination today?

We don’t really know why we’re here, Leonard said. We’re just looking.

It will rather waste my time if I can’t guide you, Sally said.

I suppose we’d like to see whatever you find most interesting, Leonard said.

Sally’s face brightened.

I’ll take you to the Voynich manuscript! Check me out for three hours!

Leonard did, then Sally led them through the lobby with its vaulted ceilings and clerestory windows, through the din of the talking-books room, up a dark staircase into the silent scriptorium where pale undergraduates worked feather pens, down another staircase, through a hallway painted aqua and green, into a long, wide room containing many scholar tables. Sally stopped at one, retrieved a heavy leather clutchbag from a locked drawer, and on they walked till they reached a bubble-glass partition. We have to be absolutely invisible! she whispered, and blew on an antiquated breathreader. When the door opened, she pushed Leonard and Felix through ahead of her. More long hallways followed — and dark staircases, in which Leonard could now hear marching music.