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

Sally gave Leonard and Felix a cold look.

Let me show you to your room, she said.

Footsteps

So what was your dream? Leonard whispered as he tucked Felix into bed.

It was this guy named Isaac, Felix whispered back. He’s blind, you know.

Leonard nodded.

He said we have to talk through the Brazen Head.

Through?

Yup, Felix said.

To who?

That’s the weird part, Felix said.

Yes?

He said we have to talk to Roger Bacon!

The dead guy?

The dead guy!

What are we supposed to say?

He just said stop him! He said you’d know what that meant.

Wow, Leonard said. You did great, you know.

I did?

Sure! You’re great at this dreaming stuff, and at freezing people. Do you know how you did that?

It’s hard to explain, Felix said.

Can you try? Leonard whispered. And keep it a secret from the others for the time being.

I sort of lied before, didn’t I? When I told my dream.

Yep, but that’s okay. You did good. So, about what you did this afternoon …

Remember when I told you about the dream where four men walk into an orchard?

Suddenly Leonard heard a noise, the sound of tiptoes stopping outside the door. Under the door, interrupting the light, he could see a slight shadow — someone’s lab slipper? He put a hand over Felix’s mouth.

Later, he whispered. Everything’s good, but it’s time for you to sleep.

Felix nodded.

You need a story?

Felix nodded again.

I can’t tell you any of Grandpa’s stories here. So you’ll have to help me out, okay?

Again Felix nodded, this time sleepily.

Once upon a time there was … Who should the story be about? Leonard said out loud.

Celestina, Felix murmured.

Outside the door, Leonard could hear the sound of scratching pens.

Flapjacks!

Leonard awoke to the sound of someone shouting, Five minutes! He looked outside and saw most of the Baconians in a walled courtyard, doubled over and breathing hard in their gray exercise suits. Sally was facing them, holding a stopwatch. Again she was wearing a waterfall of curls and headbeads, though no freckledot makeup.

Anybody get anything? she shouted.

Everyone looked around, then shook their heads no.

Not bad for a first try, she said. Shall we go again?

A few nodded halfheartedly.

Remember, she said, we’re thinking of demons, okay? Go!

Everyone started kicking the air, in poor imitation of Felix’s karate kicks.

At the far end of the courtyard, behind the kicking Baconians, was a stone archway that Leonard supposed fronted the abbey. On either side of the abbey were turrets — why hadn’t he noticed them before? — and in each turret he could just make out a man, in armor? And there, in front of the archway, a small group of monks — they seemed to be talking to a flock of pigeons!

Felix had arrived by his side.

They’re all crazy, Leonard said.

They found a bathroom, where Leonard made Felix temporarily borrow someone’s toothbrush. Then he watched as Felix washed his face and pits, then took the scrubcloth and washed behind Felix’s ears. They went downstairs and found Sue & Susheela in the stoveroom, the only Baconians, it seemed, exempt from that morning’s calisthenics. Leonard realized they were wearing the same skirts and aprons they’d worn the day before; the same smiles too.

Good morning, Stan and little boy, they said in unison. Would you like flapjacks?

Felix nodded with all possible enthusiasm.

Would you like jujuberry syrup with those or tree sap? they asked pleasantly.

You’re not like any girls I know, Leonard said, looking at them carefully as they mixed flapjack ingredients in a bowl.

That’s because we’re not real, Sue said.

I’m surprised you didn’t know, said Susheela.

What are you, then?

Failed models of the Brazen Head. Reworked by Dwane to be stoveroom drones and screen beauties. We’re very pretty, don’t you think?

Leonard nodded, then realized they weren’t altogether there. They were stirring batter, and the batter was real, and they were pouring batter onto real flamecatchers, but tiny spaces were visible between their molecules, or whatever they were made of. It was disconcerting, in part because he’d once wanted to marry one or both. What had he been thinking? — but he didn’t have time to ponder that now.

Does the new Brazen Head work better? he asked.

It is in good working order, Sue said.

The screen version?

Of course, said Susheela, smiling. You’re not very bright, are you?

What’s this? Dwane said from the door. His face spots were inflamed and sweat had left splotches all over his exercise suit.

Flapjacks! Sue said.

Neo-Maoist spies

We’re very interested in your Brazen Head, Leonard explained when they were seated at the table. Or rather, the little chappie is.

Felix nodded, his mouth full of flapjacks.

Uh-huh, Dwane said. What about it?

Did you ever use it to talk to Roger Bacon himself?

You’re loony tunes, you know that? Dwane said. I knew it was a mistake to bring you Stans here. They’re now saying the police broke up that riot with slow gas, so I don’t think young Stan’s a prophet at all, he said, pointing at Felix, who, it had to be admitted, didn’t look like anything so much as a small, sloppy boy with crumbs on his face and jujuberry syrup staining his shirt. I think you’re both neo-Maoist spies, Dwane said.

You didn’t answer my question, Leonard said.

Do we use our Brazen Head to talk with someone who’s been dead seven hundred years? Uh, the answer to that would be no. Anything else you neo-Maoist traitor spies need to know?

Why do you have guards in your turrets? What are they guarding and who wants it?

You’re not very bright, are you? Dwane said.

I could have told you that, said Sue.

They’re guarding the manuscript, Sally said. Leonard hadn’t realized she’d entered the room. When you’re done with breakfast, we’ll meet in the library and have a chat, okay?

Abulafianism

See, I have this condition. You have it too, Sally said, looking at Felix. It’s called Abulafianism. Ever heard of it?

Leonard and Felix shook their heads.

Sally had changed out of her gray exercise suit into a very becoming orange-skin gown.

I didn’t think so. It only affects one in six-point-five million people, and most people who have it don’t even know it. You know how people with perfect pitch are able to identify the pitch of any musical note?

Leonard and Felix must have looked rather blankly at Sally.

Give any musician a C note and they can produce an A. Their ability to identify and produce pitches is relative; they just need an anchor, a point of reference. But someone with perfect pitch carries every note inside them, for them every note retains its absolute, unique identity. They don’t need a C, in other words, to produce an A.

Okay, Leonard said, a bit dazzled by the way light shone off Sally’s frock.

Abraham Abulafia was a Spanish mystic of the thirteenth century. He worked with the special characteristics of the Hebrew alphabet — the meanings and sounds and shapes and vibrations of each individual letter — combining them, being present to them. By doing so, he became a great prophet of extraordinary powers. Someone with Abulafianism has a similar relationship with letters — or, rather, with holy letters. Hebrew, for instance. For us, each letter has an identity in and of itself that goes well beyond its relative function in a word or sentence, and we sense this. You’ve felt this, right, Felix? The letters seem to dance?

Felix’s eyes were opened wide.

Yes! he whispered. You see it too?