3 / AN IRONY FOR AN IRONY
A knock.
"Hark! What could this? My door's not been knocked in an Airedale's age! Must be some peddler, merchant, hawking war bonds. Bibles. Brushes. Some charity handout. Firemen's raffle. 'Grit.'"
Knocking continues.
"Beware of dog! Nobody here but us chickens! I have given at the office!"
More knocking.
"Who goes there? Halt, or I'll shoot!"
"Your disposition disappoints me! I am saddened and compelled to weep! I will go now and return with soldiers."
"This dog's deadlier than any given militia one could muster!"
"Still scribbling, eh? Well, then, I do have reason to believe you've indeed a dog in there!"
"Stosh! Well! One is company, two's a stampede! Enter at your own risk!"
Door opens. Stosh Haddock enters.
"Stosh! Why not say so in the first place, you fool? Well! It's been an alligator's age! Unfold your face, old man! I barely recognize you! What gives?"
"Fortune, under the weight of fate."
"Join the crew."
"Hate to take the sails out of your wind, old boy, but in fact I've 'arrived.'"
"Oh."
"But the bad news first. The worst of it's... Well, aren't you going to offer me a chair?"
"They're not for sale."
They take seats.
"Small things often come in good packages. But a good package is no small item! Meaning? Well, firstly, they've publicly paddled Brogan, you know. For prematurely placating the post-puppet government. The vanguard of ventriloquists, all spanked in effigy on the Oval Lawn by General Wood and his goons, who interrogate nightly on prime broadcast! The victims now have delusions of grandeur and are afraid to go home. The world is being dismantled by The Men Holding the Cigar and you'll do nothing about it? Secondly, I have just returned from Calm Springs. I saw great suffering and bloodshed there. Interior races have been admitted to the Deserted Golf Classic!"
"Calm Springs. So, you too have now made the grade. Only I am left."
"Thirdly, an ill-timed gale blows the windmills of my mind. Which ominously creak, spin, with cruel consistency. Pinochle's fickle frolics have reduced me a word-wild laughingstock. And the stress threatens North's Chorea unless I can locate some liver giver to lend me a donor. In my sorrow, I've sought solace with some so-called colleagues, who scampered at my sight, as from un unexpected skeleton. I now clash with the mean scenery of their contrite society. They defile my impeccable honour as we speak. And you'll do nothing about it?"
"Stop conjuring ailments! Earn a respectable living! Sell me a vacuum cleaner, door to door! I know it doesn't work, but motivation will have something to say about a change of heart." (takes up fork, indicates his meal) "I am holding my fork. I am not free to entertain."
"Is it not unwise to tamper with food when the chef is not a personal friend?"
"Perhaps, rather than to tamper, I wish to nuzzle my way back into the out crowd and purchase a Dalmatian. I have decided that life is an illusion and that most things are real."
"I have surmised that the aftermath is inclined to doubt us... I am under the impression that you want to waste time."
"That is the price one must pay for having acquired freedom of expression. Now, lend me your ears and I will tell you a tragic tale of cannibalism."
"I wish to take a bubble bath. Where's your john? Better yet, may we start from scratch."
Stosh rises, exits, slamming door. Pause.
"Knock- knock."
"Who's there?"
"Howard."
"Howard who?"
"Just fine, thanks. Hand hyourself?"
"Never mind, Mr. Justfine!"
"Open sesame! I've arrived of blockbuster development! All the latest update! I burst seam-wise to divulge all! Extree! Extree!"
"Mark thee, I've a rabid dog a' heel!"
"What care'st I for a dog? I hear no growl and dissuades not!"
"But bites better than he barks."
"Still scribbling, eh? Well then, I've reason to believe you've indeed a dog within! Open up, you ninny! It's Stosh!"
Stosh enters.
"Hospice! I've the chance to recap the happiest happenstance!"
"Why skirt identities in the hall, fool? As you were unwelcomed within? But, what a sore sight for my eyes!"
"Might yours be as sore as you attribute the sight of mine! Why leave me so long in that shabby hallway? With its rancid trash cannisters summoning flies by the flock? Know you not my very voice, flea?"
"Sooth, your speech hasn't reached my ear in an aardvark's age, Mr. Justfine!"
"Well, I've been beaver-busy cultivating the career. Circling the social scenery, a thorny endeavor. But the payoff's promised. I am stamped with fresh success."
"Oh... But how's your liver? Still spinning?"
"How's that? Have you fever? I think you need a vacation, old man. You don't get out enough. Well, aren't you going to offer me a chair?"
"They're not for sale."
They take seats.
"So, why all this dance exuberant?"
"Pinochle and I have just returned from a world tour and are slated for the nuptials. We tie the noose soon enough."
"My heartiest condolences! I should think you'd be prostate with grief!"
"Yea, a preposterous proposition to the uninitiated eye. She's fickler than a ferret let loose in the field and unmanageable as a mandrill. But bearing the burden of the fairest of fortunes... She loves me, in her divided style. And verily, I'll admit to twinges of fondness towards the minx, thorny stem and all."
"'Tis oft the prickliest rose palpitates one's pump most sumptuously! Yet methinks there's further prodding of this jig to divulge. Being she's the daughter of Vox Vanox, doyen of the theatrical hacksmiths. I've met the old fossil some several forgettable, regrettable occasion, care your whirling social stratagems, as you well would recall."
"Only too. I believe we did play a croquet on the lawn some sorry afternoon. Or tried to. We found you up a treehouse on some neighboring estate, housing the local chapter of The Mouse Club. That croquet set was an heirloom, you know."
"A balloon of sorts?"
"Invaluable."
"Worthless?"
"Went ten generations back. Rendered matchsticks when you missed an easy shot."
"No wonder the old goat's given me the cold shoulder since."
"Well, he's offered to finance my 'Aquarium.'"
"You've a fondness for fellow fish, of a sudden?"
"I refer to my play-script of that name, which, mistake I not, I once lent thee a duplicate. I see you but feigned to have read it."
"Ah, yes, a metaphor, methinks. The human condition. We are as all wet, yet can learn to get along swimmingly, nevertheless."
"Do I detect envy or sarcasm?"
"Brilliantly contrived."
"Well! I read thee like an unpublished book! Oxy Moron!"
"I distinctly recall your deeming my 'Terrarium' 'refreshingly dull'... Well, hell, spill all of your 'Aquarium,' then, I'll mop up later. Truely, I'm all cheers! Make deep incision of the details! I've salt in the cupboard! Alas, I alone am due to die unrecognized. Even by myself."
"It goes without staying, friend, were it not for a chain of connections beginning with yourself, I'd likely still be filling balloons with helium at Stottlemyre's warehouse or plowing through the plungers at Sadmitton. Yet it is the spiritual side of your acquaintance which I have most benefitted from. For, beneath the repellant veneer lies the most laudable of losers and sympathetic of saps. But did you even read the thing, boy? Other than to speed-race over its pains taken pages? What for, this my loyalty? I'm determined to bend Vox's ear with admonishments to forgive all and appreciate the values you claim your work contains. I must needs prepare myself to the purpose and actually read some of the stuff. I suggest you select the least uneven, unfocused and muddled of the bunch and I'll do what I can."
"I am full of greatness for the kindly office. But my 'Terrarium' and scores others have long since been given him and not an earthly word's been heard concerning them. I doubt he ever even theatrically grasped them from the desk he dumped them on eons ago."
"Ah, yes. Back to your 'Terrarium.' A metaphor, methinks. The human condition. An underground classic....
