Kitman Versus The Squirrels

A novel. With some squirrels in.

<< Chapter 27 >>

In Which We Get Delicious Cake.

It was the next day.

It was quiet, and had been for some time. I was sitting on Kitman's living room floor, in front of his IBM Selectric IV typewriter, getting a certain amount of use out of its superior autocorrection features.

Kitman was pacing the floor. From time to time he looked at the clock over the wardrobe in front of the door. From time to time he looked at the Contamiski Power & Light envelope sitting underneath it.

"Are you finished yet?" said Kathleen, peering down at me.

"Almost," I said, fingers poised over the keys. It wasn't easy remembering how things had happened, especially when some of them no longer had. "Kitman, do you remember rescuing Hodgson from the caves in the hillside?"

"No," he said patiently. "I remember absolutely nothing about running through dark caverns pursued by slavering voons while you changed the batteries in the vaxillator."

"And you never even saw, let along knocked over, the statue of their dark god."

"Nope."

"Well, then, it's just as well that I can't remember his name," I said, and resumed typing. "It would explain why they're less grumpy now."

The clock chimed six.

If everything was going according to schedule, two jets would be arriving at Contamiski County Intranational Airport over the next twenty minutes: one containing Kitman's parents, the other his brothers Ken and Kevin.

If everything was going according to schedule, they would be here no later than eight.

If everything was going to schedule, Kitman would have an anniversary cake in hand no later than five-thirty.

As previously noted, the clock had just chimed six.

"Well, let me know," said Kathleen. She went back to the piano and started running through scales.

 

 

The setting Abelton Park sun poured benign strawberry-syrup light into the room.

"Good evening," said Kuan Kuo.

"We're here!" said Robin and Noel.

"Er, yes," said a small and glowing white squirrel, squinting in the light. He donned a familiar pair of sunglasses.

"Cake!" said Robin, holding out a big pink box.

Kitman accepted it with mixed gratitude and confusion. "You have my eternal gratitude," he said.

"I did the lettering," said Noel.

"With guidance," said Robin.

Kitman frowned mildly down at the white squirrel. "Ratavaara?"

"All in one," said Kuan Kuo. "He has something to say."

The squirrel coughed. "We apologize for the inconvenience."

"Go on," said Kuan Kuo, with enormous curiosity.

"I have no excuse save desperation," said Ratavaara.

"And," I said, "the fact that you're one-third idiot."

"Oh, you got that one," said Ratavaara. "Yes. But only a third." He shot Kuan Kuo a grumpy look. "Although, in my defense, time was of the essence."

"Do you know what the Essence is?" inquired Kuan Kuo.

"No."

"Drat," said Kuan Kuo. "Nobody seems to know the answer to that question." He wandered over to the wardrobe to look up at the pictures sitting on top of it.

"All water under the bridge," said Kitman with all the natural magnaminity of a man who would shortly be eating yummy cake. "The World Tree's doing well," he added.

This was true. I had been out to look at it earlier and pale leaves had been popping out of the branches with audible 'poit' sounds.

"Technically," said Ratavaara, polishing his pince-nez, "a branch office. Fractal."

"But of course," said Kitman.

Robin, who had been slowly growing in anticipative anxiety, suddenly burst.

"Aren't you going to even look at the cake?" he said.

"Absolutely!" said Kitman, setting the box down on the piano and undoing the ribbon.

"It opens on the side," said Robin, biting his finger.

"So it does," said Kitman, and slid the cake out into view.

We all looked at it.

"Huh," said Kathleen.

"It's..." said Kitman, and trailed off.

I hadn't really been expecting anything. I wouldn't have been actively surprised by something hugely elaborate, like a two and a half layer replica of Kitman's house, with little figurines of all the family members in the windows. What it actually was...

It was a spectacularly successful first try. It was awkward. It was unskilled. It was enthusastic, particularly in the frosting department. It had very clearly been made by someone who had watched PBS cooking shows and paid a great deal of attention, because he wanted to learn.

And the lettering of "Happy Anniversary" on top had unquestionably been executed by someone who had gotten straight A's in high school drafting.

"It's perfect," said Kitman, with amazement.

It was the exact cake his parents would have wanted him to make, no more and no less.

"It wasn't easy," said Robin, and didn't wipe a bead of sweat from his brow because ducks don't sweat, but clearly wanted to.

"Did you know that Kitman got straight A's in drafting?" I said.

"You mentioned it to me," said Robin. "Well, one of you."

"Oh," said I.

"I'll just put this in the fridge," said Kitman, and carried it away. Robin and Noel watched it go with pride.

"We'll try to save you a couple of slices," said Kathleen.

"Not a problem," said Kuan Kuo, who was now bent over examining contents of the bookcase to the right of the door. "Cake is bigger than it looks. My minor contribution."

Kitman returned from the kitchen with a medium-light step. "That's one load off my mind," he said. "One to go. Say, Kuan Kuo...you wouldn't happen to be able to change a trunkload of voonish gold?"

"Into what?" said Kuan Kuo, not looking up from the A's. "And why?"

"You explain, Williams," said Kitman. "It sounds so much worse when you tell it."

I obediently explained the saga of Kitman's electric bill, and how he had belatedly realized how much power his network of Apple IIgses was drawing, and had no way to pay for it except for gold that he couldn't admit to having.

"Ah," said Kuan Kuo.

"I could push the contents of the cellar into the Chaos Gap," offered Ratavaara.

"No," said Kuan Kuo.

"No?" said Ratavaara and Kitman.

"No," said Kuan Kuo, straightening up with an armful of paperbacks. "Cellar must never be emptied."

"Why not?" said Kitman.

"Essential part of character of house," said Kuan Kuo. "No messing about.

"However," he added, "Kuan Kuo could not help but notice Contamiski Power & Light envelope on wardrobe is still sealed. Steamed open?"

"Huh? No," said Kitman.

"He woke up screaming and ran out to read the meter himself," I said. Hm, I thought, I forgot to put that bit in...

"So the envelope remained sealed?" said Kuan Kuo.

"Well...yes," admitted Kitman.

"Then," said Kuan Kuo, "like Heisenberg's Duck, size of bill is uncertain, is it not?"

He set the Asimov paperbacks he had picked from the shelf down atop the bookcase, walked over to the wardrobe and plucked the envelope down from the top.

With a finger that did not actually pass under the gummed flap, he unsealed it.

He peered inside.

"This one counts only four numbers, with a decimal after the first two," said Kuan Kuo. "Is he mistaken?"

Kitman opened his mouth...and left it open, although he did try various different shapes with it.

He passed the bill to Kitman who examined it with a trembling eyeball.

"This," said Kitman eventually, "is...unusually low, in fact."

"Most peculiar," said Kuan Kuo, returning to the paperbacks.

"Thank you very much," said Kitman.

Kuan Kuo stopped sorting through the books long enough to give him the eyebrow raised and fixed. "Thanks are unnecessary, as this one had nothing to do with it."

"Then how — ?"

Kuan Kuo shrugged, apparently losing interest. "Perhaps honorable student forgot his solar-powered tree lab, and practice of selling power back to electric company."

"Uh...no," said Kitman. "The tree lab power supply is off the grid."

"Then this one has no explanation," said Kuan Kuo. He returned most of the books to their place. "May one borrow this?" he said, holding up the remaining paperback.

"Huh?" said Kitman, looking vaguely at the cover.

"Oh," said Kitman, "sure. You can keep it—" and then he did a double-take before saying something else.

"Mind your language," said I.

"Williams," coughed Kitman. "Positrons."

"Yes?"

"What are they?" he said, in his preparing-to-explain tone of voice.

"They're the villains on that cartoon...?"

"No, not Decepticons^®. Positrons can be viewed as electrons traveling backward in time."

"Fascinating," said Kuan Kuo, filing the book away in his robes. "Amazing coincidence. Perhaps something to consider, if you can get past the impossibility and explosions."

"An interesting notion," said Kitman, "and one ideally suited to my genius, my electric bill, and my acquisition of those scholarships to CalTech and MIT that I've always wanted. I shall begin considering it immediately."

"Excellent," said Kuan Kuo. "Shall we be going, students?" he said, just as there was a faint mechanical noise from outside.

"There's a van pulling into the driveway," reported Kathleen, peeking through the curtains, "with a RUNAWAY SHUTTLE logo on the side."

"Ack!" said Kitman. "They're early!"

"Bye!" said Noel. Robin waved.

"Hey, Ratavaara," I said. "How do you keep that pince-nez on your nose?"

"What pince-nez?" he said, just as he disappeared along with the three ducks.

I heard the rumble of feet on the steps outside.

"They're here," said Kathleen.

I picked up the typewriter and the piles of paper to get them out of the way.

Kitman threw wide the door.

"Surprise!" he said.

 

•

 

And the next next day...

...one o'clock in the afternoon, in fact, with most people still in bed...

...I finished typing.

"All right, let's see it," said Kathleen, tearing the sheet out of the roller three words after I typed "the end".

 

 

"Not great," said Kathleen. "Not bad, but not great. It's got huge plot holes, which for a true history is very, very sad."

"Got to start somewhere," I said. "Besides, it was history that failed, not me."

"So Nash Mider gave you more stories?"

"Yeah. I'm going to retype them and submit them under the name Walter V. Finch."

She looked at me, and then patted me on the head.

"Better you than me," she said.

Kitman came stumbling down the stairs. "What time is it?" he said, squinting at the clock.

"One-ten," said Kathleen. "Don't you have a clock?"

"Yes," said Kitman, "and I followed the cord for a while but eventually gave up." He yawned. "Is there anything to eat but leftover cake?"

"In a word," we said, "no."

He scratched his head. "Would be bad form to go to Vincenzo's for breakfast?" he said.

"It's never bad form to go to Vincenzo's," said I.

 

And we did.

When we opened the front door to leave, however, we found a surprise on the porch.

It was a cat, which meowed at Kitman, walked inside and inspected the living room.

"Now what?" said Kitman.

The cat trotted off down the hall towards the kitchen.

After a moment we heard mechinery whirring.

"Either my mother's in there," said Kitman, "or that cat knows how to run the can opener."

He stopped out the door. "I expect we'll find out eventually."

We followed on after.

(And we did find out eventually — which is more than I can say about what Kathleen did at music camp.)

 

END