Redemolished

  "Name one that you'll make," the Professor said.

  "I will name several. Ladies," here the Chairman addressed himself to the does. "Please do not permit yourselves to be seen. The human animal is always enchanted by your beauty and glamor."

  The Debutantes giggled prettily.

  "My dear Scoutmaster," the Chairman went on to the Senior Rabbit, "the same holds true for yourself and your entire troop. Please disappear until further notice. No more jamborees on the lawns. I, of course, will make a similar sacrifice. I shall conceal my blazing magnificence. Kaff Kaff."

  Moe Mole said, "I'm always concealed."

  "To be sure. To be sure. But Moses, would it be possible for you to tunnel all the grounds, raising those unsightly mounds? You will have to double your efforts, but it would be most helpful."

  "I'll get the brothers from Moles Anonymous to lend a hand."

  "Splendid, splendid. Now, George W., I ask this as a special favor. Would you be kind enough to give up your invaluable surveying for the nonce, I say, Kaff Kaff, temporarily, and eat the daffodils?"

  "I hate the taste."

  "I don't blame him," the Senior Rabbit said. "They're disgusting."

  "But so appealing visually to the human eye. You don't have to actually devour them, George, just cut them down and chew a little. I will do the same for the lilacs, under cover of darkness, of course, and my dear ladies will assist."

  Jack Johnson said, "What about me and His Immanence?"

  "His Eminence will remain out of sight but will sing. You will remain in sight but will not sing."

  "I'm as pretty as that Jesuit."

  "Yeah? You want to prove it? Step outside."

  "Gentlemen. Gentlemen. Please! We are concerting an all-out attack. Now our members of Actors Equity will continue their customary depredations, concentrating on the apple, pear, and peach trees."

  "We ought to eat the corn, too."

  "I'm not going to eat you, friend."

  Caw! Caw! Caw!

  "Miss Leghorn will remain out of sight. There is nothing more appealing to the human animal than a chicken meditating on a summer day. Oh, and Jack, dear boy, will you try to dispossess the Mockingbird? There is nothing more appealing than a mockingbird serenading on a summer night."

  "Why don't he ever join up?"

  "I have solicited him many times, and he has always refused. I'm, afraid he'll refuse to be drafted now."

  "I'll chase him all the way to Canada."

  "I shall continue to supervise the campaign from my command post in Freda's—ah, Francie's—ah, from my command post under the lilac bush. I assure you, ladies and gentlemen, we cannot fail. Meeting adjourned."

  They failed, of course. Those losers from the Big City took two looks at Red Hill farm and fell in love with it. They saw the miniature hogbacks that Moe Mole had dug and loved them. "Moles have their rights," the husband said. They saw George W. decimating the daffodils. "Woodchucks have their rights," the wife said. "Next year we'll plant enough for us and him."

  The Kaff Kaff of the Chairman doing his best to destroy the lilacs put them in ecstasies. Flashing glimpses of the does and their fawns hiding in the woods enchanted them. "Do you think they'll all let us live here with them?" the wife asked.

  They bought the farm at a high price ($1,000 an acre) with the help of a mortgage, moved in all their possessions and took up residence. Almost immediately there were hammerings and sawings inside the house and flutters of wash outside, hung on a line strung between a couple of oak trees.

  They were a family of four. The head of the house was a Burmese cat, all tan and brown with golden eyes, who ruled with an imperious hand. Then there came the husband and wife, and a small boy aged two years who ruled the Burmese. The news of the cat rather disturbed the Big Red School-house, which is not fond of predators. They are all vegetarians, and the Chaldean Chicken has formed an association called OFFO, which stands for Organic Foods For Oll. In the opinion of the Professor, Miss Leghorn is ineducable.

  "No, it's nothing to worry about," George W. assured the assembled. "She's a right royalty."

  "Royalty?"

  "I had a long talk with her through the screen door. She's some kind of Burmese Princess, and if the Burmese were ever hunters, it's been bred out of her."

  "She says. Behind a door."

  "No. I helped her get it open, and we had a real friendly time until the lady ran out and grabbed her and put her back in the house. She was mad."

  "Why?"

  "Well, it seems that these Burmese types are very high class, and they don't let them out. They're afraid she'll catch hemophilia or something. The Princess is kind of lonely. We ought to do something for her."

  "Hemophilia is not contagious," the Professor said "it is a congenital characteristic transmitted through the female chromosome."

  "So, all right. Leukemia or something."

  "What about the family?"

  "The Princess says they're a little loose. The name is Dupree. He's Constantine and she's Constance, so they call each other Connie and the Princess never knows where she's at."

  "And the kid?"

  "He's a boy and he's got six names."

  "Six?"

  "They call him after some kind of poem, which I think is a pretty rotten scene: James James Morrison Morrison Weatherby George."

  "That's four names," the Professor objected.

  "But mathematically speaking" Moe Mole began, "it really counts up to—"

  "All right. All right. Six. How old is he?"

  "Two."

  "What does he do?"

  "Not much. Just crawls around."

  "At two? Arrested. What does the father do?

  "He's an editor."

  "What's that?"

  "You know those pieces of paper we see sometimes with print on them like Tomato Ketchup, Net Wt.32 Oz.; or Pall Mall Famous Cigarettes—Wherever Particular People Congregate?"

  "Whatever they mean. And?"

  The Princess says somebody has to be in charge of the print. That's an editor."

  "What does she do?"

  "Who?"

  "The other Connie."

  "She pastes food on paper."

  "She what?"

  "That's what the Princess said."

  "Pastes food on paper?"

  The Princess says it tastes real good."

  "She is not pasting food on paper," the Professor said. "She is making paintings." He turned to Geo. Woodchuck. "In my opinion your friend, the Burmese Princess, is an ass."

  "She wants to meet you. Her Connie, the man, went to Rutgers, too"

  "Did he, now? Was he Phi Beta Kappa? No matter. Perhaps we can arrange something."

  "He doesn't speak our language,"

  "Too bad. Can he learn? How old is he?"

  "Around thirty."

  The Professor shook his head. "A senior citizen. Too late."

  At this point one of the Endmen said, "A funny thing is happening on its way to the barn."

  They all stared at him.

  "Something's coming," he explained.

  They looked through the slit in the barn door. A curious creature, pink and naked, was crawling across the lawn in their direction.

  "Where? Where?" Moe Mole asked.

  "Bearing south-southwest," George W. told him.

  "What is it?"

  "It's a Monster!" Miss Leghorn cried.

  The Monster crawled through the slit, stopped, rested and panted. Then he looked at the assembly. The assembly examined him.

  "It's James James Morrison Morrison Weatherby George," the Woodchuck said. "I saw him hugging the Princess."

  "Da," the Monster said pleasantly.

  "An obvious illiterate," the Professor said peevishly. "It can't speak. Let's adjourn."

  "I can too speak," James said in the creature tongue. "Why are you so mean to me?"

  "My dear Monster," the Professor apologized handsomely, "I had no idea. I beg you to forgive me."

 
"Da," James said.

  "But of course," the White Rat explained. "Science always finds the answer. He can speak to us, but he can't speak to his own kind."

  "Da," James said.

  "You've got to speak our language, buddy boy," Jack Johnson said.

  "We think he's cute in any language," the Debutantes tittered.

  "Ladies," the Monster said. "I thank you for the generous compliment. I am but a simple soul, but I am not impervious to flattery from such glorious females as you. In this hurly-burly world of conflict and confrontation it is a comfort for a lonely creature like myself to know that there are yet a few who are capable of relating and communicating."

  "His primitive eloquence goes to the heart," said a fawn, batting her eyes at James.

  "Where the hell did you get that fancy spiel?" one of the Endmen demanded.

  "From my father's editorials," James grinned. "He reads them out loud to my mother."

  "Honest and modest," the Scoutmaster said. "I approve of that."

  "Hey, Monster, what's it like living with human types? Is it different?"

  "I don't know, sir. I've never lived with anything else."

  "What about that Princess? The Burmese type."

  "Oh, she's just a flirt. She's viscerotonic; that is, she operates from instinctive rather than intellectual motivation."

  "Jeez!" Jack Johnson exclaimed.

  "One of them editorials?" an Endmen asked.

  "Yes, sir. What I mean, ladies and gentlemen, is that this is the first chance I've ever had to carry on a rational conversation with anyone."

  "Don't your parents talk to you?"

  "Oh, yes, but when I answer they don't listen."

  "That's because you talk Us and they talk Them."

  "You know," the Professor said, "I believe this simplistic Monster may have some potential. I think I'll take him on as one of my students in Arts & Sciences 1."

  "Here comes one of the two Connies," His Eminence warned.

  "Right. Out, Monster. We'll see you tomorrow. Push him through the door, somebody."

  James mother picked him up and started back to the house. "Darling, you had a wonderful exploration. How nice that we don't have to worry about cars. Did you discover anything?"

  "As a matter of fact, I did," James answered. "There's a brilliant sodality of birds and beasts in the Big Red Barn who made me welcome and have very kindly volunteered to begin my education. They're all characters and most amusing. They call me Monster."

  Alas, he was speaking creature language which his mother couldn't hear or understand. So he settled for "Da" in human, but he was extremely annoyed by his mother's failure to hear him, and this is the terrible conflict of our true story.

  And so the education of James Dupree began in and around the Big Red Schoolhouse.

  "Music achieved its peak in the Baroque Era," Jack Johnson said. "Telemann, Bach, Mozart. The greatest, the guy I dig the most, was Vivaldi. He had muscle. You understand? Right. Now what you have to keep in mind is that these cats made statements. And you have to realize that you just don't listen to music; you have to make it, which means that you have to conduct a conversation with the artists. Right? You hear their statement and then you answer them back. You agree with them or you argue with them. That's what it's all about."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "That's all right. Now let's hear you sound your A."

  "As we dig deeper and deeper," Moe Mole said, "we find that, mathematically speaking, the temperature increases one degree Fahrenheit per foot. But the brothers from the north tell me that they strike a permafrost layer which is left over from the Glacial Epoch. This is very interesting. It means that the last glaciation is not yet finished in the mathematical sense. Have you ever seen an iceberg?"

  "No, sir."

  "I would like to dig down to the bottom of an iceberg to check the temperature."

  "But wouldn't it be cold?"

  "Cold? Cold? Pah! Cold is better than pep pills."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "Let me see your hand," Miss Leghorn said. "Benny. Benny. The line of life is strong. Ah, but the line of Venus, of amourismo, is broken in multo places. I'm afraid you will have an unhappy love life, cara mio."

  "Repeat after me," the Senior Rabbit said. "On my honor."

  "On my honor."

  "I will do my best to do my duty."

  "I will do my best to do my duty."

  "For God and my country."

  "For God and my country."

  "And to obey the scout law."

  "And to obey the scout law."

  "I will help other people at all times."

  "I will help other people at all times."

  "And keep myself physically strong."

  "And keep myself physically strong."

  "Mentally awake."

  "Mentally awake."

  "And morally straight."

  "And morally straight."

  "Good. You are now an official Tenderfoot. We'll start knot tying tomorrow."

  "Excuse me, sir. What does morally straight mean?"

  "Now watch me," the Debutante said. "First you take a step/And then you take another/And then you take a step/And then you take another/And then, you're doing the Gazpacho. Now you try it."

  "But I can't even walk, Ma'am."

  "That's right," the Debutante said brightly. "So how can you dance? Shall we sit this one out? Tell me, have you read any good books lately?"

  "My professor at Rutgers," the White Rat said, "taught me everything I know. He was a Phi Beta Kappa. He said that we are always faced with problems in the humanities and scientific disciplines and that the most important step is to first decide whether it's a problem of complexity or perplexity. Now, do you know the difference?"

  "No, sir. I'm afraid I don't."

  "Hmp! Arrested!"

  "Sir, what is the difference?"

  "George Woodchuck wants to tell you about surveying."

  "I can't understand why the Professor said that," Geo. W. said. "Surveying can be an awfully dull line of work. I wouldn't want to wish it on my worst enemy."

  "Then why do you do it, sir?"

  "I don't know. Maybe, I suppose, because I'm the dull type that enjoys it. But you're not a dull boy, you're very bright."

  "Thank you, sir. Why don't you try me and see if I like it, too?"

  "Well, all right, provided it's understood that I'm not trying to lay this on you."

  "Fair enough. Now, a proper job can't be done unless you've got a fix on latitude and longitude. The altitude of the sun gives you latitude, and time gives you your longitude. Got that?"

  "But I can't tell time."

  "Of course you can, my boy. You have your biological clock."

  "I don't know what that is, sir."

  "We all have it. Quick, now. What time is it?"

  "Just before supper."

  "No! No! How long since the sun culminated, that is, reached its highest altitude in the sky at noon? Quick, now! In hours, minutes, and seconds. Off the top of your head."

  "Six hours, seventeen minutes and five seconds.

  "It should be three seconds. You'd be out by eight hundred yards." The Peerless Surveyor patted James generously. "You're a brilliant boy and you have your biological clock. Tomorrow we will beat the bounds of the farm."

  "Ladies, I say, Kaff Kaff, women are changeable. Never forget that. We can't live with them and we can't live without them. As the great poet wrote: When as in silks my pheasant goes, then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows the liquefaction of her clothes. You are, I am afraid, a little too young for the second stanza, which is, to say the least, a trifle bawdy."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Now we come to the matter of the moment," the Chairman said. "I hope you're not colorblind."

  "I don't know, sir."

  "Color perception is essential for survival. Very well, we'll test you. What is the color of that flower?"

  "It's the color of an iris."

/>   "I know that, but what color? The name? The name?"

  "Blue?" James said at a venture.

  "It is marine purple navy. And that tulip?"

  "Red?"

  "It is cerise. Really, my young friend! Survival! Survival! And the lilacs?"

  "Lilac, sir."

  "Ah! Now you're exhibiting some perception. Very good. Tomorrow we will study ROYGBIV."

  "I don't know what that is, sir."

  "They are the initial letters of the colors of the spectrum," the Chairman said severely, and stalked off in a marked manner.

  "Hey, kid."

  "Yes, your Eminence."

  "Which one is your father?"

  "The tall one, sir."

  "What does he do?"

  "Well, he talks a lot, your Eminence, and I listen a lot."

  "What's he talk about?"

  "Practically everything. Science and the state of the nation. Society. Ecology. Books. Ideas. The theater."

  "What's that?"

  "I don't know, sir. He also does a lot of cooking when he's home, mostly in a foreign language."

  "He does, huh? Say, kid, any chance of him putting out some suet for me? I'm queer for suet."

  All was not perpetual sweetness and light in the Big Red Schoolhouse; there were unpleasant moments occasionally.

  There was the time that James crawled in cranky. He'd had a bad night owing to a surfeit of chocolate pudding w. whipped cream at supper, and he was tired and sullen. He rejected the gracious advances of the Debutantes. He made faces while the Professor was lecturing. He was quite impossible. He spoke just one word it wasn't creature, it was human, and it wasn't "Da," it was "Damn!" Then he began to sob. The creatures, who never cry, gazed at him perplexedly.

  "What's he doing?"

  "He's crying," the voice of the Burmese Princess explained. She entered the barn. "I hope you'll forgive the intrusion, but I managed to get out and came after him, Hello, George. You're looking handsome today. This must be the Professor. James never told me you were so distinguished. The Chairman and His Eminence are magnificent, as usual. I can't tell you how many times I've admired you through the windows."

  "Kaff Kaff. I thank your highness."

  "You ain't so bad-looking yourself, baby."