Arthur Vs.

Chapter Four: Arthur vs. Sanity

[Two days earlier]

Criminal number 88588 climbed to the highest point, a rocky clearing at the end of a forested ridge. There was a rickety wooden fence and a rusty tin-roofed shack.

Ceret sat in his usual spot; a place with an impressive view of the campground and the choppy blue lake beyond. Arthur nodded and latched the gate behind him.

Being a gracious guest, Arthur had brought a gift. He placed a red apple on the stump for his companion to enjoy. "I brought that for you... cook had some left over."

Arthur studied Ceret's long face as he ate. Old weathered skin hung slack about the mouth and eyes, but he held an expression that hinted at a quick and alert mind; his eyes almost glowed, reflecting orange sunset. Ceret's tattered gray beard wafted in the warm breeze.

"Just got back from Rika Chorna," Arthur started. "They really didn't have much on me; didn't have the horse tested or anything. Got charged with a curfew violation but that was it."

"It was a little after dark when that cop marched me into the police headquarters and up to my spokesman's office so there wasn't much staff around. That policeman had other things to do, I guess. He left me in the custody," Arthur chuckled, "of an accountant! Of course she didn't have handcuff keys on her but she didn't mind me standing up either."

"Friendly lady; looked just like an accountant is supposed to: conservative dress, inky fingertips and eyeglasses. She was there to balance Spokesman Ralkliv's client accounts.

You know, she even let me take a look at my own account. It was interesting; the Ministry of Justice kept track of everything, from my toothbrush to the rolls of electrical tape I use to repair my lamp cord."

Arthur grinned at Ceret. "I've really got to stop breaking that lamp! Anyway, we talked quite a bit until my spokesman arrived. It was getting pretty late by that time; he basically gave me a disgusted look, took off the handcuffs, and sent me home.

Spokesman Ralkliv was obviously tired last night but this morning he was in top form. The lecture was so dramatic that I almost wanted to stand and applaud. Now that I understand his native tongue, I can really appreciate the quality of his speeches. His arguments are clear, his timing's crisp, his message is really inspirational; Ceret, you should hear him go on!

The subject of this particular speech was on the importance of making an effort to reform myself, so that I can meet society's expectations and live the correct way on the correct path and so on. I was getting really pumped up by the end of the talk but then he started asking a lot of questions about the disturbance.

I needed an explanation for why I was going outside in the middle of the night so I just said that I like to look at the night sky. But he keeps asking me more questions and uh... I, well... I don't know why I said it, but I mentioned something about UFOs."

Arthur made an exasperated gesture with both hands. "He looked at me like I was crazy! Can you believe that?"

"So a little while later, an armed guard escorts me down the hall to the office of the staff psychiatrist. The guard sits me down in front of his desk. Ceret, I swear upon the whole compost heap that this doctor looked just like Joseph Stalin. Anyway, he questions me for about five minutes and I try to respond in the way I think a normal sane Danubian might.

That didn't go over so well. I could see that he was getting frustrated and I was getting worried. At this point Stalin gets up and walks into an adjoining room... I was curious to see if he went to fetch a straightjacket or something to beat me with.

Instead, he came back with a stack of cards. I recognized them from TV, it was that... Roarsh... uh Rochok... er... the inkblot test. I knew that crazy people are supposed to see disturbing or violent images so when he showed me a card I would tell him it was a picture of something pleasant. That one's a rainbow, that's a four-leaf clover, a crescent moon, that's a star and so on..." Arthur leaned a little closer to Ceret. "They don't sell Lucky Charms here."

"After the test Stalin leaned back in his chair, smoothing down that brushy gray mustache of his while peering deeply into my eyes like a communist Dracula. Then he got up like he just thought of something and opened a filing cabinet drawer. He removed an orange folder.

Ceret, as you know, I've always suspected that all my mail was examined by the government but now I know for sure. Stalin pulled out a translated copy of one of the letters that I wrote to my sister and one she wrote back."

"I didn't appreciate some yahoo reading my mail, but being a piece of government property, I had no right to complain. I just had to go along with it and answer all sorts of stupid questions. Do you know how hard it is to explain a conversation between me and my sister to somebody who has no concept of sarcasm?

I mean, this guy asked me questions like: 'Why aren't you concerned that your sister is a mentally disabled prostitute?' Or: 'why do you and your sister hate each other and wish to kill your mother?'

I mean... what's wrong with these people? Trying to be totally honest All The Time... It's... It's completely unnatural! And if this doctor had to spend some time with my mother, well maybe then he would understand.

In a while he made up his mind and diagnosed me with a mental disorder. Stalin said that I have difficulty distinguishing reality from fantasy. Stalin thinks I need therapy! Can you believe that?"

Arthur suddenly found the whole situation to be riotously funny. He folded over and laughed until his sides cramped.

"So... uh... in about a month I get to go see him again. I hope he shows me more of those inkblot cards, I kinda like those.

So Stalin signed a form and sent me on my way. The good news was that I'm not all that insane; the bad news: I was cleared to see the judge.

Spokesman Ralkliv accompanied me into the judge's chambers. He was the same man that I saw after the sleepwalking disturbance in September. I'm getting to know the criminal court judges all too well!

It was a minor violation; but the judge made the point that mine was also a repeated and willful violation of the rules so he ordered a penalty that was..." Arthur winced, "worse than I expected."

"I wasn't going to give in easy this time; I was going to be brave." Arthur shook his head in disgust. "But I went from quiet determination to despair in right about 1.4 seconds. I never remember how much it hurts."

Arthur blinked the moisture out of his eyes. "Ceret... I... I'm no tough guy, got no tolerance for pain."

"I'm such an idiot; when it got real bad I even started praying. I tried all the deities and prophets I could think of: Jesus, Loki, Buddha, Mohammed and uh... that one that looks like an elephant... can't think of its name. I skipped the Danubian one; I'm pretty pissed at that one, besides..." Arthur scoffed: "I'm not going to pray to a god that doesn't even have feet!"

Arthur continued in a quiet gloomy tone. "Anyway, after some recovery time I caught a ride back up here with a delivery truck, the cops didn't send a guard or even put handcuffs on me." Arthur's voice hardened. "I guess they think this beaten dog doesn't have any bite left in him."

Ceret perched on his waist-high stump and Arthur stood in silence looking down on the campground; minutes passed then he walked stiffly toward his usual seat, a foot-high stump.

Arthur's mood lifted. His life had become simply too ridiculous to not laugh at it. The bitter mixture of failure and suffering would always be the mother's milk of comedy and, if nothing else, Arthur had those in abundance.

Arthur flashed a mischievous smile. "I guess I could finish the story; tell you how my perfect plan unraveled... you'll excuse me if I stand?"

"Hmm, where were we?" Arthur began, "Oh... the horse and the teens."

"Okay, I'll admit it; I had no contingency for the hallucinating horse scenario..."

--------- [One day earlier]

Ceret acknowledged Criminal # 88588 in his subtle way and then he settled back down. Ceret was like that; calm and steady, a good listener.

Arthur was tired and worried; he didn't usually want to share his thoughts but the harshness of his life was wearing more and more on his mind. A couple weeks earlier Arthur started visiting old Ceret, a spiritual advisor of sorts who was a fixture around the campgrounds.

"You know how I said that it couldn't get worse?" Arthur asked. "It did. Not to turn into one of those self-obsessed whiney types but I... this is really hard..."

Arthur sat sullenly on a foot high stump, rested his chin on his palm and his elbow on his knee.

"I just wanted to improve my life in some little way... just a little harmless manipulation. Was that so wrong? I mean what else am I supposed to do if everyone's already made up their minds about me? I just wanted to do something heroic, something that might impress people..." Arthur leaned close and whispered: "And by people I mean the criminal court judges."

"See, I figured that instead of waiting for the chance, why not be more assertive and create an opportunity? Isn't that more impressive anyway? I mean, any yahoo can stumble into an emergency and do something heroic. When they're interviewed on the news, what do these heroes always say? Something like: 'I didn't think about it, I just ran into that burning building and rescued an arm full of babies.' No planning, no preparation, they just act on instinct.

But how many people would go to the trouble to both cause and resolve the danger? I ask you that. See, that takes both courage and planning. It's a public service really... perhaps my act of... uh... benevolent treachery would draw public attention to a real danger that they've been ignoring. Really, Ceret, I might have been saving lives!"

Dour Ceret glanced at Arthur, seemingly unconvinced.

"See, everyone wins; I get to play the good guy, improve my reputation, maybe get some switchings canceled; and Danubians get a feel good story, the satisfaction of seeing how their system reforms even bad criminals like me. It's a public service, really."

"Not buying it, huh? Well, I'll tell you what happened last night and then maybe you'll understand. None of my plans ever went so bad. I spent so much time going over it; observing and planning; it seemed like a slam-dunk... ended up more like a technical foul." Arthur kicked at the dirt in frustration. "And that's two free-throws plus possession!"

He shook his head. "The idea came into my head about a week ago."

"You remember the kids, the scouts in the ranger's class? They had just gotten to the part of their course where they go out into the wilds and catch fish or gather mushrooms and edible wild plants. Today was the part I had been waiting for; they were going to prepare a meal from all that stuff."

"See, all the work that the ranger's don't want to do, they normally give to me, so for the past week I've been like these scout's personal slave or something; but that was perfect because it put me in position to play the hero. I just needed to make one little change to the menu in the middle of the night without anyone noticing. But last night," Arthur groaned. "My plan unraveled almost immediately."

"I set out after midnight, holding the secret ingredient in my right fist as I crept carefully out of stable. I needed to get to the south without walking through the middle of camp so I doubled back through the horse pen. The night was so dark that I didn't see that evil black horse coming, just heard the thump of hooves behind me and felt the impact. I went sprawling in the dirt.

Then it was right on top of me, probably moving close for a bite. I rolled under the fence to get away and noticed that my hand was empty. I had dropped it! I must have crawled around searching for ten minutes but it was gone, just gone!

Then something cool and wet fell on my lower back. I turned around and that damned black horse was right behind me. Soapy foam hung from its lips, its breath was hot, and its skin was wet. I stood up and it lunged at me.

Ceret, I just couldn't believe it. That dirty horse ate my secret ingredient!

I didn't have long to worry about that though... I got over the gate in time, but then so did the horse: bucking and running erratically but still fast. I sprinted down the western trail and hooked left into the woods.

A hundred meters off the trail I stumbled into a grassy clearing... where the power lines come across from the north. I heard a girl scream. I got to a standing position and saw I wasn't alone. Two teenagers were together on the ground.

Arms flailed helplessly, the girl continued screaming; the guy's head whipped back as he spit out an angry and fearful mix of curse words and gibberish.

There was a crash of branches breaking; I looked over my shoulder and managed to say: 'I'd run if I were you!'

They did.

This morning I found out who that girl was. Ceret, it couldn't be any worse." Arthur touched the bruise on his forehead. "They got me up early this morn..."

All the loudspeakers crackled with static. Arthur flinched as his story was rudely interrupted by an administrator's harsh voice over the P/A system.

"Attention. Criminal # 88588; you are to report immediately to the main office."

Arthur stood. "That would be the police arriving." He forced a laugh. "They just love me and wanna be around me... like mosquitoes."

"I'll finish up the story tomorrow, I guess... if I'm able. Oh yeah," Arthur picked up a plastic bag off the ground: "Brought you a carrot from the scraps."

Ceret leapt off the stump; his hooves narrowly missed Arthur's toes. The big goat devoured the carrot in just a few seconds and then sniffed Arthur's hands looking for more.

Arthur wiped goat slobber on the grass and scratched Ceret's tall furry ears right behind the curl of his horns. "Sorry dude, that's it. You get scraps and I get spiritual guidance."

Ceret licked at the empty plastic bag in Arthur's hand before settling down to rest. Arthur closed his eyes, going over his memorized one more time and then he hurried off toward the cluster of park buildings to the south.

--------- [14 hours earlier]

It was an uncomfortable early morning meeting. Arthur assumed he would be questioned about the rampaging horse, so he had prepared a variety of explanations for his part in that fiasco.

What surprised Arthur as he entered Hook's office was the teenage girl seated on a folding chair along the wall. The girl sat with her legs pressed together, the simple light yellow dress she wore came down to her knees; plain brown shoes were flat against the floor.

Arthur's pulse increased greatly as he had an unsettling thought: that girl he had seen making out with a boy in the forest had looked an awful lot like Hook's teenage daughter!

One sharp look from the ranger conveyed how much trouble he was in. Arthur carefully lowered himself and knelt on the hardwood floor in front of the ranger's desk, trying to think instead of panic.

"Criminal # 88588 kneel upright." Hook hung his wide brimmed green hat on the wall and walked to within two steps of the criminal; the ranger's voice was precise and exacting with obvious anger behind his words. "I have some questions I want answered regarding this disturbance last night."

He nodded at the girl. "This is my daughter Gretya; I believe you two have met."

Arthur briefly looked over at the girl. Gretya blushed but kept her eyes down; she had both hands in her lap, nervously twisted at the yellow fabric.

"Yes sir, I recognize her."

"Yes, I thought you would. Did you also know that my daughter was out late last night? I caught her trying to sneak back into my house after this disturbance of yours. This dishonored girl refuses to tell me where she was last night."

The ranger wasn't going to be concerned about the horse at all; Arthur's practiced explanation could be thrown out the office's open window. Hook's face reddened as he waited for response. Arthur thought he should say something.

"Sir, it saddens me to hear that there's some discord in your household..."

If Arthur had been wearing a shirt, Hook would have grabbed a fistful of cloth and hauled him to his feet. As it was Hook grabbed at Arthur's neck, Arthur flinched back, the ranger slapped hard, grazing the left side of the face while growling a curse. Hook connected solidly with the back of his hand the second time, a third strike knocked Arthur sprawling on the floor.

"Father, father please!" Gretya stood pleading. "He didn't do anything!"

Hook took a step back, breathing hard but regaining some composure. "Gretya, go back to the house." He turned on his daughter as she hesitated: "Now!" Hook gripped Gretya's left arm and forcefully walked her out of the building.

Left alone in the office, Arthur clutched his stinging face and looked down the hallway. He heard them outside: the girl sobbing and Hook's loud angry tone.

Arthur's whole face, especially the left side stung; he wiped the back of his hand across his nose to check for blood. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision and looked down the hall, waiting, listening.

Sobbing faded away, a door opened and shut, he heard footsteps. Arthur got back into position on his knees and stared straight ahead at the ranger's old gray metal desk.

Hook stalked his way slowly back into the room, stopping a couple steps behind Arthur.

"Criminal number 88588," Hook said after a long silence. "Did you touch my daughter?"

"No sir." Arthur shook his head vigorously and swallowed hard. "I swear on my mother's grave I didn't touch her."

The black rotary telephone mounted on the south wall rang. Hook turned to answer and Arthur began breathing again. After a brief angry exchange Hook hung up the phone, grabbed his hat and turned to glare down at the criminal.

"Dishonored criminal spy," Hook spit out the words. "You are dismissed for now but I will be sure to let the police know about your disrespectful attitude and your curfew violation; then I'm going to go have a talk with my daughter. I will find out what happened, Criminal # 88588, and if you're lying to me I'm going to make your life miserable."

You'll have to get in line: thought an already miserable Arthur.