• didn’t buy his fish story
• I still get goose bumps
• America? No, Australia.
• where is your finger?
• called that “popping grapes”

Tune in next time part 210                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

The bartender chivvied me through the narrow spaces of the kitchen toward the rear exit. My mind was still rejecting the image of my father on the zeppelin ramp, and apparently I was muttering about it under my breath.

The bartender looked me in the eye and said, “He pulled a pretty good disappearing act, and even though as a Pink I was clued in about such things and didn’t buy his fish story, I still get goose bumps remembering when I first heard about his ‘death’ on the news.”

I lapsed into sullen silence and let myself be loaded onto a freight elevator. I don’t have a name for how the news made me feel, but it certainly isn’t ‘goose bumps.’

Once we were alone I said, “You honestly think the whole scandal, the humiliation, was preferable over being president of America?”

“America? No, Australia.”

“Um, no.” I laughed. What else was there to do? The elevator remained still and silent even though it had been closed for many seconds. “Hey, where is your finger? Shouldn’t it be pressing a button to make this thing move?”

Now the bartender laughed. “That’s not how this elevator works.” She pulled out her flask and a lighter. I dove into the far corner and rolled up in a ball as she spewed flames on a black glass panel.

When the roaring noise and indoor-sunburn heat abated, I unrolled and stood up. The elevator started rising. I wanted to ask my companion’s name, but she had much to say. She explained, for instance, how she learned to operate this elevator, and that in the Guild they called that “popping grapes” but she wasn’t yet of high enough level to be told why.

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened.

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• no fewer than one thousand four hundred and twenty petitions against
• They declined.
• he could make us all suffer
• feel my IQ dropping
• a scalpel — a clean scalpel

Tune in next time part 212                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

The next room was what a library would look like if hyenas were librarians.

From a mound of tattered books, the bartender pulled one that was relatively unscathed. “There were no fewer than one thousand four hundred and twenty petitions against allowing your father to take office,” she said. “But only two people signed each one. Of course, more people were asked to sign. They declined. This book contains all the petition data, plus the dossiers on everybody who refused to give their names.”

“If they didn’t give their names, then… Never mind.”

“Your father’s return to power would be very bad, he could make us all suffer with his ‘amateur harmonica soloists’ initiative to replace all other music. Also, the ‘all countries starting with A are henceforth named Australia’ nonsense. I feel my IQ dropping just thinking about such a future.”

She handed me the book. I riffled the pages, not really caring about all this info when I was still adjusting to the idea that what I thought I knew about my father was all false.

Taped to the tome’s inside back cover was a scalpel — a clean scalpel. The bartender nodded solemnly.

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