I opened the Spam and sat down to be alone with it and my memories, but it wasn"t to be for long. The kind of people who run with people like Carl don"t like to be alone, ever, especially with their memories, and they can"t imagine anyone else might, at least now and then, have a taste for it.
My rescuer was Irene. Irene was particularly sensitive about seeing people alone because being alone had several times nearly produced fatal results for her. Being alone and taking pills to end the being alone.
"What"s wrong, Phil?" she asked.
"Nothing"s wrong," I said, holding up a forkful of the pink Spam in the sunlight. "It tastes just like it always did. They haven"t lost their touch."
She sat down on the sand beside me, very carefully, so as to avoid spilling the least drop of what must have been her millionth Scotch.
"Phil," she said, "I"m worried about Mandie. I really am. She looks so unhappy!"
I glanced over at Mandie. She had her head thrown back and she was laughing uproariously at some joke Carl had just made. Carl was smiling at her with his teeth glistening and his eyes deep down dead as ever.
"Why should Mandie be happy?" I asked. "What, in G.o.d"s name, has she got to be happy about?"
"Oh, Phil," said Irene. "You pretend to be such an awful cynic. She"s alive, isn"t she?"
I looked at her and wondered what such a statement meant, coming from someone who"d tried to do herself in as earnestly and as frequently as Irene. I decided that I did not know and that I would probably never know. I also decided I didn"t want anymore of the Spam. I turned to throw it away, doing my bit to litter up the beach, and then I saw them.
They were far away, barely bigger than two dots, but you could tell there was something odd about them even then.
"We"ve got company," I said.
Irene peered in the direction of my point.
"Look, everybody," she cried, "we"ve got company!"
Everybody looked, just as she had asked them to.
"What the h.e.l.l is this?" asked Carl. "Don"t they know this is my private property?" And then he laughed.
Carl had fantasies about owning things and having power. Now and then he got drunk enough to have little flashes of believing he was king of the world.
"You tell "em, Carl!" said Horace.
Horace had sparkling quips like that for almost every occasion. He was tall and bald and he had a huge Adam"s apple and, like myself, he worked for Carl. I would have felt sorrier for Horace than I did if I hadn"t had a sneaky suspicion that he was really happier when groveling. He lifted one scrawny fist and shook it in the direction of the distant pair.
"You guys better beat it," he shouted. "This is private property!"
"Will you shut up and stop being such an a.s.s?" Mandie asked him. "It"s not polite to yell at strangers, dear, and this may d.a.m.n well be their beach for all you know."
Mandie happens to be Horace"s wife. Horace"s children treat him about the same way. He busied himself with zipping up his windbreaker, because it was getting cold and because he had received an order to be quiet.
I watched the two approaching figures. The one was tall and bulky, and he moved with a peculiar, swaying gait. The other was short and hunched into himself, and he walked in a fretful, zigzag line beside his towering companion.
"They"re heading straight for us," I said.
The combination of the cool wind that had come up and the approach of the two strangers had put a damper on our little group. We sat quietly and watched them coming closer. The nearer they got, the odder they looked.
"For heaven"s sake!" said Irene. "The little one"s wearing a square hat!"
"I think it"s made of paper," said Mandie, squinting, "folded newspaper."
"Will you look at the mustache on the big b.a.s.t.a.r.d?" asked Carl. "I don"t think I"ve ever seen a bigger bush in my life."
"They remind me of something," I said.
The others turned to look at me.
The Walrus and the Carpenter...
"They remind me of the Walrus and the Carpenter," I said.
"The who?" asked Mandie.
"Don"t tell me you never heard of the Walrus and the Carpenter?" asked Carl.
"Never once," said Mandie.
"Disgusting," said Carl. "You"re an uncultured b.i.t.c.h. The Walrus and the Carpenter are probably two of the most famous characters in literature. They"re in a poem by Lewis Carroll in one of the Alice books."
"In Through the Looking Gla.s.s," I said, and then I recited their introduction: "The Walrus and the Carpenter Were walking close at hand They wept like anything to see Such quant.i.ties of sand..."
Mandie shrugged. "Well, you"ll just have to excuse my ignorance and concentrate on my charm," she said.
"I don"t know how to break this to you all," said Irene, "but the little one does have a handkerchief."
We stared at them. The little one did indeed have a handkerchief, a huge handkerchief, and he was using it to dab at his eyes.
"Is the little one supposed to be the Carpenter?" asked Mandie.
"Yes," I said.
"Then it"s all right," she said, "because he"s the one that"s carrying the saw."
"He is, so help me, G.o.d," said Carl. "And, to make the whole thing perfect, he"s even wearing an ap.r.o.n."
"So the Carpenter in the poem has to wear an ap.r.o.n, right?" asked Mandie.
"Carroll doesn"t say whether he does or not," I said, "but the ill.u.s.trations by Tenniel show him wearing one. They also show him with the same square jaw and the same big nose this guy"s got."
"They"re G.o.dd.a.m.n doubles," said Carl. "The only thing wrong is that the Walrus isn"t a walrus, he just looks like one."
"You watch," said Mandie. "Any minute now he"s going to sprout fur all over and grow long fangs."
Then, for the first time, the approaching pair noticed us. It seemed to give them quite a start. They stood and gaped at us, and the little one furtively stuffed his handkerchief out of sight.
"We can"t be as surprising as all that!" whispered Irene.
The big one began moving forward, then, in a hesitant, tentative kind of shuffle. The little one edged ahead, too, but he was careful to keep the bulk of his companion between himself and us.
"First contact with the aliens," said Mandie, and Irene and Horace giggled nervously. I didn"t respond. I had come to the decision that I was going to quit working for Carl, that I didn"t like any of these people about me, except, maybe, Irene, and that these two strangers gave me the honest creeps.
Then the big one smiled, and everything was changed.
I"ve worked in the entertainment field, in advertising and in public relations. This means I have come in contact with some of the prime charm boys and girls in our proud land. I have become, therefore, not only a connoisseur of smiles, I am a being equipped with numerous automatic safeguards against them. When a talc.u.med smoothie comes at me with his brilliant ivories exposed, it only shows he"s got something he can bite me with, that"s all.
But the smile of the Walrus was something else.
The smile of the Walrus did what a smile hasn"t done for me in years it melted my heart. I use the cornball phrase very much on purpose. When I saw his smile, I knew I could trust him; I felt in my marrow that he was gentle and sweet and had nothing but the best intentions. His resemblance to the Walrus in the poem ceased being vaguely chilling and became warmly comical. I loved him as I had loved the teddy bear of my childhood.
"Oh, I say," he said, and his voice was an embarra.s.sed boom. "I do hope we"re not intruding!"
"I daresay we are," squeaked the Carpenter, peeping out from behind his companion.
"The, uhm, fact is," boomed the Walrus, "we didn"t even notice you until just back then, you see."
"We were talking, is what," said the Carpenter.
They wept like anything to see Such quant.i.ties of sand...
"About sand?" I asked.
The Walrus looked at me with a startled air.
"We were, actually, now you come to mention it."
He lifted one huge foot and shook it so that a little trickle of sand spilled out of his shoe.
"The stuff"s impossible," he said. "Gets in your clothes, tracks up the carpet."
"Ought to be swept away, it ought," said the Carpenter.
"If seven maids with seven mops Swept it for half a year, Do you suppose," the Walrus said, "That they could get it clear?"
"It"s too much!" said Carl.
"Yes, indeed," said the Walrus, eying the sand around him with vague disapproval, "altogether too much."
Then he turned to us again, and we all basked in that smile.
"Permit me to introduce my companion and myself," he said.
"You"ll have to excuse George," said the Carpenter, "as he"s a bit of a stuffed shirt, don"t you know?"
"Be that as it may," said the Walrus, patting the Carpenter on the flat top of his paper hat, "this is Edward Farr, and I am George Tweedy, both at your service. We are, uhm, both a trifle drunk, I"m afraid."
"We are, indeed. We are that."
"As we have just come from a really delightful party, to which we shall soon return."
"Once we"ve found the fuel, that is," said Farr, waving his saw in the air. By now he had found the courage to come out and face us directly.
"Which brings me to the question," said Tweedy. "Have you seen any driftwood lying about the premises? We"ve been looking high and low, and we can"t seem to find any of the blasted stuff." "Thought there"d be piles of it," said Farr, "but all there is is sand, don"t you see?"
"I would have sworn you were looking for oysters," said Carl.
Again, Tweedy appeared startled.
"O Oysters, come and walk with us!"
The Walrus did beseech...
"Oysters?" he asked. "Oh, no, we"ve got the oysters. All we lack is the means to cook "em."
""Course we could always use a few more," said Farr, looking at his companion.
"I suppose we could, at that," said Tweedy thoughtfully.
"I"m afraid we can"t help you fellows with the driftwood problem," said Carl, "but you"re more than welcome to a drink."
There was something unfamiliar about the tone of Carl"s voice that made my ears perk up. I turned to look at him, and then had difficulty covering up my astonishment.
It was his eyes. For once, for the first time, they were really friendly.
I"m not saying Carl had fishy eyes, blank eyes not at all. On the surface, that is. On the surface, with his eyes, with his face, with the handling of his entire body, Carl was a master of animation and expression. From sympathetic, heartfelt warmth, all the way to icy rage, and on every stop in-between, Carl was completely convincing.
But only on the surface. Once you got to know Carl, and it took a while, you realized that none of it was really happening. That was because Carl had died, or been killed, long ago. Possibly in childhood. Possibly he had been born dead. So, under the actor"s warmth and rage, the eyes were always the eyes of a corpse.
But now it was different. The friendliness here was genuine, I was sure of it. The smile of Tweedy, of the Walrus, had performed a miracle. Carl had risen from his tomb. I was in honest awe.
"Delighted, old chap!" said Tweedy.
They accepted their drinks with obvious pleasure, and we completed the introductions as they sat down to join us. I detected a strong smell of fish when Tweedy sat down beside me, but, oddly, I didn"t find it offensive in the least. I was glad he"d chosen me to sit by. He turned and smiled at me, and my heart melted a little more.
It soon turned out that the drinking we"d done before had only scratched the surface. Tweedy and Farr were magnificent boozers, and their gusto encouraged us all to follow suit.
We drank absurd toasts and were delighted to discover that Tweedy was an incredible raconteur. His specialty was outrageous fantasy: wild tales involving incongruous objects, events, and characters. His invention was endless.
"The time has come," the Walrus said, "To talk of many things: Of shoes and ships and sealing-wax Of cabbages and kings And why the sea is boiling hot And whether pigs have wings."
We laughed and drank, and drank and laughed, and I began to wonder why in h.e.l.l I"d spent my life being such a gloomy, moody son of a b.i.t.c.h, been such a distrustful and suspicious b.a.s.t.a.r.d, when the whole secret of everything, the whole core secret, was simply to enjoy it, to take it as it came.
I looked around and grinned, and I didn"t care if it was a foolish grin. Everybody looked all right, everybody looked swell, everybody looked better than I"d ever seen them look before.
Irene looked happy, honestly and truly happy. She, too, had found the secret. No more pills for Irene, I thought. Now that she knows the secret, now that she"s met Tweedy, who"s given her the secret, she"ll have no more need of those G.o.dd.a.m.n pills.
And I couldn"t believe Horace and Mandie. They had their arms around each other, and their bodies were pressed close together, and they rocked as one being when they laughed at Tweedy"s wonderful stories. No more nagging for Mandie, I thought, and no more cringing for Horace, now they"ve learned the secret.