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the road into the swamp had just about vanished. christopher columbus pulled the car off what was left of the road and parked under a huge tree covered with moss.
antoinette noticed what looked like a couple of knives stuck into the trunk of the tree.
“what do you want from me?” antoinette asked the two men.
“we want you to tell us a story,” said the man called vasco da gama.
“about what?”
“anything you like. just make it a good one. tell us a good story, and we will let you go.”
*
once upon a time, antoinette began, there was a little street singer who sang and played her mandolin in the steets of the great city.
she sang songs that people laughed at and called out of tume and screechy, but they were really beautiful.
one day the singer met an animal that looked like a dog, but was really a cat.
let us leave this evil city, the really a cat said to the singer, and find some better place where we can be appreciated for what we really are.
the singer agreed, and so they set off toward the outskirts of the city.
they met a creature that looked like a rat, but was really a camel.
they invited the really the camel to join them, and it did.
the trio came upon a painter, sitting against a wall with about a dozen of his paintngs, of sad clowns and sadder children and dancing gypsies and somber magicians in top hats, lined up for sale.
nobody was buying the paintings because they thought they were ugly and old fashioned, but they were really beautiful.
the painter put his paintings in a big sack snd joined the singer, the cat, and the camel.
they met a clown - a really, really, sad clown, the saddest they or anybody else had ever seen.
they asked the clown why he was so sad, and he explained that he had written a screenplay that nobody wanted to buy or even steal, even though it would make the greatest movie ever made.
the clown was tearfully grateful for the sympathy he received, and he too joined the group.
next they came upon a gypsy dancing alone on a street corner. her face was covered with a green mask. a monkey stood beside her, shaking an empty tin cup.
the dancer explained that she wore the green mask because everybody thought she was ugly, although she was really beautiful.
the monkey added that he contented himself with shaking the empty tin cup, and that formerly he had told funny stories, that nobody laughed at, even though they were really side-splittingly hilarious.
the dancer and the monkey also joined the group.
as they reached the city limits, it began to rain.
they saw what looked like a bus shelter on a weedy patch of ground, and entered it to escape the rain.
but it was not really a bus shelter at all. no sooner had they all entered it, than a trap door gave way and they found themselves in a dark basement, at the mercy of a fellow who looked like theodore roosevelt but was really an evil baker.
the evil baker fed the seven unwary travelers into a machine that ground them up into flour.
he used the flour to bake confections that he advertised and sold as jelly donuts and chocolate chip cookies, but were really the broken dreams of desperate souls.
that is the end of my story, antoinette announced, what did you think of it?
i thought it sucked, said christopher columbus.
it was the stupidest story i ever heard, said vasco da gama.
*
later that night, benjamin franklin was shooting pool by himself at tom jefferson’s pool hall when the door opened and christopher columbus and vasco da gama walked in. they had removed their policemen’s uniforms and looked like the lowlifes they were.
“how did it go?” benjamin franklin asked them.
“not good,” christopher columbus answered. “not good at all.”
“she was worthless to us,” vasco da gama added. “quite worthless.”
“but are we quits now?” benjamin asked plaintively.
“no, dude, we are not quits,” vasco da gama answered. “you will have to try again, and hope you do better next time.”
“much better,” christopher columbus added. he went over to the rack and selected a cue.
*
antoinette’s feet were sore, but she was almost home. she had not been able to catch a ride, and had walked all the way from the swamp.
despite their menacing words and general nastiness, christopher columbus and vasco da gama had let her go, warning her that she might not be so lucky next time, and had better learn some better stories.
when antoinette turned into her street, she saw a couple of police cars parked outside her building.
she was too tired to bother trying to avoid them, and walked up to her door.
a policecman came out of the door. “are you marie antoinette?” he asked. “the friend and confidant of frankie lee?”
“yes, i am, officer.”
“i regret to inform you that we have taken frankie lee down to the station, arrested for the murder of marie laveau, in a dispute over the affections of a man named johnny rebel. do you know anything about this sad affair?”
antoinette knew that johnny rebel was not his real name, that he was really plain johnny smith, a sneaking little welsher who would sell his mother and grandmother down the river for half a ham sandwich.
aloud she said, “no, officer, i do not.”
“very well, then, i will accept that for now, but do not leave the area. we may wish to talk to you later.”
antoinette nodded, and went up the stairs. the room was empty. she wondered if there was anything in the icebox, or if frankie - or maybe the police - had emptied it.
it was empty. she sat down on the bed.
outside, the sun came up. it looked like day, but was really night.
the end
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