Free Ella Minnow Pea by Mark Dunn

stupefaction. Has your gloomy mother taken leave of all her senses?
    No. I’m only allowing myself a little happiness while I am still able.
    You know, as I, that time is running out.
    Love
,
    Mother
     
    NOLLOPTON
    Fribs, September 29
    Mother,
    I am very happy for you. Meeting Mr. Cummels is a positive thing; I am sure of it. I worry that there is no one looking out for you now that I am here in town. I’ll worry less knowing that the two of you may become close.
    Nate has met with Council Member Lyttle. There is much to relate.
    Nate began the meeting with a formal presentation. Lyttle gave it his close attention. In the presentation Nate built his (in my opinion, extremely substantial) case for the reason we, along with a number of prominent American chemists, believe the tiles to be falling. When it was over, Lyttle sat back in his chair, let his eyes close in momentary rumination, then gave his response: “It may be true. It may all very well be true.”
    Then, silence. A long silence which I knew from Nate’s expression left him slightly uneasy.
    Eventually, Lyttle spoke again: “I may be alone within the Council in leaving open the possibility that this theory—this careful interpretation of events as you present it to me—may very well ring true. Nevertheless, young man, it is still important for me to see more compelling proof”—Nate was obviously upset by this response, but kept his temper: “But you have the lab reports, sir. They’re right in front of you. What more is necessary?”
    “You’ve given me the scientific reason for why the tiles are falling, Mr. Warren. But might not Nollop be working
through
the science? Have you ever thought of this? The science, in point of fact, actually serving his specific purposes. Therefore, that of which I must have positive proof—the single fact that I must know for certain is that the Great Nollop isn’t working
at all!
”
    “But
what
proof? I can’t raise the man from the grave to ask him point blank!”
    “Still—”
    Nate thought. Lyttle thought. Then a smile from my Nate. I knew. I knew from the look on his face what was to come next.
    “You venerate Nollop for one reason, Mr. Lyttle. One reason only.”
    A tip of the noggin from Lyttle. “The sentence. That awe-striking sentence which graces our national cenotaph.”
    Nate went on: “But what if it turns out that Nollop wasn’t the only man capable of cobbling such a sentence?”
    “But he was.”
    “But what if there have been others?”
    “There have been no others, Mr. Warren. We are fairly certain of this.”
    “Fairly, but not absolutely. Please, Mr. Lyttle, hear me out. What if it were possible for someone other than Nollop to come up with such a sentence, in say—hmmm, what might be an appropriate—”
    Lyttle wasn’t one to let others finish
their
sentences: “If I were to give you until the last setting sun, Mr. Warren, it cannot—simply
will
not happen. Why, it’s pure, utter futility!”
    “But—”
    “Your point isn’t a complex one, Mr. Warren. What you are saying is that if there exists such a person with such a gift, why, we might have to place that special person right up there with Nollop. On the very same plane. Is that not the thrust of your argument?”
    “If he or she is successful, well, naturally we—”
    “Is this a challenge, Mr. Warren?”
    “Might you welcome such a challenge, Mr. Lyttle?”
    “I may not welcome it. I might, however, in proper fairness, entertain it.”
    “Then I’ll make it official. It’s a challenge. Will you take it to the Council?”
    “A sentence of thirty-five letters or less.” Then a crinkle—no, an elaborate furrow to Lyttle’s hoary brow. He was thinking. Intense, all-important, history-making thoughts. “No. It must be conclusive. Thirty-five letters isn’t conclusive. I suggest thirty-three, no—thirty-
two
letters.”
    “Thirty-two letters?”
    “That’s correct.”
    “But that leaves a mere six for