Free Lucky Alan : And Other Stories (9780385539821) by Jonathan Lethem Page A

C’Krrrarn these days.
    King Phnudge, unexpectedly, makes good companionship. We freqently embark on foraging walks together, gleaning nothing of consequence or edibility but nonetheless conveying if only to each other a heartening tone of decorum and kinship. King Phnudge alone, besides myself, retains the outward dressing of his former self (I should say: apart from my top hat, whichwas stolen and presumably devoured by a monkey). He cleaves to good cheer at all times and acts as though bounded, as we all once were, by the strict gutters and panels of decency. Despite his gormless patois, I find myself understanding his highness better and better.
    *
    Phnudgesong
    Fear and rage it shakes my soul
    I say only
Poorly Moorly—deedle dole!
    I want to fuck and eat and strangle you
    I say only
Starving Carving—hoodle hoo!
    Shit hole shit hole shit hole
    I’m sick of myself—
hup hizzole!
    *
    “I’m better than this. I’m better than these people. I don’t belong here!”
    “Try this on, dear.”
    “I don’t want to try anything on. I don’t need another hat. I want my family, nobody’s even listening to me. Where are the children?”
    “It’s not a hat. Lisa’s playing with the rabbit, and Spark is out exploring the island.”
    “Quit crafting stuff out of palm fronds and frogskins and pond scum, Keener. Nobody needs that shit.”
    “Just see if it fits, Theo.”
    “How could they send me to a place with monsters and hunters and clowns and theater critics? The clown and the theater critic, they’re not even in color and I want to go home! They make me feel old!”
    “Nobody sent you, honey. Our plane crashed.”
    “It’s a setup. It’s always a setup. What were we even doing on a plane with those types? What is this, some kind of wicker hockey mask? I can’t breath through this thing.”
    “Oh, that looks silly. It’s not for your face. Put it down … there.”
    “You wove me a thatched codpiece?!?!?”
    “I’m working on breastplates and a helmet. The samurai often wore wicker armor, you know.”
    “What good is wicker armor on an island?!?!”
    “I’m just trying to get you prepared for a new life, lover.”
    “!@&$%#! I don’t want a new life! I want my old life!”
    “You’ll eventually have to lead this island, Theo. Nobody else is going to do it. Peter Rabbit isn’t going to do it. The black-and-white characters aren’t suited for it. Poacher Junebug’s discredited himself. King Phnudge, well, he’s just not right. And Murkly is a villain.”
    “That’s another thing, I don’t want to go around there anymore, I don’t like the way he looks at you!”
    “He can’t help himself, Theo. I just wanted to bring him a sun hat.”
    “Did he let you into his little hiding place?”
    “Yes, we sat and had a very nice talk.”
    “I don’t want you to have a very nice talk!!!!”
    “Yes, dear. I won’t in the future.”
    “How can I lead the island when I can’t even keep tabs on the Dingbats?!?!?!”
    *
    Spark Dingbat ascended the volcano easily. It had steps. Near the top he passed a small pyramid of skulls in various shapes and sizes—a skull duck with giant ovoid eyes, a skull robot with antenna ears, a skull pig with a tiny bone beret incorporated into its cranium.
    C’Krrrarn perched at the rim of the volcano, seeming bigger than he had in the plane, looming like an outcropping of the rock itself. As the tiny beret was to the pig’s skull, so C’Krrrarn was to the volcano. Beyond C’Krrrarn, Spark saw trickles of steam seeping from between burnt-umber rocks, the undersides of which glowed orangely, like enormous briquettes. Seagulls massed on C’Krrrarn’s brow and shoulders, their dried liquid droppings striping him in the manner of a jailbird character, perhaps some crow or weasel standing before a parole board of bulldogs.
    “I hope I’m not bothering you.”
    C’Krrrarn did not speak.
    “You didn’t look like you were doing anything.”
    C’Krrrarn did not