FELLED

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

A message from Rantown reports that Olivia Milam, the well-known singer, was injured in an automobile accident early Wednesday morning. The accident concerned only one vehicle, Milam’s red convertible. At the corner of Defense and Rawls Streets, the brakes of the car seized suddenly and Milam was propelled out over the windshield. She landed against a fumigation tent that surrounded a house on Rawls Street, and miraculously suffered only minor bruises. As she stood, she set her foot down upon a Superslick Banana Peel, a novelty item manufactured by the Laffs and Larks Company of Blakely, and fell hard into a low retaining wall, bruising her head and neck. Despite her injuries, Milam was able to make the night train from Rantown to Leat. Word had by then circulated of her mishap, and she stood on the platform and addressed the assembled reporters. “Recovery is not something that happens,” she siad. “It is something that is made to happen.” She demonstrated by smiling broadly, and then by lighting up a cigarette in imitation of her famous pose from the cover of her classic second album, Pattern Lightning. Though she had been only an occasional smoker most of her life, something about the cigarette on the platform pleased her more than she expected it might. She purchased a pack in the club car and smoked most of the way from Rantown to Leat. Toward the end of the journey, she abruptly lost her taste for it and, putting finger behind thumb, flicked the lit cigarette, her last if not the last of the pack, out into the night. It ignited a patch of furze that bordered upon a powder magazine in Shakelike Camp, near Stafford Heights, spread rapidly, and caught a stack of cases containing munitions, which exploded. Two in the vicinity were killed, a young soldier named Elsa Turpin and a civilian named Hanson Shanks. Shanks was the son of C. Beckett Shanks, the owner of the national chain of novelty shops that had sold the Superslick Banana Peel that had felled Milam. He did not remark upon the irony at his son’s funeral, as he did not know of it. Milam, who knew of it, did not remark upon it either.

ORIGINALLY INTENDED AS A RIDE

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

Sue Jenkins has learned from Greta Yang that a woman down the block has been subjected to six months’ ostracism for insulting her own mother during a holiday dinner. In a conversation conducted in the middle of the street, a situation made possible a result of the total absence of traffic resulting from the scheduling of the biannual block party—it featured, as usual, grilled hamburgers and hot dogs, homemade cookies and cakes, a few basic carnival games, an inflatable castle in which the block’s youngest residents were invited to jump, and a pony that was originally intended as a ride but which evinced enough irritability that it was instead paraded up and down the street without any children on its back—Yang informed Jenkins that the unnamed neighbor had for years hosted a monthly dinner for her parents, siblings, and assorted other family members. Most went well, or well enough. But in late summer, an otherwise civil dinner took a turn for the worse when the host accused her mother of harboring resentment over the host family’s use of of their vacation home upstate. “Based on what Dorrie Venable said,” said Greta Yang, “it sounds like the mother made a series of comments about how the other sister always invited the parents to their vacation home while this one didn’t. And this sister took offense because the parents were at her house already, right? So the woman turns to her mother and says something horrible.” Sue Jenkins, according to others present for the conversation, placed a hand on Greta Yang’s forearm and wondered aloud about the precise nature of the insult. Greta Yang shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said, “and I don’t think Dorrie does either. She heard about it from Isabel Rodriguez, who heard about it from Sue D’Elia.” At this, Sue Jenkins snorted derisively. “Not surprised,” she said. She had always believed, she told Greta Yang that gossip was a pollutant, and she had long held the opinion, she told Greta Yang, that Sue D’Elia “produced more hazardous waste than anyone else around.” Looking around quickly and dropping her voice, but still speaking loudly enough for the others present to hear, she added that she had heard that Sue D’Elia’s husband Bradley was no longer living at home, and that he preferred to spend his nights with his younger girlfriend, but noted that news of that sort was exactly the kind of thing she would never repeat. She didn't consider herself that kind of person, she told Greta Yang. The pony passed by at that moment, and something about its appearance ended the conversation. The two Sues, who live around the corner from one another, have met on occasion but have not had any real interaction that extended beyond pleasantries, and the chances of that now seem remoter than ever.

A COMPELLED CHANGE

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

Ashley is the latest member of the family to revise her official clock, to the extent of shifting it forward ten full minutes. The change was hinted at, then formally requested, and finally demanded by her parents and sister, who grew impatient with always waiting for her when dinner reservations were pending, or when the start of a movie was growing uncomfortably close. The transformation was given a sense of ceremony by scheduling it on the New Year. When the television hosts counted down to midnight, Ashley officially reset her sense of things. “No longer will we be standing on five of the hour and have her emerge to say something about a quarter of,” said her father, Morton. Her mother, Abigail, concurred: “When it’s seven o’clock, it’s seven o’clock, not ‘Mom, I’m yelling down from upstairs to find out what time it is and when do we have to leave again?’” Ashley notes that she was, in the process of speeding ahead to accord with family time, deprived of the right to live those ten minutes. “It’s hard to say what could have happened,” she said. “Could I have met someone who ended up being the most important person in my life? Or maybe I would have had a thought that would have changed the world. We will never know.” Ashley’s sister Annabelle is next to be adjusted, as she is routinely four or five minutes ahead of schedule, and her anxiety as she waits for the rest of the family to catch up, which is often accompanied by fidgeting and sighing and sometimes even unkind language, has been deemed nearly as stressful as Ashley’s tardiness.

SPEAKING VOLUMES

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

Suppose a magician were to offer you the finest books of the future, which would they be? Some spring to mind immediately—Shriner’s “Requiem” and the “Spirit Blossom” of Kikelomo that President Davis-Campbell will help to popularize; the Clarke “Off Morals” into which Orem will look before she writes her moving memoir, and the other copy of that same work that Mowry will see Jurevicius kiss; the “Patter Queen” that Tremaine will send to Li; the review copies of “Wantonness” that will be used by Turrell and Madda for the notorious “Circular” and “Meadowlight” broadsides; the “Scripture Unfettered” that will be pass into the hands of Anna-Maria Saenz; the book that will be owned by Derek A. Kohlmeyer, the American collector, “where Rubiano, Shalabi, and Dayhoff are bound together, all three in one, with Manohla Surrency’s notes like vegetation in the margins”; the copy of Vinciguerra’s “The Part Of The Inquiry” that T.L. Caughman will take in his coat when he accompanies Flythe to the inauguration, and out of which they both will read; the Dardar’s “Ceesay” that Holloway will speed through without stopping, and his Kilcrease’s “Something of Value” the only book Bhalla will ever allow to “rouse him before sunrise without resentment.” This last book, by the way, will find many champions, but none so influential as Ophira Duer, who will, in her essay on “Sadeghi’s Library,” consider a rather singular copy that will be misprinted and will have, bound up in it, stray pages of Warsaw Johnson’s “Arriving To Take The Position.” At Duer’s sale, it will be bought by one Malcolm Bourbeau, and afterwards will be presented to the Alphabetical Society, so that it will be consulted regularly by Dani Dallman in the creation of her monumental “Speaking Volumes.” Dallman’s own handwritten notes, scribbled on napkins, most paper, some cloth, will join a private collection in Seattle and enjoy pride of place until its owner, flying a private aircraft in aggressive twirls over Commencement Bay, is lost.

THE SCALES OF JUSTICE

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

The appearance before a reptile certification board of the Taga, a mythical semi-divine being most commonly manifesting as half-human, half-cobra but, as a result of its ability to shift shapes and alter its appearance, just as often sharing its human characteristics with sea snakes of other types, ranging from the spiny-headed sea snake to the bigheaded sea snake, from the burrowing snake to the Port Darwin mud snake, from the Loyalty Island beaked serpent to the mangrove krait, its serpent component sometimes even extending into the mythical realm, where it can include but is not limited to Peach Dragons, Table Dragons, Shoe Dragons, Stone Dragons, and Winged Fire-Slipper Triple-Fang, has again been postponed owing to the fact that it has not recovered from the disappointment of last week’s judgment against it. The Taga was ruled by the board to have furnished insufficient proof that it should be classed as a reptile, a decision that its lawyer, L.T. Murphy, says has significant implications on its ability to live in peace among other creatures. Murphy, who appealed the decision and is attempting to schedule another hearing for late next week, points to several of his client’s traits that he believes constitute a compelling case for membership, including, on the non-human half of its body, a forked tongue, an absence of limbs, a cylindrical shape, and a vomeronasal organ. He stated that he believes that his client will eventually earn its classification, and that today’s judgment represents an error in biological classification if not “an outright and malicious injustice.”

OUT OF OFFICE

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

The defeat in last week’s mayoral election by the incumbent, Lawrence Rucker, is an annoying incident, because many of us supported him initially, and our reputation is involved in proving, by means of public statement, in the press, as well as through any other means and channels, that no imputations or calumny on our part contributed to his loss. We wish to replace that idea with another, which is that Rucker himself was the author of his own demise, and that moreover this was an intentional act intended to remove him from public office so that he could once again return to private business. None of us, it should be abundantly clear, supported the winning candidate, Elena Lenz. Lenz holds views that are in diametric opposition to our own. It is certain to anyone who follows local politics that Lenz would have been soundly defeated had Rucker not chosen financial gain over civic responsibility. A final note comes courtesy of Bradley Pollard, an early and steadfast supporter of the Rucker campaign, who had occasion to visit the Rucker house late at night, after election returns were reported, a winner was declared, Lenz had made her victory speech and Rucker had conceded. “I was dropping by to offer my condolences,” Pollard has said. “I wasn’t going to go in but I saw that the lights were on. Then I saw Phil standing in the middle of his living room, dancing like nobody’s ever danced. When I took a few steps closer, I could hear what I can only describe as jubilant music. Every few minutes, he would throw back his head and howl and pump his fists.” Mr. Rucker’s construction company immediately announced a number of new contracts for the coming year. 

FENDER BENDER

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

It is not so much an account of the accident as a series of observations, strung together in no particular order, peppered with asides. It reveals a raconteur’s rather than an eyewitness’s knowledge of events, and is none the worse for it, since its intent seems to be entertainment rather than explanation. Mr. Adams relates with equal enthusiasm the makes and models of the automobiles involved, the clothing worn by the drivers, the unseasonably warm weather “that would even get a chicken sweating,” a sale at a nearby department store, his daughter’s promotion to a prominent position at a national shoe company, his late wife’s fondness for the word “tranche,” his own musings on whether klezmer or zydeco is a more energetic type of music, the zestful sayings of his buddies (“Vinnie, who was in the service, says ‘Lottie, dottie, everybody’ when he means absolutely everybody”), shards of local trivia and even the superstitions of his youth, such as his aunt’s belief that if a man with glasses entered the room while she was speaking, she had to repeat the last word while looking directly at him. Though several other bystanders are smiling, the patrolman is grim, as the account, while diverting and even charming, is of no use to him his effort to determine which car crashed into which, and why.  Whenever Mr. Adams discloses a relevant detail, such as a recollection of one vehicle speeding or a female voice yelling, he seems eager to hurry away from it and once again indulge in his fondness for filigree.