888: Early in the . . .
Leaving Small’s Hotel, Chapter 6 begins
Chapter 6
September 15
Flying Saucers: The Untold Story
When one tells a story, there has to be someone to listen; and if the story runs to any length, it is rare for the storyteller not sometimes to be interrupted by his listener. That is why (if you were wondering) in the story which you are about to read . . . I have introduced a personage who plays as it were the role of listener. I will begin.
Denis Diderot, “This Is Not a Story”
EARLY IN THE MORNING, I ferried our three guests back to the mainland. Dick and Jane sat in the bow with their arms around each other for the whole trip. They had told Albertine, while they were checking out, that their stay at Small’s had “really meant something,” and they had made a reservation for a week’s stay at the end of October, so that they could hear the last of my readings. I was flattered when Albertine told me that, and I wanted to tell Dick and Jane that I was pleased and flattered, but now, I could see, they wanted to be alone. We must give the ends of things their due, even things as familiar as weekends, even the end of a day, or else there is no rhythm to our lives.
“You should be flattered,” said Lou, nudging me and whispering.
“What?” I said.
Lou nodded toward Dick and Jane. “They’re experiencing the sense of loss that we feel at the end of a piece of life that we can identify as a piece.”
“I know what you mean.”
“They’ll remember their weekend with you, as a piece of life apart from the other pieces.”
“‘Honey,’” I said in a fair-to-good imitation of Jane’s voice, “‘remember that weekend we spent at that little hotel with the leaking roof and the moribund boiler? What a dump! What was the name of that place again?’”
Lou laughed as if I had said something funny.
At the dock, when all of us made our good-byes, Lou said, “See you later, buddy,” which I took to mean “Good-bye forever, shithead.”
LATER IN THE MORNING, Albertine and I waited at the dock for the arrival of one of the realtors who had toured the island a couple of days earlier, Liza, who was bringing a prospective buyer. Liza and her client made the crossing in what looked like a duck blind with an outboard motor on it. The hull was painted olive drab with splotches of black, brown, and beige, in the style of army camouflage. The cabin was thatched with reeds. As the boat approached, I found myself sidling up to our launch, placing a possessive hand on it, and standing a little taller. My heart swelled with pride. I was the owner of the better boat.
The prospective buyer, Mr. Fillmore, was a small man dressed in a mechanic’s jumpsuit. To my eye, and I admit that I do not have the trained eye of an experienced realtor, Mr. Fillmore didn’t look as if he could raise the cash to buy Small’s, but Liza seemed to regard him as a hot prospect. “Mr. Fillmore represents a group that is very interested in acquiring a property like yours,” she said when she introduced him, and then, raising herself on her toes, she winked at Albertine and me over Mr. Fillmore’s buzz-cut head. I wasn’t sure whether she meant the wink to mean that he was a wealthy eccentric or just a poor deluded sucker.
“Thinking of going into the hotel business, are you, Mr. Fillmore?” I asked chummily, as one poor deluded sucker to another.
He glared at me, much the way Spike had glared at Matthew when she had accused him of insulting her mother.
“Mr. Fillmore and his people are thinking of turning the island into a training facility,” Liza said brightly.
“Oh?” said Al.
Mr. Fillmore snapped his head in her direction and said, “Do you know that ninety-nine percent of Americans are untrained?”
“I didn’t,” said Al, “but I guess I could have guessed — ”
“We’re sitting on a time bomb,” said Fillmore, and he cracked his knuckles.
“I see what you mean,” I said, lying. “An untrained citizenry — ”
Mr. Fillmore ignored me. He began striding off the dock and onto the island, waving his hands and sketching his plans in the air. “This could work,” he said. “We drop you here by night. Parachute.”
“Parachute,” I said. “Of course.”
“Your mission: penetrate the redoubt — ”
“The redoubt?” I asked.
“The hotel,” Liza explained with a smile.
“ — and terminate all targeted personnel,” said Mr. Fillmore. He stopped and stood with his hands on his hips, looking up at the hotel, where, to judge from the expression on his face, no targeted personnel had been left standing.
“I take it you won’t be training people to flip burgers,” said Al.
“Or you have your alternate scenario — ” Mr. Fillmore went on.
“Can’t wait,” I said.
“You’re chained to the wall of the dungeon below the redoubt — ”
“Whoops,” I said, frowning and shaking my head. “I’m afraid the old redoubt hasn’t got a dungeon.”
“That will be taken care of,” said Mr. Fillmore confidently.
“Sure,” I said. “Of course. Why not?”
“Your mission: escape from the dungeon, and then terminate all targeted personnel.”
“Ah! I detect a pattern,” I said.
“I want to do a little more recon,” said Mr. Fillmore, looking each of us in the eye in turn. “Any problem with that?”
“No, no,” said Albertine. “You go right ahead and do all the recon you want.”
“Are there any special features you’d like me to point out to Mr. Fillmore?” Liza asked enthusiastically.
“Let’s see,” I said. “There’s the old mine field out in that area somewhere.” I swept my hand vaguely in the direction of the center of the island. “But you’ll probably find it on your own, an old hand like you.”
“Let’s move out.”
“Oh!” I said, snapping my fingers. “One more thing. Did I mention that the boiler might blow up at any time?”
[to be continued]
In Topical Guide 888, Mark Dorset considers Forts and Fortifications: Redoubt from this episode.
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