by Hugh Macnab
escaped), he looked more like…
‘Oh don’t tell me,’ the man interrupted. ‘You think I’m Father Christmas? Right?’
‘Well, eerr…’stumbled Shylock.
‘Don’t worry. It happens all the time,’ the man explained. ‘I’m quite used to it, really I am.’
Still confused, Shylock advanced towards the Kriss Kringle look-alike aware of the intensity of his piercing blue eyes, and introduced himself, then Permission.
‘Permission!’ said their host, sitting forward in his reclining chair. ‘Why my child, I didn’t recognise you at all. You are quite beautiful, much more so than I was ever able to create. Come closer and let me admire your fine workmanship.’
Permission crossed, knelt in front of him and took his wrinkled hand in hers. ‘You’re too kind Creator, but you give credit to the wrong person. It was Shylock here, who helped me create this image.’
‘So,’ smiled the Creator. ‘We have an artist in our midst, and a very fine one at that.’
Shylock blushed and decided that it was the right time to study the floor. Both the Creator and Permission laughed at his embarrassment.
‘So tell me,’ said the Creator, laying down once more in his back-care recliner. ‘For what purpose have I been given this rare treat?’
Having released the Creator’s hand, Permission smiled but remained at his feet, and seeing that Shylock was still flushed, she slowly explained his arrival in Wilderment and his journey so far. How all he wanted, was to return to his own World, but that a doorway couldn’t be constructed without planning permission, and that in turn she could not grant this without a budget. Then, worse still, how they had found out that it was the lack of all-time taxes from Shylock’s home planet which had resulted in the desperate imbalance in payments and the budget variance which had prevented the replacement of Time upon his retirement, and how that in turn had….
The Creator sat quietly through Permission’s tale, obviously preferring instead to soak in her beauty. Only when she had completely finished explaining Shylock’s plight, did he respond.
‘And you would like me to help you create a doorway to the planet Earth?’ he suggested to Shylock, running fingers through his long flowing white beard. ‘So that you can collect the back-taxes?’
‘No!’ cried Shylock. ‘I just want to get home. The back-taxes are nothing to do with me.’
‘On the contrary,’ replied the Creator. ‘Do you really think you’re arrival in Wilderment just happens to coincide with our financial crisis, and that the source of that crisis happens to be your home planet?’
‘Well…’ said Shylock, quietly. ‘I suppose…’
‘Precisely!’ cut in the Creator. ‘You’re here to fix the problem. Get the taxes paid. Get Time going again and get everything back to normal around here. You know, even the ball-game’s cancelled now! Would you believe, the players want more money…well at least some money. Ridiculous when everyone else has to go without! But no! They have to have money.’
‘But…’ began Shylock. ‘How am I supposed to collect the tax arrears if I can’t get back to Earth in the place?’
‘Hmm, good point,’ mused the Creator. ‘Well, as far as I see, you’ve already earned the right to travel back to Earth, or to anywhere else for that matter.’
‘I have?’ queried Shylock.
‘Surely,’ answered the Creator. ‘You already created your own very Special Permission, did you not? So that should overcome the need for planning approval – as long as she goes with you.’
Shylock turned to Permission and smiled as she nodded her agreement.
‘So now, you need a budget,’ said the Creator. ‘And if I’m not mistaken, you brought it with you.’
‘Me?’ exclaimed Shylock. ‘But I don’t have any money.’
‘But you had, did you not? When you visited Change?’
‘You know about that?’ asked Shylock, flustered and ready to apologise.
The Creator laughed understanding his plight. ‘Yes, I know about that. But do you realise what you were doing when you spent your penny – your LOOSE CHANGE?’
‘I didn’t mean to let him out,’ Shylock explained, flustered, and aware of the sudden intensity of Permission’s stare. ‘I just wanted to talk with him?’
‘But why listen to echoes. Surely they tell you nothing,’ said the Creator.
‘Echoes?’ puzzled Shylock.
‘Who exactly do you think you released with your silver coin?’ asked the Creator.
‘Change,’ Shylock offered, uncertainly.
‘Exactly!’ the Creator agreed. ‘However, did you see her before she was released?’
‘No,’ replied Shylock.
‘Think carefully,’ prompted the Creator.
‘Well, there was a moment when I thought I saw my reflection in the crystal wall, but that’s all. Nothing else, I’m sure,’ Shylock recalled.
‘So! I ask you again, precisely who do you think you released from gaol?’ asked the Creator.
Shylock stood quietly, completely stumped until Permission came to his rescue. ‘Surely, it was you who was released from imprisonment,’ she explained. ‘You didn’t see your reflection, you saw yourself!’
‘Excellent, Permission. Well done,’ congratulated the Creator, turning his attention back to a deeply perplexed Shylock. ‘You are Change.’
‘Me?’ Shylock virtually squawked. ‘Me?’
Permission explained, gently. ‘Think of it my dearest Shylock, prior to your arrival in Wilderment everything was running fine. Then the finances dried up and Time retired, exacerbating the financial situation until we had to confine Change before he caused Chaos to have a stroke. Yet, we needed some change to occur, or else we would stay in stasis like this forever.’
No ball-game! A clearly unacceptable situation for everyone concerned,’ added the Creator. ‘But it needed to be carefully targeted change. Targeted at the root-cause of the problem - Earth’s back-taxes, so we exchanged you for Change!’
‘Hang on a moment,’ said Shylock. ‘Earth’s back-taxes are not the root-cause of your problem. It’s your information-collector’s programming that is responsible. Surely Earth shouldn’t be expected to pay for something it had no forewarning off?’
‘Be that as it may,’ replied the Creator. ‘The only solution to our crisis, is that Earth pay up…and that’s your job! Retrieve your silver coin and take it to Infinite Resources Inc. They’ll build you an inter-dimensional portal. When you’ve collected the back-taxes, just bring the payment to Get-Lucky.’
Shylock was speechless. He’d began this journey believing that all he had to do to get home was get some planning permission to build a door. Now he had to collect back-taxes from his home planet – probably more than the combined wealth of all countries. It just wasn’t possible. This couldn’t be happening to him. He barely heard the Creator’s farewell as Permission took his hand and guided him back the way they had arrived, a final worrying thought nagging in his mind…what did the Creator mean by exchanged?
Castles in the sand
‘But it’s not fair,’ Shylock complained, in his thoughts.
‘Surely, it’s not a question of what’s fair, but more what is,’ thought-argued Permission. Although they were almost at the crystal dome which had imprisoned Change, and had been debating the fairness of what had happened since leaving the Creator’s office - still Shylock couldn’t accept the reality of his situation.
‘But what if I refuse?’ he asked. ‘I could take the coin, give it to Infinity Resources Inc. and escape back to Earth through the door they build. Then just never come back?’
Solidifying with Shylock beside the crystal dome, Permission searched his face to see if he really meant what he had said, but couldn’t decide. ‘And what about all of us who, without resolution to our problems, will have no real purpose or future?’ she asked. ‘Would you cast us aside so easily?’
‘Eemmm, no,’ stammered Shylock. ‘I didn’t mean..�
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‘Didn’t mean! You actually hadn’t thought of anyone other than yourself, had you?’ Permission rebuked. ‘Perhaps you’re not the person I thought you were. Perhaps you should just do that – go back to your small planet and enjoy what remains of your insignificant little life, ignoring us completely. Don’t worry about us, we’ll be okay,’ she snapped, vanishing into the ether with a loud pop!
‘PERMISSION! WHERE ARE YOU? DON’T FRIGHTEN ME LIKE THIS. PERMISSION! COME BACK!’ Shylock shouted…but, the responding silence remained until - able to stand it no longer, he flung himself down and burst into tears, thumping his hands on the brass base of Change’s former gaol and calling for his mummy….but, she didn’t listen to his tantrum’s when he was a child, and she certainly wasn’t listening now…as after a few moments, he began to realise.
Sitting up, feeling a little foolish, he looked around. Other than Change’s gaol, there was nothing else in sight – just empty void. Not a place to hang around he decided, so already missing Permission more than he would have believed possible, he climbed to his feet, thought himself upside down and carefully manoeuvred himself through the narrow neck of the crystal dome.
Inside was immense – much larger than he had thought from the outside. The sand at the top of the glass container, below him, apparently ran forever in all directions. No trees, no sea, in fact nothing at all - other than sand. Shylock couldn’t imagine having been locked up in such a desolate place. Shrugging his shoulder, he began searching for his silver