An Orphanage of Dreams
Page 10
wiggle into his half-sleeping head.
He wishes he had a mindlid.
And now another familiar tread.
No baleful mailman this.
The lighter, brighter steps of Thelma
are at the door, and through,
and across the room to him.
She looms above.
His eyes will open to behold.
O Thelma.
Has she brought bread?
Once she lavished
sex and praise upon him.
Now she returns
bearing, he hopes, money.
Kiffler needs some.
To sit with coffee,
pastry, perhaps a book
on a cafe terrace
and so stalk the world in spring.
That a need so small
should loom so huge
amazes Kiffler. Amazes also
that gentle, lovely Thelma
should labor so for such as he.
Baffled Kiffler doesn’t get it.
When, Thelma asks, as she peels
away two lovely green ones,
will he face up to his responsibilities.
He ought to cry out, “Never, never, never, will I,”
but answers instead, “Tomorrow.”
(And means it.)
9. Kiffler Treed
Bent beneath a long metal ladder,
there is Kiffler trudging across the lawn,
an ant bearing a wasp wing.
The summer trees are full of leaves.
Kiffler, below, has seen a better world up there,
a tranquil peace house afloat in the treetops.
He wants to go live in it.
Though he does not like ladders
he scurries up.
The vast maple waves its leaves gently to him
as he climbs.
His ant-heart thumps.
Now that he is in the branches
he starts to feel better.
Looking down, he is feeling high.
He climbs from limb to limb.
He is really way up there.
He perches near the peak.
Never mind how it sways,
he is going to make a roost of it.
But what’s happening now?
Looks like his arms have gone furry.
Chest and face too.
Perplexed, he scratches a hairy ear.
His hand is huge.
Poor hopeful Kiff,
he imagines he’s beginning a new life story.
He wants to call it From Ant to Ape.
When he left, the news of the earth was grim.
High above the demented present
Kiffler is cutting loose from his species.
What will he miss?
Thelma and Molly, his sofa;
movies, his dog Vachel
cigarettes; wearing a hat when it’s cold;
cappuccino on Cafe Zoma’s terrace.
Kiffler is getting ready to rough it.
Now Thelma and Molly are standing beneath him in the yard.
They are quite low and stubby.
Kiffler is so high he can’t tell if they are pointing or waving.
From within his greeny nook
he peers out over the rooftops.
He has never seen the neighborhood
from this angle before. He likes it better.
Meanwhile
below him on the lawn
dwarfs are multiplying. They are wearing
their faces on top of their heads.
Friends and relations, all the neighbors,
his brother Bill, his sister Maud.
That’s too much of many for Kiffler.
They are moving into a huddle.
Uh oh. It might be a family council.
Put a cork in that!
Kiffler hurls his shoes down,
first one, then the other.
The dwarfs unbunch and scatter,
then regroup out of range.
They are hatching plans to get him down.
Kiffler studies his new feet.
He is up there
because it looked so nice from below
and he couldn’t think where else.
Now he discovers
that sitting on branches is not comfortable.
The life of an ape-man
has turned out to be uncomfortable and boring.
(There goes another illusion.
How many more can Kiffler have?
Zillions, probably.)
The sirens arrive, trailing red trucks,
to die away at the curb. At the end
they give off a deep, very final moan.
If Kiffler could open his mouth and say that
everyone would understand.
Firemen swarm below.
Big-hatted, short-legged, barrel-chested,
they are running around with their fireman equipment.
DWARF ARMY RESCUES ORANGUTAN.
But why aren’t they setting up any ladders?
The fire captain is explaining to Thelma:
When she called, they thought “Kiffler” was a cat.
They don’t rescue lunatics.
They have a special team for that.
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Sam Savage is the best-selling author of Firmin: Adventures of a Metropolitan Lowlife, The Cry of the Sloth, Glass, The Way of the Dog, and It Will End with Us. A native of South Carolina, Savage holds a PhD in philosophy from Yale University. He was a finalist for the Barnes & Noble Discover Great New Writers Award, the PEN/New England Award, and the Society of Midland Authors Award. Savage resides in Madison, Wisconsin.
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