by Jim Krusoe
Time passes, with Ballerina Mouse appearing only in recitals in the most minor roles: in Swan Lake, she plays a duckling, in The Nutcracker, a slice of fruitcake. “But you are so talented,” her fellow students tell her. “We have no idea why Mme. Suzanne isn’t casting you in better parts.” When they think she’s not watching, she catches them laughing at her.
Then, one day she wins a public radio subscriber giveaway. She’s not a subscriber, but the rules say you don’t have to subscribe to be entered into the sweepstakes, and so she wins a free trip to . . . Poland! And once she’s there, having been asked by someone she meets at the ballet if she has any hobbies, she obliges with a few shy dance steps, and in no time finds herself the toast of Warsaw, where its residents, having been forced for years to watch so much ordinary, everyday dancing, beg her to stay so she will teach them how to emulate her unique and exquisite technique.
Fat chance.
The kitchen of the Burrow is not large. In fact, it’s smaller than the kitchens of many ordinary houses, especially considering that at times (though not at this time, because the room where Louis lived is vacant) there are potentially six people occupying the apartments in the Burrow and thus using the kitchen. As kitchens go, it’s fairly clean, though the kitchens used by several different people are seldom as clean as those where there is one person and one person only designated to use it. In the Burrow, Madeline is mostly in charge; however when other people drop in to cook something, or maybe warm up leftovers, usually late at night, they frequently—no, usually—leave behind a mess.
There is just one entrance to this kitchen, and on the wall a person faces when he or she steps through the entrance, arranged from left to right, are a stove and a stainless-steel sink. Above the stove and the sink are cabinets. The stove, as mentioned earlier, has a mirror behind it, tilted slightly downward, so sometimes when a person is cooking, it seems as if she is cooking as a team with someone else, whose face she can’t see, only her hands. There are cabinets on the other three walls as well, and counters beneath them on which rest a microwave, a toaster oven, and a blender, in case anyone wants to make him or herself a smoothie or a milk shake. Beneath the counters are more cabinets and drawers.
The kitchen table has a gray Formica top and chrome legs, and is technically designed to seat four, because there are four matching chairs that are usually around it, but someone has added two extra chairs, one red and one blue, with the paint on the red one chipped. They usually are kept in the corner of the kitchen opposite the refrigerator unless they’re needed, which mostly they are not because, as Jeffery pointed out earlier when he discussed his scheme for regular meetings, it’s rare for everyone to be together in the kitchen, or anywhere in the Burrow, at the same time. The table has a drawer on one side with a chrome knob. The drawer holds a pair of pliers and a screwdriver, plus a few screws. Almost certainly if anyone needed a pair of pliers or a screwdriver in an emergency they would be out of luck because most people have forgotten it’s even there, let alone what’s inside. It would be the last place they’d think of looking.
The floor of the kitchen is covered with gray vinyl tile embossed in a wavy pattern to look like stone, but it fools no one. Floors like this were popular back in the days the Burrow was built. The cabinets are pine, though they have darkened with age, and they have white porcelain knobs, some of which are chipped. The walls are the brownish yellow of old vellum.
In other words, this kitchen is not the kind of kitchen you sometimes see in designer kitchen stores or on cooking shows but, as Madeline says, “I’m the only one who ever really uses it, so everyone else should shut up and stop complaining.” Not that they do complain, because they don’t, but in case they are thinking of it, they had better think again.
ANOTHER SCENE FROM THE TECHNICAL SECTOR
Tech #1: Shit, shit, shit. It looks like there’s another cave-in on Seven.
Tech #2: What? I thought they took care of that just last week.
Tech #1: Well now there’s another.
Tech #2: Is it my imagination, or are things worse now that they’ve stopped using the old machines?
Tech #1: I don’t know, but I think it has more to do with their planning than with the machines.
Tech #2: Maybe, but Seven is an old tunnel. It was planned a long time ago, before I came, anyway.
Tech #1: Well, something is wrong. Have you seen the bit in the TV news?
Tech #2: Sure, but you know that will die down soon enough, just like the last time.
Tech #1: Probably, but I have to say I like the way that Trisha chick gets all bothered. She’s a honey.
Tech #2: You think so? Honestly she just seems average to me.
XI
Okay, Jeffery thinks, the first episode of The Burrow will introduce the characters—maybe a theme song, too. The song should be something significantly hip, not one of those old-fashioned ones that try to summarize the entire premise of a show in three or four embarrassing verses—well—it should do that, but be ironic, too, and also the music for The Burrow should be tougher, almost scary—no, totally scary—Jeffery decides. That way it will be a relief when people get to know the characters, who might seem menacing at first, but will turn out to be funny and harmless, full of plans that fall apart, big ideas that go nowhere, and a ton of eccentric behaviors, as well.
Who are these people going to be? Well, Jeffery thinks, write what you know. Therefore, they should be the people who already inhabit where he’s currently staying, the real-life Burrow. And of course, by the time the series is picked up by a major network, he’ll be long out of here, so he won’t have to listen to their complaints.
So start with Jeffery, a smart, charismatic go-getter who is trying to better his present situation. He’s a likeable wise guy who always has big ideas, but so far, he’s had one piece of tough luck after another through no fault of his own, and as a result these ideas have always fallen flat. Then there’s Heather, the cute, ditzy girl who has a heart of gold and is looking for a career in show business, though it will be clear to the audience that she doesn’t have a chance. This, he figures, will add a layer of depth to the show for those smart enough to see the contextual dissonance, because the whole time a sophisticated viewer will get that she is in show business, and can’t be that much of a loser because, obviously, she has a show—this one—so the whole concept will be one of reality over art, with life not imitating art for once, but at the same time, it’s the loser-girl people are falling for, not the actual actress playing her. But if people don’t understand it, it won’t get in the way. That’s all right. It’s not a deal breaker.
Naturally, there’s Viktor—with a K, no less—so there will be a lot of laughs every time he corrects people about how to spell his name. Viktor will be a control freak, an anal kind of creep, but sincere in his way, and obsessive, too, which is a good thing because it will lead to other jokes when he can’t stop repeating certain actions, and this will somehow feed into the spelling-of-his-name business. Should he also have Tourette’s? That could be a little much for the first episode. Maybe it would be better to introduce it, say, midseason, and it could start mildly and get worse. Does Tourette’s come on gradually or all at once? Note to self: check out Tourette’s symptoms. Or maybe it could be some other weird disease, like a bowel condition, so there could be a lot of jokes about that.
Who else? Raymond, the lovable doofus, kind of out of it, but with a natural sense of what’s really going on. An idiot savant, probably, and he can be doing something totally useless, collecting stamps or, better, comic books. He can have stacks of comic books filling his apartment, because he’s a hoarder, too. His whole living room is nothing more than an aisle between towering stacks of comics at this point, but every once in a while one of them will turn out to be worth a zillion dollars, and he’ll sell it to pay for an operation someone needs, or to buy a coffin for somebody’s parent so they can be buried in peace after everyone else has given up hope. Not ducks
though. People won’t relate to ducks.
Then there’s Madeline: she’s like the Earth Mother of the place—kind of Anna Magnani crossed with Bette Midler—a redhead, naturally, a passionate individual with a big heart, but also wisecracking and cranky. She’s the one the other people come to with their problems, but does she have anyone to talk to about her own seeming inability to stay in any relationship for more than a little while, an inability that possibly borders on—say it!—sex addiction? No. So she’s an Earth Mother, although in the end she remains a lonely and tragic figure. Not bad.
But he also needs somebody he doesn’t already know—some wild card who will give him the artistic freedom to bring in new themes, outside influences, guest artists.
Who . . . ? And then it’s clear: a landlord. Somebody who can come in and stir things up every so often by hiking the rent or complaining that the residents aren’t taking care of things, or that one of them—Heather, of course—is keeping a kitten she’s not allowed to have. A landlord who is colorful, but not too colorful, a retired person, a retired military man, a sea captain, for example, a guy who’s been around the world and has a lot of experience, but who’s getting old and comically fails to understand the ways of the younger generation. Mostly he’ll be wandering around oblivious to what’s happening, so everyone can laugh at him, but then every so often, he’ll freak them all out by being wise, and save their asses. He’ll have a wooden leg like Ahab, too. Perfect.
So start with an episode that introduces the characters, though not too many all at once, but allows each one to make his or her own entrance, one at a time, like the opening of James Joyce’s story “The Dead,” which Jeffery read back in high school and which was also made into a fairly successful movie with Angelica Huston, directed by her father, if he remembers correctly.
Knock knock.
Who’s there?
Mister About-to-be-a-Celebrity
“Raymond, you ruffle my feathers,” Madeline used to say to him once upon a time and, even if she was kidding, to hear her say it made him happier even than carving all those beautiful decoys made him happy, which was very, very much. You ruffle my feathers, and she’d be kissing him here and there and laughing, with him and not at him, and he would be shy, but not shy in another way, and soon all his skin, and even the skin beneath his skin would be tingling, and then, Madeline never being one for ceremony, her clothes would be off—her bra, her stockings—tossed over a canvasback, redhead, or mallard—Raymond’s clothes, too, would be on the floor—and he’d be touching her, as soft as down, and he couldn’t imagine how she could do that, but she did, and then the two of them would be touching each other so that after a while it was hard to tell who was who, what part of the touch was Raymond and what part was Madeline, and there would be the sweat and the hair and he wasn’t sure whose of what was whose, and then almost without thinking he would find himself inside her—or she would be around him, however that went—so they were one moving thing, like a duck and the water beneath the duck, the duck in the water and the reflection of the duck in the water, and he wouldn’t be thinking about anything but what they were at that moment, not even who was who or about what they were doing, only that they were doing it and it could go on and on and on, and then, when it could go on no longer, when it couldn’t get any better and they were just lying there, out of nowhere, Madeline would start to sing to him, yes, would hold Raymond’s head against her breasts, and sing her old songs: old rock and roll songs, oldies but goodies, the top forty and top fifty, even those songs he had only half listened to when he was young, but then, thanks to Madeline, the songs would be again, back as fresh as ever—no, fresher—and there wasn’t any time anymore, because even though the songs were from a long time ago, she was singing them at that very moment, so her songs were new too, the mirror of the old songs, and there was no place other than where he was, no place other than where they were, that is to say in the Burrow in bed with the ducks all around them, and there wasn’t any ending because before a song would even end, Madeline would start a new one, in that same soft whispering voice, and how she did that Raymond never knew, and back then it seemed as if the songs would go on, not forever, quite—he knew that—but whatever was the next thing to it.
Does she do that with Viktor? Does she sing to him that way? He certainly hopes not.
TRANSCRIPT OF ADDITIONAL CONVERSATION FROM TECHNICAL STAFF
Tech #1: What do you mean, “not yet”? They were supposed to be here three days ago. What’s the holdup?
Tech #2: I think one of the tunnels might have collapsed.
Tech #1: That’s great. That’s just great. I certainly hope not. Because do you know who’s going to be blamed for it? Take a guess: we are. We always are.
Tech #2: I know. It doesn’t seem fair.
Tech #1: You can say that again. And do you know what else doesn’t seem fair—these stupid hats we’re forced to keep on at all times. They’re like having a snail shell on your head. I mean—on our heads. And not only do they look stupid, but they make us look stupid, too. No offense.
Tech #2: None taken. But aren’t they supposed to be some protection against the atmosphere down here, or air pressure, something like that? That’s what I remember from our training.
Tech #1: Atmosphere? They told the group I was with that they were supposed to cushion the skull in case of collapse. And I think they also said there was some kind of automatic oxygen supply inside.
Tech #2: You could be right. I halfway remember them saying something about not walking too close to an open flame, or an open something. But do you know what I hate the most?
Tech #1: What do you hate the most?
Tech #2: I hate the fact that we have to keep them on.
Tech #1: Day and night.
Tech #2: Awake and sleeping.
Tech #1: Yes, and on top of wearing the hats day and night, and on top of having to be sure all these people get where they are going when they’re supposed to be there.
Tech #2: Right. On top of that, what?
Tech #1: On top of that, now there’s the problem with the Burrow, too.
Today it is snowing, Junior thinks, though in reality it isn’t, because it never snows in St. Nils. It’s only snowing in the part of his mind that sees the world as unhappy because he is unhappy. And yes, he knows there are many who say the world is neither happy nor unhappy, but how are we supposed to know anything at all about the outer world except through our inner world? So if we are unhappy, then it’s just too bad for the world, because what is the world good for, anyway? He likes how it feels to think these thoughts.
Or not, because this much thinking makes things even worse, thinks Junior, as when he thinks he has a thorn in his foot and the world won’t get back to being okay again until it’s removed, and people can talk about it all they want, can tell him to think about this or that, but still that thorn has got to come out. Now, Junior thinks, who in this case put the thorn in my foot in the first place?
That’s easy: it was that captain, the old guy they brought onto the set of Mellow Valley, the asshole who was supposed to advise the actor playing an old sea captain in the episode where he wanders onto the farm and thinks he’s at sea. That guy—not the actor, who was okay, but that captain hired to advise the actor—being a sea captain, couldn’t help but remind him of Junior Senior, the father he never knew, whose child-rearing strategy was essentially the same as a carp’s: spawn and leave; spawn and get the hell out, because however much of a dumbass he may have been, clearly he had some incorrect premonition that his child would be even more worthless, and no matter how many awards (none) Junior ever won in junior (ha!) high school, it would never be enough to tip the scale where Senior (if he ever heard about them) would understand that he had made a mistake back then. But he was wrong: Junior is not a loser, a creep, a gimp, a nerd, a doofus. No. Junior is a real man. He’ll show him. If not now, soon. Junior is through with all of Junior Senior’s bullshit.
&n
bsp; And okay: so he knows the old guy, this captain, wasn’t his actual father, but when that asshole was on the set of Mellow Valley, he certainly acted like he was, making fun of Junior and pointing out his faults to other members of the cast, including, most importantly, to Heather. But even though he called the old man out in public at that alleged lecture, the man never even tried to answer his charges, and before Junior knew what was happening the old guy’s henchmen had dragged him outside and told him never to show up again. Honestly, even thinking about it makes Junior want to shoot someone, not with a gun, of course, but with something quieter and just as deadly at close range—say, Old Stag Killer.
What would his therapist, Tammy, say if she knew? Junior wonders.
But of course he’ll never tell because if he did she’d say he’s a sicko; that’s what she would say.
She’d say, “Back to the nuthouse for you.”
Episode One, The Burrow, Scene One
Scary theme music plays.
An empty, darkened kitchen. Through a door, left, two men enter. Their faces are turned away from the camera as together they slowly walk to the refrigerator. VIKTOR makes the gesture “after you,” in a way that seems mocking. The other man, named JEFFERY, opens the refrigerator door and takes out a carton of milk. Then, going to a cabinet, JEFFERY takes down a box of sugarcoated cereal. He fills a bowl, takes it to the table, and silently starts to eat. Meanwhile, VIKTOR rummages around in the refrigerator until he finds an open pack of cheese enchiladas. He takes it out and puts it in the microwave. While waiting for the microwave to signal that the enchiladas are heated, VIKTOR paces. When the oven makes its tiny beep, he removes the pack, leaving behind a smear of cheese on the counter, takes out a fork, and joins JEFFERY at the table.