the native intelligence of these beasts. Pigs do not have sweat glands. Edwin’s is not exactly sure how he knows this, but this odd bit of trivium explains a great deal. The cesspool where he finds himself confined is the pig’s air conditioning system. They cover themselves in mud to cool themselves, and protect their skin from sunburn.
Edwin squints at the sun. Sunburn will be a problem. As well as dehydration. Another, more survivally-minded man, would be covering his own delicate skin with mud right now. But Edwin does not descend to such behavior. He does not revert to the level of the savage. Better to die first, he thinks, than to give up what little dignity he has left. Edwin produces a spotless handkerchief from inside his jacket — a minor miracle, considering recent events — and cleans what filth he can from his face, hands and hair.
Edwin stands for as long as he is able, but eventually gravity pulls him down into the mud. The pigs wallow. Edwin broods. The sun moves across the sky. Edwin dozes as best he can while sitting up.
* * * *
“Oh my heavens. Mr. Windsor, bless your heart, you are a sight.”
Edwin opens his eyes and sees Iphagenia holding an absurd parasol over her head. Around her a retinue of slave boys fan their taffeta-wrapped queen. Edwin stands and straightens his ruined apparel as best he can, “Your hospitality, madam, leaves much to be desired.”
“Oh, Mr. Windsor, it is you who have rejected my hospitality with your horrific manners.”
“Whatever was I thinking?”
“Well, that’s what I came here to talk to you about. You see, I believe that you are meant for far better things than this.”
Edwin does not comment on the obvious.
“Do you regret your mistake of spurning me?” asks Iphagenia.
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“Oh, Edwin, do not play coy with me. Search your feelings. Surely my nobility calls out to you, as yours cries out to mine. Come to your senses, my dear, and I can remove you from this squalor. Elevate you to your proper station. You shall become my consort, one of several, it is true, but we shall rule the world together.”
Edwin had thought he was fully acquainted with all the ways that bad could go to worse, but at this moment he realizes he was mistaken. He clings to his professional demeanor. “While I do pride myself on thorough care of my clients, the arrangement you are suggesting is not a service I provide.”
“But search your feelings. You must admit that you are attracted to me?”
A wave of weariness ripples through Edwin’s legs. He looks long and hard at Iphagenia. On her forehead he sees a droplet of sweat extrude itself through the layers of make up and sludge its way downward. Edwin realizes, with no small amount of horror, that he is more attracted to the pigs. There is no nobility here. Only unrepentant lunacy. All of Edwin’s instincts recoil in horror. Still, he maintains control. He buttons the middle button on his suit jacket, draws himself to his full height and with great formality says, “No.”
Iphagenia says nothing. The scene is still. Even the slave boys pause in their endless fanning. She presses her lips together and gets a far off look in her eye. For a moment it seems that she might cry. But then her hand darts out. A whip makes sharp contact with bare flesh. A slave boy cries out in pain and then the fanning resumes. “You are a fool Edwin Windsor.” With that she turns and walks away, her absurd retinue following in her wake. All but one.
There, with a fresh lump on his forehead, is Eustace, still in the jester’s uniform. He hangs his head and arms over the fence and stares at Edwin. After a while he says, “Hey man, you’re covered in pig shit.”
Eustace sighs and hangs his head over the fence in what must be a gesture of surrender.
“So your mother has let you go,” says Edwin
“Yeah man, she’s busy with her ‘friends.’”
“I’m sure she is.”
“You know, I believed you, man.”
Like a shark smelling blood from miles away, Edwin senses weakness, leverage, an opening. “And you were right to. Your mother does not have half the control she imagines.”
“Aw man, that ain’t nothing but some bullshit. Momma got control. You said bad things about momma. Now momma got you too.” Edwin just smiles. “Man, why you smiling?” asks Eustace, “you ass deep in shit.”
“Your mother does not even have control of herself.”
“What’s that bullshit mean?”
“Eustace can’t understand,” says Edwin. Gently, he thinks. He must proceed gently.
“You calling me stupid?”
“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that Dr. Loeb knows what I’m talking about.” Edwin hates himself a little for playing such an artless and obvious gambit. But there is no way to put a subtle move on a witless person. “Dr. Loeb understands what Eustace cannot. Ja, mein Herr?”
“Man, you crazy.”
Edwin stands. “I may be chained in the middle of a pit of filth. I may be exhausted. My patience might be wearing thin. But I assure you, my sanity is intact. You are clean, rested, possessed of no self-discipline and more surely a prisoner of your mother than I could ever be.”
Eustace looks away.
“So you have a choice to make. You may remain Eustace Eugene Reilly. Slave to your mother’s desires. Never having a life or will of your own—”
“But I like it here.”
“I’m sure that you do. It is comfortable. It is certain. Most of all, it is familiar. But you have a dream. A dream that you whispered to me in my office.”
“Domination?” Eustace whispers, fearful of even speaking the word.
“Domination. You want control. And I can help you get it. But first you must control yourself. You must help yourself. You must help me.”
“Ya’ll want me to run and go get you a gun?”
“No, I don’t need your help, Eustace. Eustace is weak. Eustace cannot even help himself. I need Dr. Loeb.”
“What?”
“EUSTACE YOU ARE WEAK!”
Eustace jumps back as if he has been slapped. For a moment, Edwin thinks he has overplayed. But Eustace settles back down on the fence. “Yeah man. I sure am,” Eustace admits. Edwin is still in the game.
“You are too weak to overcome your mother.”
“Yeah.”
“But the evil Doctor—” Edwin locks eyes with the awkward boy and says nothing. The moment stretches into a minute. The minute stretches into a time. Slowly, Eustace straightens.
“Ja.” Eustace says quietly
“He is strong.”
“Kampfkraft,” Eustace says a little louder.
“Yes, yes, cunning”
“Ja, JA. That voman is OUTFRAGEOUS!”
“Yes. Now unlock these chains and we can begin.”
“You must promifse sometink first,” says Dr. Loeb.
This is good, thinks Edwin. Dr. Loeb senses weakness and is using it to bargain. Vicious, yet rational. It is the kind of thing that Edwin can twist to his advantage. But Edwin is in a horrible position to negotiate. “What is that, Herr Doctor?”
“Ve vill built a lazer.”
Edwin shakes his head, “We discussed this.”
“There vill be no discuzzion!” Dr. Loeb punctuates each word with a slap of his hand. “YOU VILL HELP ME BUILD A GIANT LAZER IN SPACE!”
Edwin hangs his head and sighs. Under the weight of all this absurdity, he is amazed that he can remain standing.
