Sunday, May 6, 2012

THE SHARK CHRONICLES: 19TH POSTCARD



PERCEPTION

The clerk beckoned to Morgan, trying to be discreet with his exaggerated gestures of secrecy and urgency. Glancing at the airstrip all the while, Morgan approached the counter suspiciously. Morgan was pretty sure that he had covered all the necessary bases paperwork-wise, yet he feared there might be a last-minute glitch. When Morgan was close enough to the information desk to put his elbows on the counter and lean forward enough to hear the clerk’s stage whispering, the skinny little guy blinked rapidly up at Morgan through glasses so thick, his eyes looked like twin blue fishes in side two tiny bowls.
            “I have some Imodium,” the clerk whispered for the benefit of Morgan and half the people in a fifty-foot radius. Morgan brought his eyebrows together; two mystified, hairy bars meeting to form a symbol of confusion.
            “Pardon?” Morgan asked, glancing through the large windows at the airstrip once again. The clerk blinked some more, looking Morgan up and down as if Morgan was a yo-yo.
            “Imodium. For the-“ the clerk smiled nervously, the fishes darting left and right. “-diarrhea.” Morgan stopped glancing at the airstrip, and turned his full attention to the clerk.
            “What?” Morgan asked, shaking his head to show his lack of comprehension. The clerk’s quivering smile vanished.
            “Oh, perhaps I made a mistake?” Forgive me,” the clerk stammered, letting a sudden bray of embarrassed laughter. “I had thought, perhaps- well it’s just that you were so fidgety and looking so uncomfortable-”
            Morgan’s smile of relief was so large and sudden it took him by surprise. No last-minute glitches after all.  “Oh, no, no,” Morgan assured the clerk, “I’m fine, thank you. I’m just expecting a very important cargo. Very important, and I’m anxious for it, that’s all.” Finishing his words of reassurance, Morgan returned to his post by the doors, watching the airstrip.
            The airstrip faded into the memory of another airstrip, another airport. In Nepal from his trip over there the previous year. He’d gone there to fulfill a promise he’d made to his grandmother upon her deathbed to try and see more of the world beyond New England. There, he’d fallen in love. Another promise he’d made to his beloved Gran, but not, perhaps, in the way she had envisioned.
            Still. The magical creature he’d seen in Nepal, while on an illegal safari had captured Morgan’s heart.  He remembered, with undiluted vividness, the impossible whiteness of the creature’s hide.  His guide had raised his rifle, noting the desire in Morgan’s eyes. But Morgan grabbed the wiry dark arm of the guide.
            “No,” Morgan commanded. “I want the unicorn alive.”

* * * *

            The approaching whine of the cargo plane’s engines brought Morgan back to the current moment. He leaned his eager forehead against the glass to determine if the arriving aircraft was indeed the one he expected.  He huffed his delight, yanked open the door and walked out a few steps quickly, nearly skipping.
            He waved enthusiastically at the dour, stocky man who disembarked from the plane, squinting at Morgan’s face-splitting grin with some consternation. “You Cavanaugh?”  the man inquired around the cigar clenched between his yellowed teeth.  Morgan nodded, beaming.
            “That’s me,” he cried,  “Everything okay? It’s in good shape?”  Morgan squinted at the dim interior of the plane through the still-open passenger door, trying to discern his new treasure.  He’d just begun to delineate, in the darkness, a large crate, when his line of vision was blocked by the cigar-chewer.
            “It’s just Jim-dandy,” the man said. “You gotta sign here.”

* * * *

            A couple weeks later, after the mandated veterinary quarantine, and a paperwork Mt. Everest, Morgan was ready to welcome his new possession into his home. Well, not his home exactly, but in the habitat he’d sunk a considerable fortune into as preparation for the unicorn. He managed to annoy the handlers and driver and supervising veterinarian thoroughly with his micromanaging as they delivered, unloaded, and opened the crate. As the creature emerged, blinking furiously at the sudden light, the veterinarian, a near dead ringer for Judi Dench if she’d weighed about 50 pounds less, turned to glare at Morgan once again.
            “My official opinion still stands, Mr. Cavanaugh,” she stated in a voice devoid of every possible iota of human warmth, “this is wrongful possession and reckless endangerment of a rare animal. It most certainly does not belong here. But if you persist in refusing to returning the poor creature to its home, I can at least make sure it can receive appropriate medical attention.” She handed a card to Morgan, and for a moment Morgan thought she’d stab him with the card, she had that much venom in her eyes.
            “Believe me, Ms. Denton, when I tell you that I will take care of him with the greatest respect and attention,” Morgan promised, making a point of placing the card carefully in his wallet.
            Ms. Denton grunted, and turned her attention to the creature as it paced the perimeter of the enclosure slowly, nostrils flaring at the abundance of grass and various edible plants. Then she rolled her eyes and turned on her heels, striding out off the rear deck overlooking the enclosure, to the side gate. Moments later, Morgan heard the slamming of her car door just before it started. The car zoomed off, leaving Morgan to wrap up everything with the delivery crew.
            After he paid them all off with thanks and the most minimal attention possible (since he could barely take his eyes off the incredible creature), Morgan ran inside to grab a lawn chair from the garage, which he brought outside to the porch to sit on and stare at the unicorn. While he watched the unicorn move across the grassy circle, he realized that something was off, something not quite missing, but incorrect. Finally, it came to him.
            “Your horn needs to be golden,” he muttered. He made a mental note to go to the crafts shop the next day and get some gold leaf. Some horse tranquilizer too. Morgan wasn’t fully confident that the unicorn would stand still enough or calmly enough to allow Morgan to fully gild the horn. Despite his being a virgin.
* * * *

            Morgan was already corking the wine in his mind when he saw the half- expectant, half-skeptical smile fade from Felicity’s face.  She frowned at the creature, which looked up to regard her for a moment before blowing air through its lips in a snort.  She looked at Morgan, puzzled.
            “That’s a rhinoceros,” she said, but good-naturedly, as if she suspected some kind of prank.  Admittedly, her reaction was somewhat better than his previous dates who’d either been pissed off at what they perceived as a joke at their expense, or worried, perhaps frightened, regarding the question of Morgan’s sanity. Morgan hoped perhaps he would be able to finish the bottle with Felicity after all. Morgan indicated the creature with the hand not holding his wineglass.
            “Many people believe that the original tales of unicorns are based on rhinoceroses in India, since they were seen in forests, and many people back then had never seen one, but they’d seen horses, so they thought they were seeing horses with horns.” He took a sip of his wine, surreptitiously admiring Felicity as she turned her attention back to the animal. “But, you see, there are no rhinos that color, and this one has a horn that’s not quite in the same place as a regular rhino. I’m pretty sure that it’s an actual unicorn.”
            Felicity considered this for a few moments. “I don’t know,” she conceded. “It’s pretty ugly in any case.”
            Morgan put the cork back in.

* * * *

            Over the next nine months, Morgan brought home approximately fifty or so women, but not one of them saw the beautiful creature that Morgan had fallen in love with when he first saw it. They all saw a snow-white rhinoceros with a single horn located midway up its snout. Morgan felt strongly that a woman with the same perception as he did would be able to connect with him on a deep, meaningful level. Morgan desired a wife, but he found it difficult to maintain relationships with people in general, let alone women. He’d gone the Gates route- focusing on computers in college and making millions off software he’d developed years of advance of his peers.
            Often he asked himself if he was being silly, putting his faith in something as esoteric as a rhinocorn, especially when he got the veterinarian’s bill after Pliny (which was the name he gave the creature) contracted pneumonia during its first Maine winter. Yet when he sat on his deck and watched Pliny, he recalled with pristine clarity the exact feelings he experienced when he’d first seen Pliny. There had to be significance in what he felt.  There was a reason he had this creature in his care.  Perhaps he needed to change the dynamics of his interaction with Pliny.
            Morgan slowly built his courage up over the next few days, spending more and more time inside the enclosure, but at a safe distance from the unicorn. Then the day arrived that Morgan felt he could see if Pliny would allow his touch.
            Interestingly enough, this was also the same day that Morgan’s neighbor, Diana Hodges, had also worked up enough confidence to introduce herself to Morgan, whom she had only admired from behind her windows up until now. She found him to be while not dashingly handsome, to be attractive enough. She knew he was single, and noticing the number of dates he’d brought home recently, he had to have something special going for him. So she baked a huckleberry pie, put on a simple but flattering dress, and with a deep breath, began the short walk two houses over to Morgan’s residence.
            She rang the doorbell twice without any results, and was debating a third attempt when she heard the agonized screams coming from behind the house. After some fumbling with the gate to the backyard, Diana hurried towards the enclosure, where she beheld at once an awful and an awe-filling sight.
            She flinched upon seeing Morgan, now a twitching, groaning body prostrate on the ground, bleeding profusely from a wound in his chest. But then her attention turned to the creature, and she forgot about Morgan. The pie fell to the ground, splattering warm berry juices upon Diana’s feet and ankles. But Diana noticed none of this as she stared at the beautiful unicorn.


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