as emblems of honor. You may know these two; they are from the Village—members of a sect which believes that Nollop’s wishes have been put to gross misinterpretation. Rather than shunning the letters per Council proclamation,they urge the opposite to the extreme. The problem with this position, as refreshing as it seems, is the unfortunate result that naturally follows the putting of such belief into practice.
Must go now to massage the crick in my stiff neck.
By the way, this is the sixth anniversary of Amos’s recovery. Not so much as a beer in all these years in spite of the sort of stressful circumstances that might prompt even Carrie Nation to imbibe (naturally using her hatchet as a resourceful bottle opener!).
Love
,
Your sister Gwenette
NOLLOPVILLE
Monty, September 25
Ella,
Last night, I woke from a horrible nightmare in which I saw myself sitting beneath the cenotaph as another tile fell to earth. The tile came to rest facing up. It was an “I.” I woke screaming. Mother spent the next few minutes trying to convince me that the chances of this happening were slim—that so far, Nollop has been most helpful to us by keeping all vowels firmly in place. Hearing my scream, Nate came into the room to comfort me as well.
“Then you believe in the power of Nollop?” I put to Mother.
Mother shook “no,” but then gave this response: “Here is what I believe: if Nollop actually exists—in spirit form, of course—then perhaps it is for some positive purpose—perhaps even the interposing of a finish to all this insanity emanating from Council Chambers.”
Now Nate was smiling. “The fable of Nollop has won acolytic support in the Purcy house of all places!”
Mother: “Mere supposition, Mr. Warren. I’m only saying
if
Nollop exists …”
Now a bigger smile from Nate, then: “So why thinkest thou, he hasn’t chosen thus far to take ‘heavenly’ retribution against this cretinous council of yours?”
My turn now: “Because he is waiting for the right moment?”
Nate shook no, while grinning his biggest grin of all. “You want the truth of what I think? Here’s the nutshell: Nollop when he was alive was pure charlatan. A veritable con man. Phenomenally successful in pulling the wool over the eyes of 35,000 naivetés, ripe for the pulling. If he exists at all as manipulating eternal spirit, I see no reason for his not being of the selfsame ilk.”
“Humbug terrestrial, humbug everlasting?” Nate was beginning to make sense.
“Humbug, yes, as well as simply not a very nice man. Listen up, my pretty Purcy postulators …”
(Nate was becoming a bit familiar; this was not a problem for Mother or for me!)
“… your council was built on power-lust. Nollop’s whole life was a construct not only of such lust for power, but of an unnatural craving for outright worship. Yet the man was without any merit, any virtue—holy or otherwise—whatsoever. Look at what befell his secretary. For that matter, look at what befell nearly everyone he met. All those instances of truth, fairness, humanitarianism, altruism: pure mythology. Perhaps worse than mythology: Nollop has become your Baal.”
“Baal?” This from Mother, although I was taken aback as well.
“There’s ‘Biblical’ for you.”
My shiver was obvious.
Nate was finishing up now: “Allow me, finally, to offer up this arresting little trenchancy: given a few weeks, I, or either of you—most anyone on this isle for that matter—might learn how truly easy it is for one to create a sentence of length matching Nollop’s—perhaps one even shorter. In fact, this may be our ultimate salvation.”
Mother fell silent, I as well.
Sweet Ella, broach this at your next meeting. I am curious to learn the response it receives.
Love
,
Tassie
NOLLOPTON
Toes, September 26
Tassie,
Intriguing as Nate’s proposition is (I will present it as you suggest.), an even more curious event has taken place. An “O” has fallen. One
Must go now to massage the crick in my stiff neck.
By the way, this is the sixth anniversary of Amos’s recovery. Not so much as a beer in all these years in spite of the sort of stressful circumstances that might prompt even Carrie Nation to imbibe (naturally using her hatchet as a resourceful bottle opener!).
Love
,
Your sister Gwenette
NOLLOPVILLE
Monty, September 25
Ella,
Last night, I woke from a horrible nightmare in which I saw myself sitting beneath the cenotaph as another tile fell to earth. The tile came to rest facing up. It was an “I.” I woke screaming. Mother spent the next few minutes trying to convince me that the chances of this happening were slim—that so far, Nollop has been most helpful to us by keeping all vowels firmly in place. Hearing my scream, Nate came into the room to comfort me as well.
“Then you believe in the power of Nollop?” I put to Mother.
Mother shook “no,” but then gave this response: “Here is what I believe: if Nollop actually exists—in spirit form, of course—then perhaps it is for some positive purpose—perhaps even the interposing of a finish to all this insanity emanating from Council Chambers.”
Now Nate was smiling. “The fable of Nollop has won acolytic support in the Purcy house of all places!”
Mother: “Mere supposition, Mr. Warren. I’m only saying
if
Nollop exists …”
Now a bigger smile from Nate, then: “So why thinkest thou, he hasn’t chosen thus far to take ‘heavenly’ retribution against this cretinous council of yours?”
My turn now: “Because he is waiting for the right moment?”
Nate shook no, while grinning his biggest grin of all. “You want the truth of what I think? Here’s the nutshell: Nollop when he was alive was pure charlatan. A veritable con man. Phenomenally successful in pulling the wool over the eyes of 35,000 naivetés, ripe for the pulling. If he exists at all as manipulating eternal spirit, I see no reason for his not being of the selfsame ilk.”
“Humbug terrestrial, humbug everlasting?” Nate was beginning to make sense.
“Humbug, yes, as well as simply not a very nice man. Listen up, my pretty Purcy postulators …”
(Nate was becoming a bit familiar; this was not a problem for Mother or for me!)
“… your council was built on power-lust. Nollop’s whole life was a construct not only of such lust for power, but of an unnatural craving for outright worship. Yet the man was without any merit, any virtue—holy or otherwise—whatsoever. Look at what befell his secretary. For that matter, look at what befell nearly everyone he met. All those instances of truth, fairness, humanitarianism, altruism: pure mythology. Perhaps worse than mythology: Nollop has become your Baal.”
“Baal?” This from Mother, although I was taken aback as well.
“There’s ‘Biblical’ for you.”
My shiver was obvious.
Nate was finishing up now: “Allow me, finally, to offer up this arresting little trenchancy: given a few weeks, I, or either of you—most anyone on this isle for that matter—might learn how truly easy it is for one to create a sentence of length matching Nollop’s—perhaps one even shorter. In fact, this may be our ultimate salvation.”
Mother fell silent, I as well.
Sweet Ella, broach this at your next meeting. I am curious to learn the response it receives.
Love
,
Tassie
NOLLOPTON
Toes, September 26
Tassie,
Intriguing as Nate’s proposition is (I will present it as you suggest.), an even more curious event has taken place. An “O” has fallen. One
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