Page 33 - Unlikely Stories 2

Earl King and his Puppet Thing

For that purpose the rare Surf did make the perilous journey across
the gulf into the artificially temperate realm of the Techies. Upon his
return his fellows held him in awe; but few of the fortunate understood
that their brief visit functioned primarily as an educational experience
for Techie children. The twin barbarisms of anarchy and totalitarian
rule could meet in the weak glow of low-wattage lighting and not
recognize their kinship, so profoundly alienating were the modes of
existence each had followed since their birth in the ecological
catastrophes of the twenty-first century.
On one particular occasion in the midst of the endless season of
despair, the procession of Surfs offering items for barter had almost
ended, with no interest shown by the Techies.
“Bulbs. I have one box of bulbs. Original box.”
The container was scrutinized. “No good. For automobiles. Might as
well throw them over the side,” came the flat reply. “Next.”
An old man in his thirties limped up to the edge. “Fresh beetles.
Dug them up this morning.” He dramatically unwrapped a glass jar
crawling with frantic insects and held it up for inspection.
“No, don’t need any. Plenty of our own.”
“But these are very good: I just ate three of them myself.”
“Next!”
The roach vendor appeared to be the last in line; the aspirants began
slowly shuffling toward the cave mouth, long treks through the wasting
sunlight to other grottoes their only prospect. But a figure suddenly
came forth from the shadows and approached the unseen Techies. He
was a short man whose bald pate and streaky gray beard emerged as his
tattered sun hood fell back.
“Wait, good troglodytes,” he boomed. “There is something yet to
see.”
The peephole cover arrested mid-eclipse. “What? What is it?” a
muffled voice barked peremptorily.
The newcomer threw off his cloak of dirty ill-stitched rags and raised
his arms, transforming himself into a harlequin puppet stage.
“It’s Earl King and his Puppet Thing!” he trumpeted, and twirled
about on one leg, narrowly missing a fall into the pit. Then his hands
popped out of the copious canopy’s folds, each gloved in a human
female semblance.

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