With five cats in the house and a sainted mom living in the east end of this county seat of the Genomes, it will come as no surprise that I rise with the larks and snails. If you've been paying attention to this personal review, then you know all about the larks, snails, and whatnot. If you're a stranger to these parts, then you should direct your questions or objections to the poet Browning.
As I say, morning arrived and I slipped from beneath the duvet and moved toward the sound of rushing water. Billowing mists enveloped me as I moved onto the tiles of the salle de bains making it impossible to see anything within, other than an occasional bit of leafy jungle.
"Ms Wonder," I called and immediately felt what must have been a half-dozen cats brush my legs on their way out the door. No answer from Wonder though. I moved cautiously forward, brushing the foliage aside, and tried as best I could to follow the roar of the falls, for I knew that Wonder would be found there, submerged in the waters of the plunge basin, deep in morning meditation.
"Wonder," I called again. A little louder this time and I heard the unmistakable sound of a body rising from the depths, like Venus emerging from the sea, and a musical voice replied,
"What?"
'Musical' may be a little too kind. A little bit musical perhaps. But it was an answer and that's all I needed to correct course and in no more than half an hour, I was poolside.
"Thank goodness," I said breathing a deep sigh of relief, "I've found you."
"Is there a problem?" she asked.
Needless to say, for I'm sure you too noticed the lack of concern in her voice, I was astounded. I mean, here I was risking limb, if not life, traversing this lost world of the master bath to find her, and what do I get? The cool, distant motif, that's what I get, and I don't mind telling you, I didn't like it.
"Well?" she said after a few seconds of silence on my part.
"Is there a problem," I said. "Is there a problem! I'll tell you what the problem is."
"Do," she said.
"I am," I said.
"You?", she said, "You're the problem?"
I ignored the jab and got to the point.
"The problem is that the sewer-harpy sisters are back and they're stronger than ever! That is the problem. And I could use some help, Wonder."
"Oh," she said, "Princess Amy again."
"No, not Princess Amy," I said. "This is far beyond Amy's range. This is an attack of the most sinister forces. This is Celtic!"
It may be helpful to pause here again to provide a dime-store explanation of that Princess Amy crack. My personal amygdala, that little almond-shaped cluster of cells in the middle of the brain, is somewhat lacking in sangfroid. Is that the word I'm looking for? If it means self-control or maintaining one's cool when under stress, then that's the word.
It sometimes seems that I have a spoiled little brat living in my head, or a spoiled little princess, or the red queen from the other side of Alice's looking glass. I refer to her as Princess Amygdala or usually, Princess Amy.
After describing the forces of evil that confronted me, Ms Wonder responded with one of her false starts. It's a habit she has that is completely unlike her usual self, but there it is and one must accept it and move through it to avoid a total wipeout.
"Oh, right," she said, "the sewer sisters. What is it you call them? The Morgan sisters."
"Not the Morgan sisters!" I yelled. "The Morgan sisters were Gloria Morgan Vanderbilt and Thelma, Viscountess Furness. They were Swiss-born socialites of the previous century. Or, come to think of it, you may refer to Melanie and Michele, the singing violinists. But, no! The Morgan sisters are not germane. They are a diversion and need not concern us here."
I paused because I'd temporarily lost my place in the dialogue. I looked at her. She looked at me. We looked at each other and it was beginning to feel like a big day of quiet observation.
"The Morrigan," I said. "The three sisters in one goddess. That's who I'm dealing with--Badb, Macha, and Nemain.
"All right," she said, "Let me sit up to hear you properly." And she did so. "Now, tell me exactly what's happened. I'll be it involves delivery vans crashing into garbage cans and fireworks exploding in the sewer."
"I immediately felt better. She's sometimes slow to get involved, but once she does, the odds return to favor the Genome. This Ms Wonder, I'm sure you remember, eats a lot of fish, and that oils the machinery of her powerful intellect. No one can compare to her once the wheels and cogs begin spinning. I told her the full story.
"I see," she said, "after listening attentively to the salient details. "Yes, I see the dilemma." Lupe is coming here this morning expecting you to deliver her to Pittsboro. You don't want to go within 10 miles of the Cove for fear you will become entangled in one of Gwyn's schemes. Yet, you don't want to disappoint Lupe, who is one of the Cove's finest."
I waited quietly to see what would come next.
"I think I have the solution," she said.
"I knew you would, Wonder. It's just like the man said, you move in mysterious ways your wonders to perform. Don't hold back. What do you propose?"
"To do the right thing for Lupe and yet protect yourself from any snares that Gwyn may lay for you, it would be advisable to text Gwyn that you are unavoidably occupied and that a good and trusted friend will deliver Lupe to the Blue Dot Cafe in Pittsboro. That way Lupe gets home and you avoid meeting with Gwyn."
I gave her a look and I meant it to sting and to sting smartly. Find a friend in the next 15 minutes who could drive an 11-year-old Lupe to Pittsboro from Durham! That's a stinker of an idea if I've ever heard one, and I told her so.
"Oh, you don't actually need to find someone else," she said. "Simply go in disguise."
I pondered this idea. Disguise? Would it work? It seemed dubious at best but before I'd completed pondering, Ms Wonder spoke again and all things became clear.
"If you remember, we spoke only yesterday of your shaving off that beard and mustache."
That's all she had to say. It was as though I walked on clouds. Of course, everyone in Pittsboro had become used to my horsehair sofa persona. If I walked into the Blue Dot clean-shaven, not a soul would recognize me. It was a perfect plan.
It was a perfect plan and I had no time to spare. Lupe would be here in 10 minutes and we would need to move quickly if we wished to avoid being stuck in traffic with all the professors and students of the University of North Carolina. It was with me the work of an instant to race to the shaving kit and set about the whiskers.
