Chapter 5

5

     "Wow, Musket! How did you coax all that out of her?" Otto asked at a brisk walk from the cafe. Clover Muscatel was feeling aloof, "What? Oh, that. I just looked in her eyes." Otto enviously blurted, "Okay, Svengali..." The two remained thoughtful as they silently assented to a stroll in the park, not only because it was noon and a brilliantly sunny sky greeted them, or even the birds that roamed the air, peppering the grass as children fed crumbs by the handful. Even the gray pigeon meandering under the bellies of geese and swans was alone not enough to lure their focus. Clover's house was several blocks from the opposite end of this place, and while Musket and Otto had been known to recreate here with a frisbee ever and anon, their intended goal for the day was to schedule future tours of temples, meetings at monasteries, and lectures from lamas and laymen alike. These arrangements were the crux of their inquiry to the universe, while the chance encounters proved to be the deluxe bonus.

     Otto noticed Musket drop out of formation and plant his bottom on a bench. "I'll be okay," he regretted, "I just need to chew all that experience into edible food for thought. I'll catch up with you in a few, eh, Otto?" Von Clumpson took the cue. He noticed a favorite cypress tree a hundred yards away with a trunk over fifteen feet in diameter. Soon the squirrels had a new playmate and benefactor beneath the luminous evergreen, for Otto always carried seed for little critters and creatures among his assortment of pocket oddities.

     Clover Muscatel was bewildered. What had he done, other than ask a question, and then listen with an intensity unusual even for him? It wasn't so much what she said, though he definitely still needed to mull that over. The context of the familiar, sweet old waitress at the Wincing Moon was gone. She was another person today. Or the same, yet deeply revealed, for good or naught. It seemed to have done her some benefit, only time would tell.

     Musket vaguely recalled other instances when his eyes drew much more out of individuals than ever he desired. The sudden rushes of intimate reality between himself and others would temporarily elevate his perceptions. He had never needed to connect these experiences together. Was this strange phenomenon springing from him, or was it outside of himself? Musket wasn't sure, or he was denying the obvious. Ironic that as Musket's realization of the power inside himself grew to fruition, this was the time he felt most powerless of all. He decided the safest bet would be to deal with future surprises as they occurred, and at the least try to bandage the hearts of the hurting.

     Clover looked across the grounds, watching Otto performing cartwheels in a counterclockwise manner. Hapless and generous as Von Clumpson was, a semicircle of squirrels around him were engaged in his antics. Only one was bold enough to go after the seeds nearest Otto, and in a few seconds Musket's friend was on his hands and knees. This was too good to miss, and Clover's curiosity found him stealthily approaching the cypress, halting just before his shadow fell on the animal. Unaware of Musket, Otto was now prostrate and conversing with the squirrel rather onesidedly, for the mammal's mouth was quite full.

     "What's on your mind, little squirrel? What frail thoughts are expedited through your tiny cranium? Your eyes are as big as marbles, and so black, like hematite. Wow! I can see my reflection in them. I know you see me, squirrelly, perceiving me as I perceive you. From worlds entirely alien and foreign, except my alien world spread birdseed around to coax you down from your humongous home. Hey, I'm cool! You graze, I'll gaze, as long as I can find out what's on your mind. Did you know you have seeds wedged in your nostrils? Each time you bend over and stuff those pudgy cheeks, hee hee, another seed gets stuck. Got quite a collection, buddy! I guess that's the way nature works." Otto shifted to a sitting position, causing the startled squirrel to retreat. Both were still ignorant of Musket, who had slipped around the far side of the tree.

     Clover continued to hear his pal pontificate, "Hey, come on back squirrelly! I won't hurt you. That's it, ease on up. I guess you're nervous, huh? Your feather wispy tail is twitching. Do you always eat when you're nervous? Or do you just always eat? Maybe you're always nervous, though I will admit it is I who impacted your reality with the bird seed. Guess it's to your benefit today, critter. I sure hope people never destroy your reality, chopping this gorgeous tree down." Otto gazed high into the branches, "So what is on that twitching, paranoid mind, little squirrel? Are you imagining our next encounter? When you, nature's representative, meets again her prodigal, wayward man? Or are you reminding yourself to keep those nostrils shut? Or does any thought need to fleet across that energized skull of yours? Perhaps nature doesn't worry at all, maybe it's us humans who are the maniacally crazed beings bent upon survival. In any case, squirrelly, your thoughts are safe with me. Yessir!"

     The squirrel sat up and squeaked, "What the hell are you talking about?" Otto blanched and dropped the remainder of his seeds, much to the animal's pleasure. He heard a stifled laughter, and deduced the rest. Clover Muscatel knew ventriloquism, and had sent his wavering soprano sentence around the tree, only to blow it with his flatulent giggles. The wisdom in the line 'All the world's a stage...' found its mark for Otto like never before. Embarrassment passed swiftly for Von Clumpson, however, and the two were soon back on their lighthearted way.

     "I sure hope the Buddhist monastery called back today." Musket mused as they left the park, "Takes them forever just to return a call." Otto wasn't listening. He had the ability to so completely focus on one aspect of his senses, the rest became a distraction. He had turned around to wish to park farewell for the day, to watch the trees wave their boughs at him, when something at the swing set caught his eye. "Oh my gosh, Musket! There's some guy smashing a toaster over there! I just gotta find out what this freak is all about. Do you mind if I catch up with you tomorrow?" Musket seconded the motion. He appreciated that Otto didn't expect him to want to go with him, "I'll arrange the mosques and meetings. I could use the evening to catch up on my reading. Adios!" He headed home to a calm night of tea and a good classic, wishing every night could be so relaxing.

     Otto chuckled too himself, "Thought I'd seen everything!" A clamorous commotion was brewing, as an older gentleman in shabby clothing violently swung the appliance. He'd got the toaster by the tail, you might say, for the plug was in his hand. The toaster groaned horrendously each time it smashed into the swing set. The children had by now found other places to play, so the immediate danger was stalled. Neurotically smothering mothers turned their heads, disbelieving the disturbance. Otto was shocked at the absurdity of it all, how the mighty centrifugal force kept the cord taut and tensile. The shabby man repeated the impacts over and again, and soon the appliance was beaten to a toaster shaped pulp. Otto's curiosity came on like a flashflood, and he found himself jogging toward the scene of the applianticide.

     The appliance's accomplice noticed Otto, and suddenly the stranger's amok time dissipated. He turned and fled the park in a panic, dropping the toaster. Otto retrieved the malleable metal box, now unrecognizable as a kitchen item. "This is too weird. I just gotta know." He pursued the man in the shabby rags, attracted like a magnet of eccentricity. To him, this was a perfect way to spend the afternoon.