The Pickled Apocalypse of Pancake Island (4 page)

I repeated my question because the pancake failed to hear me over the ruckus of its thousand stampeding fellows.

"The sun has turned a new color," the pancake said. "We are celebrating its old beauty, its new beauty, and all the beautiful forms yet to come. I love the beauty of the sun."

"I love it too," I said. I'd never said I loved anything aloud, and here I was, saying I loved the celestial body I had murdered.

The pancake grabbed me by the hand. Unaccustomed to feeling the touch of another, I jerked my hand away. The pancake stared at its hand, surprised in equal measure, perhaps, that I'd refused its touch, and also that its fingers had turned green.

"I am a mirror of the sun's beauty," the pancake said. "This is the best parade ever."

"How often do you hold parades?" I said, wanting to distract the pancake from noticing that I was also green -- and that my touch was responsible for its pickled hand.

"Every day. Every day there is a wonderful parade. Don't you go to all the parades?"

I said that I did, catching sight in that moment of a monolithic green castle and a pancake girl standing atop. She was releasing balloons into the sky. I fell a little bit in love. Without having even met her. I stood in the middle of the street. I wiped briny tears from my eyes and gazed at the pancake in the green castle. My heart yawned, stretched, and began to thump, awaking from a very long coma.

After overcoming the initial shock of not feeling dead inside for the first time in my life, I moved on with the parade, to a feast on the other side of Pancake Island.

*

The potato housing district ended.

We climbed a hill that peaked in the center of the island. The hill was a pancake. In the center of the peak, a fountain spewed syrup. The pancakes got down on their knobby knees and ladled syrup from the fountain. The syrup rolled down their chins. It seeped in through their porous flesh and made them glow.

I pushed my way into their circle and drank syrup from the fountain. Sometimes pancakes raised their heads and wiped their mouths and smiled or cheered.

Other pancakes drank from crystalline bottles. "What's in the bottles?" I asked the pancake to my left.

"Fanny Fod's maple beer. It's the most delicious beer ever."

"Who's Fanny Fod?"

"The pancake in the green castle."

"Oh," I said, lowering my head to the fountain.

I drank syrup until my belly bloated and I collapsed. I lay there, not thinking much about anything.

Eventually, I got up. I patted my full belly and separated myself from the parade. I headed for the green castle, leaving a trail of pickled footprints in my wake.

I COME KNOCKING AT YOUR DOOR

The green castle was tall and narrow. I walked across a yard of blooming pancake flowers. I knocked on the green door.

Knock knock.

Knock.

The green door opened quick, as if she had been standing on the other side, watching me through the peephole.

“Hi,” the pancake said.

“My name is Gaston Glew."

“My name is Fanny W. Fod.”

“I’m sorry if this is awkward.”

"It's not awkward."

We laughed nervously.

“We are sharing a first moment,” she said.

“This is good,” I said. “My life has been one long trail of snot and boogers. How about yours?”

“You’re not from around here.”

“I come from Pickled Planet.”

“How did you get past the sun? A few times in my life I have seen foreign travelers enter our atmosphere, but the sun always sends them on their way.”

“Oh, the sun and I cut a deal. I agreed to trim his mustache every morning in exchange for citizenship.”

“The sun was kind to cut you a deal. The sun never cuts a deal with anyone. He must have sensed you were special.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Do you have a place to stay on Pancake Island?”

“I arrived a few hours ago.”

“You must have arrived when the sun turned green. The sun must have really liked you to change colors. Maybe he wanted to cheer you up. Would you like to come into my kitchen? Here, come on.”

"Okay." I followed her into the kitchen.

She told me to sit on one of the potato chairs surrounding a pancake table.

There was a pawing and a scratching and a slapping at the back door.

“The Cuddlywumpus senses your sadness,” she said. She lowered her eyes and made an embarrassed facial expression. We were sliding into the pit of an awkward situation.

"Cuddlywumpus?" I said. "Is that what's at the door?"

"No, Nothing," she said. “It’s Nothing."

The Nothing howled. It made a sound like “Ra-ra roo! Ra-ra roo!” over and over again.

“That is more than Nothing,” I said. “I know what Nothing sounds like. This thing is more than Nothing and it's unhappy.”

“Unhappy? This is Pancake Island. Nothing is unhappy.”

The thing on the other side of the door sounded more upset now that we were talking about it. Nobody likes to overhear others talking about them. This was always the case on Pickled Planet, although none of us ever changed. We turned even sadder when we heard other pickles complaining about our sadness, saying things like,
“What is wrong with Gaston Glew? He did not do what he was supposed to do today.” “What was he supposed to do today?” “He was supposed to attend a funeral.” “Did you attend a funeral?” “No, but I am superior to Gaston Glew and am therefore exempt from any blame.” “You are right, we must hold Gaston Glew accountable for the grievous error that is his life. We must punish him.” “He thinks we will let him off the hook.” “Let us punish him twice as bad for being twice as sad as us and thinking we will let him off the hook.” “Let us punish him for not being sad enough.” “We have such sadness to show him.” Mutual sighs. “Gaston Glew is a loser.”

“You need to leave,” she said.

The psychic debris cleared from my mind. Some anxious crumbs of thought floated across my vision. I raised my eyebrows, trying to look shocked and indignant. The Nothing in the cellar was screaming now. The Nothing in the cellar could not tolerate the presence of a creature as sad as myself.

I lowered my eyebrows and scrunched my forehead, as if puzzled, even though I knew exactly what was going on, perhaps more than she did. “What did I do?” I said. “I just felt a little distracted. Don’t you get distracted?”

“Pancakes are too happy in each moment to consider anything a distraction.”

“Doesn’t that mean everything is a distraction?”

She turned around and motioned for me to follow her.

“Are you kicking me out?”

“You can’t stay here, so leave. Go anywhere.”

“But we’ve only just met. I’m attracted to you, Fanny Fod. It’s you who called me to this place, not happiness.”

“You should explore your options. I am just a pancake. Happiness is happier than all the happy pancakes combined. You’ve upset the Nothing. I think it's neat that you match my castle, but I can’t let you ruin my life.”

“You owe me a chance.”

“Get out of my castle.”

“You’ll come to regret this.”

“How can I regret anything? I’m happy by myself. Plus, I don’t know even you.”

“Fine, I’ll leave,” I said, “if you show me your Nothing first.”

Blue tears welled up in her blueberry eyes as she began to cry. “Leave before the Cuddlywumpus dies. It senses your sadness. The Cuddlywumpus is everything to me.”

I should have tried to comfort her. I raised my voice instead. “What is this Cuddlywumpus? You told me there was a Nothing. A Cuddlywumpus is more than Nothing. You’re a liar. How can it sense my sadness? There is no sadness on Pancake Island. There is no sadness anymore inside my--”

“Get out! Your sadness is killing the Cuddlywumpus!”

She lost her composure. Like a pickle, she lost control.

“Fine, I’ll leave you with your beast,” I said. I turned and left through the zucchini door.

As I marched across the lawn, my footsteps left briny indentations in the ground. Pancake flowers near my dead footprints raised their heads, choked up greenish black syrup and collapsed in their own bile, like the cacti back home used to do.

The dead sun spit green phlegm across the horizon. I looked up at him and felt bad for what I’d done. I’d been on Pancake Island for half a day at most and I had caused a lot of damage. I hadn’t even thought much about what I planned to do here. I had not achieved the full happiness experience, but already I questioned whether that was what I truly sought. These pancakes obviously enjoyed themselves, but if all they did was feast and party every day, well, that was not really what I desired. I wanted to feel airy and relaxed forever, but maybe the sun was right. Maybe I was better off climbing into my rocket ship and heading back to Pickled Planet. Obviously I did not belong. It was probably better not to disturb these happy creatures any more than I already had.

But this pancake in the green castle, she seemed different than the rest. She seemed like someone I might be able to talk to. Just seeing her releasing balloons over the island made me want to climb up there and live forever in the castle with her. Despite the prospect of discovering even more enchanting pancakes on this island, and maybe getting to the root of happiness, I had lost my desire to explore. I'd found what I came for, and I was going to make her see that I hadn’t traveled halfway across the universe to be happy. I had traveled halfway across the universe to find her.

I turned around and marched up to her front door again. She was going to hear me out. She was going to learn all about the Eternal Plight of the Pickle and how she could cure me with her love.

Knock knockknock knock, knock.

Knock. Knock.

Knock, knockknock . . .  knock, knock . . .

Knockknockknock.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

KNOCKKNOCKKNOCKKNOCKKNOCK--

“Hey, what’re you doin’ there?” someone shouted, disturbing my knocking.

I turned around. The shouter was a pancake.

“I’m a door inspector. I inspect doors,” I said, and regretted saying it. I was on a mission. I could not let myself get distracted. Anyway, who knew if door inspectors existed on Pancake Island?

“Fanny Fod has a good door, doesn’t she?” the pancake said.

I was tempted to tell the pancake to bug off and return to my knocking, to rejoinder it this time with shouted professions of love, but I realized I had already crossed the line, banging on her door for an inordinate duration. The pancake was right, though. Fanny Fod had a good door.

“Have you tested my door yet?” the pancake said.

Having returned to myself and seeing the fool I’d been, I decided to play nice for a little bit. This pancake knew Fanny Fod’s name. I could dig into this pancake for more information. “I don’t know. Where do you live? I’m offering free inspections all day.”