Ella Minnow Pea by Mark Dunn Page A

permissible. There are no numbers in the vulpine-canine sentence. Only letters.
    Sincerely
,
    Hamilton

Executive Secretary

High Council
     
    NOLLOPVILLE
    Ribs, October 13
    Tassie,
    Violation number two this morning, this hapless Ribs the Thirteenth! I was caught in the act, very near our house—right there at the piscimonger’s booth on the pier while purchasing shrimp! (It was my plan to surprise Rory with a special gumbo supper to honor his birth-anniversary.) I witlessly put to use a grapheme which I have been—at least up to now—abstaining with relative ease:
    “Boil-seasoning with that, Mrs. Mittie?”
    “Not this time, Xenia. I’m preparing gumbo.”
    Then a most curious stare. I’m sure I won’t be able to relate to you with any great success this woman’s expression. But I’ll try, nonetheless (because it was such a strange mixture): surprise, slight anxiety, momentary consternation, then overwhelming, saucer-eye panic!
    I began to stammer: “What is it? What have I—”
    It then became obvious. In an eye bat. All this time—in my brain—never having seen her name written out, I was misspelling it. You see, Xenia’s name began not with an X, but with the other letter—the one that brought in this whole reprehensible era! Hers was, obviously, the legal spelling. Hence, my culpability.
    This woman isn’t a stranger to me, Tassie. I am no stranger to her. There is twenty-year amity between us. This is why I am so sure that she wasn’t the one to report the violation. It was the other woman. The one in line with me wearing the worn-out tunic with all the paint splotches. Georgeanne Towgate. The ever-present, honor-bent Georgeanne Towgate!
    I’m sure that she was the one whose ears got it all. My suspicion was met by a smile—a sinister simper, twisting her saliva-moist,overly rubilious lips as she apparently thought it all through—especially how important it was to bring this glaring violation to the Council’s attention as soon as possible.
    My thoughts were spinning at that moment as well: giving serious contemplation to pushing this Mary Cassatt aspirant—now my veritable
nemesister
—right over the railing. Straightway into the heaving sea. What a pharisaic, vigilante witch! The nerve—to report me—not once, but twice!
    Not being one to waste time about such things, Mrs. Towgate, I’m certain, brought in her eyewitness report within minutes; by early evening your poor mother was in ignominious cephalo-strait.
    The opportunity was mine to silence the witch in perpetuity. I let it go. I am an ignoble poltroon!
    Sincerely
,
    Your ignoble poltroon Mother
     
    NOLLOPTON
    Sunshine, October 15
    Aunt Mittie,
    Tassie gave me your letter. I am so sorry. What a moronic way to spell one’s name! Give me permission; I will happily terminate Mrs. Towgate, saving you the trouble.
    Enterprise Thirty-two has hit a wall at 47. Instructor Mannheim with the university, in alliance with his tireless pupils, assures us that they will soon breach barrier 44. But I am not so sure. Many others here in town, though, seem to have given up. Pop is beginning to believe it to be an impossibility—this thirty-two letter-grail (“chimera” he calls it) we all pursue. But I am not in agreement with those who own this opinion.
    So many long-time isle inhabitants are now gone. Most are expulsion victims, but some are no longer with us simply because they choose not to live in such a hostile, inhospitable place. It is no place to thrive, Aunt Mittie—no place at all to raise young ones, to be even marginally happy.
    Mother worries about you with Tassie not there. (Especially given what you mention in your last letter.) Is the gentleman Rory being proper helpmate/protector? It gives her solace when she recalls your mentioning his ease with language—the way he seems to clearly embrace the challenges inherent in communication with restriction. Ah, that we might all ultimately rise to such challenges.
    Tassie is