November 9, 2007
By Gene Clark
Great Aunt Emily had implored Alice to stay well clear of the septic tank lid, but Puff the kitten stalked the yarn so seriously that Alice began to laugh out loud. Her joyous laugh was cut short when she stepped backwards onto the septic tank lid.
Before you could say, “Callooh, Callay,” Alice saw the sunny day give way to a dark world with a terrible smell. Alice began to fall deep into the darkness.
“Oh, my, it smells like Poo,” Alice said to herself as she fell. “If I land in Poo, I fear I will ruin my dress and never get my hair clean again.”
She fell and fell until she was quite ready to land anywhere, “Goodness, I’ve been falling for quite some time. One would think that one would have landed in something by now.”
Just then, she did.
Alice came out of the darkness and splashed into…water. The child had never learned to swim, but she needn’t have worried. The water was less than a meter deep and she was sitting up with her head out of the water.
Alice climbed out of the pool to wring out her skirts when she noticed a huge white, pillared building not far from the end of the pool. Alice shook her head and stared in amazement.
“A giant on a throne,” Alice said. “I’ve fallen into a land of giants. I must hide or I’ll be eaten.”
Alice ran to her right and into the woods. The woods weren’t very deep, and they were full of paved pathways. Alice wandered about until she found a thicker stand of trees where she might be safe from giants.
“I am a lucky girl, indeed,” Alice said as she paused under the cover of the trees and began to wring out her skirts. “I could have been drowned, but I think it is better to fall into water than it is to fall into Poo.”
“Do you always walk around talking Poo to yourself,” asked a thin, high voice. “If you do, then you will fit well in this city.”
Alice looked all about and saw no one. She became indignant and Alice forgot she was scared of giants, “Where I come from, it is considered rude to speak to someone when you aren’t there. Show yourself this instant.”
“Child, in this city people never show themselves even when they speak while standing directly in front of you,” the voice said. “Look up child.”
Alice looked up. She gasped and put her hand to her mouth, “I’m afraid all I can see is a tiny smile on a tiny branch. How can that be?”
“Many people here have gotten along for years and years with just a tiny smile, but if you must see all of me, then you shall,” said the smile, as a gray rat appeared about the teeth.
“You are a talking rat,” said Alice. “What is your name?”
“You can call me Cheshire Rat,” the rat answered with a bow. “And, in this city, all the rats talk.”
“Cheshire Rat,” said Alice. Alice and the rat shared a brief, silent moment of absurdity before she asked, ”What is the name of this city?”
“You have fallen into Washingtonland. It is the capital city of our country,” Cheshire Rat said. “By the way, if anyone asks you to go waterboarding, tell them, NO.”
“What is waterboarding,” asked Alice.
“Trust me,” said Cheshire Rat. “You don’t want to know.”
“Is Washingtonland full of giants like the one sitting on the throne in the big building over to our left,” Alice asked.
“Did you hit your head, child,” Cheshire Rat said, “That is a statue inside a memorial to one of our fallen leaders. Ironically, a Republican that ignored portions of the Constitution, suspended Habeus Corpus, inserted American troops into a civil war, and thereby united the country. Our current leader is trying the same basic thing, but it’s not working out as well for him.”
Alice noticed a large, v-shaped black granite wall through some pine trees to her right. “What is that,” Alice asked pointing.
“It is a war memorial. In Washingtonland there are many memorials to wars. We have memorials to people that died in wars, people that lived through wars, and leaders that led us through wars,” Cheshire Rat said.
“My goodness, you people must really love war,” Alice said.
“That’s the funny thing,” Cheshire Rat said. “We really don’t love war. In fact, we hate war, but we love the people that go to war. How will the families of those that defend us know that we love them?”
“I should think that could be best achieved,” said Alice, “by getting as few of them killed as possible.”
