The tale of the cop and the robber number iii

Old blurry Polaroids, found while looking for something else:

Top row = telephone / bottom of bottle / lenses / lenses
Low row = lenses / mail & key holder / sandwich / cake

Dear diary,

I was at the milk market talking to the milkmaids yesterday, and their commander remarked that people are stupid to say that a new country cannot be created. For, a little earlier, one of the maids had said:

“Times are bad, but there’s nowhere to escape to. The people of the past were lucky, because they could simply leave, the moment their country turned evil. They could just build a boat and sail the seven seas till they found new land. Then draw up a Constitution and start having babies. But nowadays all the lands are already inhabited, so if you leave your evil country, you only end up at another country, which is usually even eviller. And each of these countries already has its own Constitution, so its citizens don’t take kindly to some stranger in a boat approaching with a brand-new legal document for them to adopt.”

This was when the commander piped up and said:

“You’re stupid, Rachael. Remind me to fire you from the Milkmaid Squad after our third-quarter rush. Cuz what you’re forgetting is that the people of the past didn’t sail to new, uninhabited lands. No: the lands were all ancient and well-populated:

“For all land was made at the very same instant, on either the eighth or ninth day of the world’s creation; so there’s no such thing as ‘new’ land — any land that you can see has been lying around for approximately 13,000 years: I’m sure that even you will admit, that’s pretty darn OLD.

“Yet, more importantly, as I said, all the lands were already inhabited when their so-called discoverers supposedly discovered them. And the folks who were residing there had already undergone the whole National Life-Cycle, where one starts out as an Immature Nation that soon becomes an Adolescent Nation which turns unexpectedly evil; and then its people either get killed by their own government’s goons, or they somehow survive on the outskirts or hinterlands where nobody wants to live.

“So my point is that we of the present day could indeed emulate the practices of the past-folk: it’s totally doable. We could build a dual-story Boat that’s big enough to hold all of our Cows on its lower level, and then we could heft our Waterbeds onto the upper level of this same Saint Mary (which is what we should christen our boat — at least, that’s what I propose — for I’ve always liked that name, and I don’t believe anyone’s ever used it before); and what would happen is that the body heat from the Cows would naturally keep us warm & cozy while we sleep in our Beds up top, on the 2nd level above, because hot air rises.

“We’d then persuade an Admiral, by offering him or her an internship, to navigate us to some Exotic Island out there, on the wine-dark Sea. And as soon as we land, we’d say to the Inhabitants of the Isle, ‘What’s this place called?’ And no matter what they answer, we’ll say ‘OK, well this place is now called Feliz Navidad. That’s its new name. And, here, look at this — we had our lawyers print out a new Constitution. Read it over carefully; see if you can find any rights for yourselves, ha. Now place all of your credit cards into this briefcase, and hand the briefcase over to us, or we will destroy you.’ Then, after they slide the case over to us with all of the cards inside it, we destroy them anyway.”

This was where I myself entered the conversation. “That’s a smart plan,” I said.

“Yes, I know,” said the commander of the milkmaids. “And who are you?”

“They call me Bryan Ray of Woodgate. I’m just here window-shopping.”

“Well, well, well,” said the commander. “Bryan Ray of Woodgate has chosen to window-shop in an open-air milk market that has no windows, during plague-time when nothing’s for sale. Tell me, Bryan: Why should I not put you in a choke-hold and then toss you into the river.”

“I can’t think of a single good reason you shouldn’t do that,” I admitted. Then I nodded my head once, firmly, as a way of punctuating my statement.

“Hmm,” mused the milkmaid commander, “I admire your honesty. You’re an earnest fellow, and I respect that. What do you do for a living?”

“I am what I am: a thief. A pirate, to be exact.”

The commander’s eyes widened. “I like what I’m hearing. Please continue.”

“Um, that’s really all there is to say,” I said. “I mean, if you’re asking if I have any hobbies in addition to my paid work, I guess I could add that I also keep a logbook on the Internet. But that’s just for fun. I’d never gamble my whole existence on a silly thing like experimental writing. And I know that the concept of the ship log was originally established as a way to record details about the management and operation of one’s aqua-craft; but the way that I use it is more like a personal diary. Instead of useful info, I just put down my thots every morning. If you’re interested, I can show you some examples of the types of things I publish — all my stuff is publicly available, if you have access to the Web: here, just look at this tiny screen on my phone until you feel sleepy...”

Then I navigated to my site and scrolled thru a lot of garbage posts until the commander of the milkmaids inhaled sharply and told me to stop:

“That one: right there! I wanna hear that entry.”

“The most recent one? Really? The tale of the cop and the robber number ai-ai-ai? Are you sure? That one sux, believe me. — You wanna borrow my phone to skim it?” I said.

“I can skim just fine: I am literate: this is true. But I’d prefer to hear you yourself voice it aloud to me; for you are the author, and, that way, I can close my eyes while I listen, and better imagine the words that you are saying,” said the commander. “Also then my milkmaids here can enjoy the story as well. Go on now, begin.”

“Alright,” I said. “But I’ll skip the first part about my run-in at the milk market, cuz that’s just basically holding the mirror up to nature. I’ll jump right into the romance…”

“NO!” said the commander. “Begin at the beginning. I don’t want to miss a single detail!” And she sipped the cocktail that one of her maids had just handed her.

“Alright, you’re the boss,” I said. Then I cleared my throat and began to read from the top:

The Cop and the Robber. Episode 3. An original story by Bryan Ray: based on actual events; not plagiarized. Dear diary, this first scene takes place in the basement of a double-decker ark. The Cop and the Robber are walking among herds of mooing cows. They proceed from stable to stable: the whole lower level of the ark consists of many compartments, and each of these rooms holds one pair of cows and a manger.

The Cop and the Robber are apparently looking for a vacant room, but all the stables are occupied. Finally they arrive at the terminal compartment, which is not even a physical space but a recurrent temporal phenomenon: this part of the ark opens out into abstraction, and the sign hanging above it displays one word in rudely etched characters: “WINTER”. Once inside, they find a fortress prison commanded by a very beautiful milkmaid, who has been badly injured by one of her cows.

“Well you’re screwed now. Welcome to Wintertime.” the commander-maid sez. “I got kicked really bad by my favorite cow, Miss Mary, when I tried to steal the babe from her manger this morning. See this hoof-print on my head?”

The maid parts her big bangs to either side and reveals a strangely shaped symbol.

“God’s signature?” sez the Cop. “The mark of Cain?”

“The tau of Ezekiel?” adds the Robber.

(The Cop knits his brow and glares at his partner.)

“I’d gladly tell you all about it,” sez the commander-maid; “but I’m so hungry…”

Here the Cop immediately holds forth the bottles of wine that he confiscated earlier; and the Robber empties her pockets and offers the command-maid an array of astronautical food-tubes that she recently stole.

After giving thanks, the maid rises to her feet and declares:

“Look how good you’ve been to me: for I was an hungred, and you gave me this tube of chicken-flavored paste; and, when I said I was nervous, you allowed me to sip from your stash of strong drink. To pay you back, therefore (since nothing is got for nothing, not even salvation; which wisdom I had to learn the hard way, as my forehead now proves), I will distract the guards for a few minutes, so that you two can leave and get back to your adventures. Don’t worry about me: I’ll stay behind gladly — I like it here. I prefer to live among my bovines. I’m a milkmaid, that’s my profession: I worked long and hard to work my way up to the position of Tiptop Commander. So I’m not inclined to abandon this ship and swim to Happy Christmas Island; no: instead, I aim to excavate my way down into the hull of this vessel, where they keep all the cows — that’s the lower level where you two found yourselves roughly twenty minutes ago. Cuz I’m obsessed with warm milk, and tin pails; and I can’t get enough of commanding my fellow maidservants to labor harder and faster.”

The Cop and the Robber stand and stare blankly.

So the milkmaid commander comes up with an idea, after carefully observing how the elements of Winter respond to an emergency: She distracts the wind and the snow for an amount of time, which allows the Cop and the Robber to escape.

Thus the first escape is accomplished. However, like sneezes, escape scenes in daydreams usually arrive in twos. Therefore:

Later that afternoon, during roll call, it is discovered that only a third of the known inmates of Wintertime have not gone missing. But before any punishment can be meted out, the command-maid climbs to the top of the tallest grain silo and sings a German song, which lulls Old Madam Winter back to Hell where she belongs. It is then revealed that the Cop and the Robber are positioned nearby, in the Land of Chaos, and that they’re watching this part of the tale from their saddled beasts, Sin and Death (which the Robber stole from Milton’s Paradise Lost). So they take this opportunity to lower themselves from a porthole by a gold rope and flee.

Also note that the rope is braided from homemade hair.

Now that they’re out in the real world, the Cop & the Robber stop to visit a fast-food restaurant. The Robber grabs all the cash from the register, and the Cop assures the store’s manager that he shall hunt down the culprit of this crime & faithfully return everything that was stolen. When the two friends get outside the building, the Cop sez:

“I’m sad that you and I shall someday go the way of the aristocrats.”

“Yes,” sez the Robber, “we shall have to discover new ways to fit into society, once everything becomes computerized & digital, and there are cameras everywhere, so that spying is the norm rather than the exception.”

“That’s not what I meant,” sez the Cop.

Now the two friends run across the hills of the countryside, still mounted on the backs of their trusty beasts. They run really fast. The grass is green, and the mood is euphoric.

However, just as they break the tape at the finish line, the Robber’s vehicle gets a flat tire.

“You must have run over a nettle, which punctured the rubber,” the Cop hypothesizes. Then he berates his friend for bad driving.

The Robber answers with an impassioned barrage of insults. The two part ways.

*

Now, while the Robber gently weeps, the Cop is shown coming back from over the horizon. His form grows larger and larger as he approaches the camera, until he is towering and taking up the entire shot like a hero. We now realize that he is holding an air compressor in one hand and a tire-repair patch in the other hand.

The two are now partners again. They renew their friendship rites at the modest farmhouse of a German woman whom they meet while roaming the hillside.

Suddenly the echoes of the Lullaby that the Milkmaid Commander sang earlier to Lord Wintertime from the top of the Silo come haunting the Landscape. The German woman recognizes the tune & starts humming along. Her hum soon breaks into a glorious aria...

The commander-maid’s voice now fades in and harmonizes with the voice of the woman on the soundtrack. The Cop and the Robber stand shocked and perplexed: their eyes well with tears (the duet is too beautiful to behold unmoved).

Soon they discover that this German songstress is an ex-opera star. That explains the splendor of her singing. (Also, later, when the film’s credits are rolling, the Cop and the Robber notice that the same actor played both roles: the German cottage-owner AND the milkmaid commander. So that’s sorta interesting.)

*

But now a phalanx of troops from the U.S.A. appear marching over the countryside, shooting their guns randomly at everything in sight. The Cop and the Robber grow scared, and they retreat inside the cottage of the German woman. But the German woman stands proudly before her front door and refuses to hide from these boorish invaders.

“Leave this place,” she shouts. “This is a land for cows and bees; a land flowing with milk and honey. It is a simple place with just one German cottage. But here you appear, with your firearms and your so-called country music. You are disturbing me, and you are also disturbing my friends and my long-dead husband, with your military maneuverings. Why don’t you go and occupy Wall Street instead!”

Watching this speech from the windows of the cottage, both the Cop and the Robber fall in love with their German hostess. When she returns inside, they each deliver an impassioned speech in rhyming couplets of iambic pentameter, asking for her hand in marriage; and she accepts only the Robber. But she tries to let the Cop down easy, explaining that it’s nothing personal: she’s just “had enough of men”; for her last beau was a brute; & she raises her shoulders and adds, in a gentle singsong: “I only fancy misses, now, you see?”

So the Cop slouches out of the cottage in a somber manner. He looks up and notices that his own vehicle has four flat tires now. So he begins to patch them; yet, lo! as he’s kneeling there, he notices nearby on the ground that his beast has given birth to a masculine heir. So this kinda makes up for the rejection of his love-poem in the preceding scene.

The last shot shows the Sad Cop riding his refurbished mount into the snow-covered valley. The frame slowly zooms out to reveal, in silhouette, the newborn and his ex-partner’s beast both tethered to his own. Finally the U.S. soldiers are shown to be loitering in the foreground, casually firing off rounds at random.

*

When the lights come on in the theater, the milkmaid commander who requested this story’s telling proves be fast asleep. But the rest of the audience of maidservants seem willing, even eager, when I ask them if they wouldn’t mind filling out a very brief survey, to provide some feedback about the above masterpiece. And once they’ve all finished scribbling their opinions, I collect them and read them. The average response, which is almost unanimous, is that the story was pretty good, but a little too long.