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"Tolkien with Tits."
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| Over the last few years I have been watching Leslie
What blossom from a nice little comic talent into a great big scary comic talent. --Damon Knight |
Leslie What is a retired performance artist and maskmaker, and her What Lunch Enterprises art giveaways -- which include the popular "Nix on a Stick," the miniature bearskin rug and the "Xmas Stocking For the Weird" -- have befuddled recipients at cons across the nation. She is also a prime mover behind Gonzo Con, an evolving virtual con "for the rest of us."The author of short stories and humorous essays published in a number of commercial and small press magazines, Leslie is also a journalist who has written for The Writer, The Eugene Weekly, Biblio and other publications. More challengingly -- way challengingly -- she ghosted the memoirs for a survivor of the Warsaw Ghetto and wrote a narrative script from those memoirs, The Ralph Schifberg Story, which was televised on PBS.
Leslie's novel MAGIC AFOOT, a heartfelt romp in the tradition of Thorne Smith, examines the differences between illusion and reality. She is now beginning a picaresque post-feminist urban fantasy.
For seven centuries The Piper and his one-hundred children have lived at the center of the world, in a cave inside the mountain overlooking Hameln. The cave is dark and ever-moist, with air that reeks of mold, of unwashed bodies, of excrement from toddlers who will always stay toddlers. The youngest children constantly complain of boredom; they crash into the walls like confused bats. The teens act increasingly insolent and dour. Not one of the inhabitants could say that he was truly happy, especially The Piper, who rues the day when he demanded his due.
"Why must I continue to put up with these beasts?" moans The Piper. The children, being children, do not listen. The Piper threatens to leave them, a hollow threat, for where would he go? The cave is the only home he has ever known; he doubts that he could exist for long in the world above ground. He is accustomed to living in darkness, accustomed to this place, where everything stays the same. Knowing that his lot will not improve without action he formulates a plan. "You little fools must all have mothers," says he. "Mothers who will care for you and fix your meals, bandage your scratches and lay cold cloths to your feverish heads. Mothers who will be stern, yet just, who will excel at discipline."
Alas, the dankness has left his pipe so warped it will not play, and he must leave his cave in search of the enchanted tree, the source of all his magic. From that tree he will fashion a new pipe. With that pipe he will entice scores of women to his enter into his service. The reward is great, yet he is filled with trepidation at the thought of leaving the sanctity of his cave.
One morning The Piper orders the eldest girl to fix breakfast for the others. The Piper walks toward the ring of light that surrounds the great rock door leading to the world above. He presses his shoulders against the door. Grunting, he heaves it open. He clambers onto the mountainside. There's a lightness to his step; for a moment he feels a sense of near joy. Children cursing at their lumpy oatmeal is the last thing he hears before the heavy door slips back into place.
He is as sick and tired of the bitter concoction as any of them, but they have long ago finished up the last of the rats, and there is nothing good to eat until he gathers up the nerve to march into the town and strike a bargain for food.
He has reason to fear he lacks bargaining skills.
His eyes burn and his skin itches from the heat of the sun. Beneath him, the ground shakes from some commotion within the cave. The Piper grinds his teeth, for even here he cannot ignore those rude beings on the other side of rock, who demand that their diapers be changed at once!
He scours the forest for the enchanted tree, impossible to view unless one faces the tree at just the right angle. When at last he spies the tree, he approaches, and bows down before it. He asks its permission to cut off a branch as thick as sausage. The air in the world above is warm and dry, a strong sulfuric odor from the factories hovers just above the town. Hurry, he tells himself, hurry. He fears he will be burned to dust if he remains much longer. The Piper traces his steps nearer to home, and crouches beneath an oak where he can watch the Weser Valley below. Curious, he thinks, how two worlds co-exist independent of one another. He pulls the leaves to dry for later use as tobacco, then takes out his knife to whittle and hollow out the branch.
Birds sing. A snake rustles the dry grass. A horsefly buzzes nearby, waiting its chance to land and sting him. These beasts do not distract him as they have in the past, for he is already distracted thinking of the children. He hates how their carrying on has affected his concentration. "Curse those horrid children," says he, spitting on the ground. How much better his life would be now had he but demanded a ransom for their safe return.
He alternates between a sense of dread and anticipation of going back to the cave. He steels his mind to finish carving his pipe. It will take some time for the wood to cure properly, but The Piper is too anxious to wait another day. He stands to play a few notes of the sweetest song the world has ever known.From "Mothers' Day"First published in Realms of Fantasy, Feb1997