White Rabbit Chapter 7

7.

Woodrow gulped and it was clear that he felt sorry for the girl as he went from being her escort to her inept furry legal-aid. He wouldn’t make a good attorney, so in that respect it was good that he was born a woodchuck because there is not a single woodchuck attorney living today, neither in the over or the underworld. That sort of thing doesn’t interest them. “Sir,” he said boldly but nervously, “If it pleases you, I beg you to reconsider, maybe?”

“Reconsider?!” The Priest responded discordantly. It was as though he was that jazz radio jockey and someone requested Paul Simon. He furiously hung on nearly every syllable. “Did you not see what happened here?! Was it not clear to you that I considered the girl and found her to be Torgan and not Ethereal?!” Delores didn’t know what Ethereal meant, or where it was, but she was quite she would prefer it over being Torgan.

“But, Father, I am good!” She pleaded. “I have not sinned severely. I haven’t had sex even. I am a virgin for chrissake! What have I done to deserve to be Torgan?”

The Priest responded angrily. “Girl, it is not what you have done! It is what you will do! Or rather, what you would have done if you were given the opportunity.” The goblins lined up single-file and disappeared one by one under his white robe disturbingly.

“Punished for sins I’ve yet to commit?!” She replied defensively. Woodrow tugged her dress to warn her not to say anything more. He knew that The Priest could engulf them both in flames, or rip their souls out and throw them in the box where people deemed not worthy of being judged go. Torga is too good for those people. Or, if he was feeling creative he could call down a hungry horde of locusts and watch them devour the two in the name of the Lord. Anything done in the name of the Lord is pleasurable and good. Woodrow had heard of the terrible things The Priest had done to people and he could barely stand the thought.

The Priest said commandingly, “Woodchuck! Take her to the docks, post haste!” In his anger, he had swollen up in size and was comparably as huge as one of those giant inflatable apes car dealers put on top of their dealership holding signs that say, ‘MEGA DEALS!’ But then he deflated when Woodrow, who was scared for his very soul, agreed to do so, and do so immediately. Woodrow pulled Delores out of the church quietly explaining the danger to the impudent girl. The moon watched with his eyes half-shut fearful of what might become of his new girlfriend. He was an old pervert. The Priest began to softly hum with his eyes closed to calm himself back to regular shape and size. Then he grabbed a switch and retired to a private room for a good bout of self-flagellation. He would find that particular day’s lashing to be quite inadequate, so later he sacrificed a goat named Larry in the name of the Lord and slept like a baby.

Outside of the church, Delores began to weep inconsolably which made the moon weep and thus, it rained heavily. It felt like a dream from which she couldn’t wake. “This place is wretched! I want to go home!”

“There, there!” Woodrow consoled her. But then he began to cry, too.

“If you are upset,” she began between sobs, “that I am to be sent to Torgo—”

“Torga.” Woodrow corrected her.

“Well, whichever. But if so, why do you refuse to give me the password to go home?”

“I don’t know it.” Woodrow said wiping tears from his furry face. “I knew it yesterday and earlier today, but I suddenly don’t know it. You see, that is how things are around here. We only know what we are supposed to know, or need to know. Sometimes we know something but then it goes like that.” He snapped his fingers or whatever they are. “Sometimes it comes back and sometimes it doesn’t. If you ask me again in five minutes I may know it then, but I don’t know it now.”

“That is ludicrous.” She cried. The trio stopped bawling.

“Maybe,” Woodrow agreed, “but not without purpose. There is a purpose that I don’t know it now, because if I knew it I would tell you so you could go home. Thus, I have to believe there is a purpose why you are here. Only one person knows the magic words all of the time.”

“Who is that?” Delores asked hopefully.

“He that created this place, of course.” Woodrow replied.

“Well, where could I find him?” Naively she looked around as though there might be an office that said, ‘Office of the Creator,’ or something so obvious. Or maybe there was a map, one of those “you are here” maps that would lead her to him.

“No one knows who he is. He takes different forms at different times so to keep everyone honest. But you see he created this place and if ever he is revealed he will be killed by the Torgans.”

Her tears and sorrow were all but gone, fleeting things, in interest of the story. “But if he created this place why doesn’t he erase the Torgans?” She inquired eagerly. Woodrow scratched his furry confused head before remembering the answer. Quick questions perplexed him because even though he was a talking woodchuck in pants, he was still a woodchuck and his brain was the size of a boiled egg and ran like an Apple computer from 1986.

“The Torgans are a part of his subconscious. They cannot be erased. Sometimes they are more agreeable than other times, but generally they are assholes who go around and do nothing but rotten things just for kicks. They are not his expressed thoughts but rather his latent ones that are accentuated with misery and heartache. Legend says that when he falls in love and it sticks they will be banished, but thus far, that hasn’t happened. We believe that the wars waged by the Torgans are because of break-ups he had with women who turned out to be terrible monsters in the other dimension.”

“The other dimension?”

“Simply,” Woodrow explained, “What happens here is a result of what happens there.” He pointed up toward the moon, meaning in the overworld. When he noticed the moon was listening he picked up a rock and threw it at him but the rock came back and nearly hit him. “Shew! Damn you!”

“Bizarro.” Delores exclaimed in regards to the creator and the other dimension. Her mind nearly sizzled thinking of it before she was distracted by Woodrow who was throwing another rock unsuccessfully upwards. “Why is that you hate the moon so terribly?” She asked.

“My wife was eaten by moonlight. Mr. Curious, up there, was watching her one night when the warthog used his light to spot and eat her. So anything moon-related I deplore—songs, movies, books, moonshine, everything!”

“I am sorry.” Delores said before swiftly shifting gears back to her fate. “What will happen to me in Torga?”

“I don’t know.” The woodchuck answered impotently. He didn’t know for sure and though he had heard stories he forgot everything in the moment so he couldn’t even offer her some rumors.

“Will I die?” She asked.

Woodrow kept quiet for a moment walking along a wooded path with the girl in the general direction of the docks. Delores just noticed that the woodchuck carried a bow and arrows across his back like Robin Hood, she thought. The moon went away. It knew when it wasn’t wanted. The path was darker but the moonlight in the outlying area made it possible to see enough to get along. And the stars were bright like Christmas tree lights and seemed as though they hung on strands from the treetops. If Woodrow hadn’t liked Delores he would have told her, “Yes, if you are lucky.” Or, “No, it will be far worse than death.” But he couldn’t quite remember what he had heard, though he knew that a terrible and cruel fate certainly awaited her. But instead of being grim he was purposefully vague like a fortune cookie that says, “Well, at least the weather will be nice…”

“Um, I’m sure it isn’t as bad as they say. You know,” he said suddenly peppy, “nothing ever is!”

“Will you come with me?” She asked frightened. She just realized that he was wearing a belt that looked like a shoelace. He adjusted it nervously as they walked pulling his trousers up and back down needlessly.

“Well, um, I have things to do in the between world of Katerin.”

“Katerin?” She repeated.

“Yes. That is where we are now. It’s not Torga and it’s not Ethereal, but I have a job and—”

“Please?” She begged.

“I can only take you as far as the docks.” He replied doggedly. “I am sorry. I can’t go with you, Delores. No one that goes,” he paused stepping in his words, “ever comes back.” He regretted telling her that; it slipped. “But I will make sure that you get a really nice boat!” he added happily atoning for his bleakness.