bobdylan5

All right kiddies, I've kept you waiting long enough...here's the next installment of my novel. Are you not entertained?


What do you meantake Lee said, as they started toward the turnstiles.
You knowthem panhandlers is
As if he were overhearing Mrs. Robinson, a very dirty man wearing a long navy blue coat materialized and tried to block their way.
Stereo? he said. From the folds of his coat, the man pulled out a hi-tech audio system with turntable, CD changer, cassette playereven speakers, which dangled from the console like oblong Christmas ornaments. Plasma TV? he said. Immediately the stereo disappeared back into his coat and a flat-screen television replaced it. Microwave? the man said, dipping back into his coat.
We dont need anything todaythank you, Mrs. Robinson said, pushing the man out of the way and grabbing Lee by one arm.
What the Lee said.
Stupid panhandlers jes aint happy with possessions. Not like you and me, Mrs. Robinson said, touching her toboggan cap. Now cmon. We really gots to catch that train.
Yeahbut to where? Lee asked.
South. Thas all I know. Thas good enough for now, Mrs. Robinson sniffed. Nowwe need tickets. You got tickets on you? she asked. They were standing in front of one of the four turnstiles that divided the train station neatly in half. Beyond that, Lee could see the stairs that led to the various platforms and trains.
Lee fished in his jean pockets, shook his head. No, I guess I must have left my fare cards back at my apartment.
Fare cards! Mrs. Robinson growled. We dont need no stinkin fare cards, to coin a phrase. What we want is tickets.
Yeah, so we can ride Lee agreed.
No. So we can get through the turnstiles. And I tell you, those turnstiles are really discriminatin these days. They wont take nothin less than a orchestra seat for Annie Get Your Gun.
Theatre tickets? The turnstiles take theatre tickets?
Yeah.
Since when?
Since one man stepped out of the chorus and dared to defy the gods by openin his big fat mouth. Thats since when. We better step aside until I can rustle up some tickets. Theres a line startin to form behind us. Once again, Mrs. Robinson grabbed at Lees arm and pulled him over to one side. Lee watched as a man hobbled past him. The man was walking with a great deal of difficulty, as he seemed to be wearing every piece of clothing that he owned. He had at least eight hats balanced on his head: a sombrero, a homburg, a cowboy hat, a fedora, a shako, a leopard-skin pillbox, a firemans hat, and a beanie. He seemed to be wearing quite a number of suit jackets and pairs of pantsthey made him look like some kind of motley fat man. He was wearing a number of necktiessome of them carefully tied in neat Windsors and some of them dangling loosely from his neck.
Lee could not help but stare at the man. Even so, as with everything else that had happened that morning, he wasnt too amazed. Just ever so slightly curious.
Mrs. Robinson, how come that man has so many clothes on? he asked.
What? Mrs. Robinson was reaching into her sweat pants again, presumably in search of the theatre tickets that would allow them to pass through the turnstiles. She came up with several pieces of rectangular cardboard and stared at them. She shook her head.
No that wont do, she said. Tickets to the Whisperin Actors Repertory Theatre. They jes wouldnt like that. Too much whisperin goin on.
Whispering Actors Repertory Theatre? Lee said. He was still staring at the man wearing the motley collection of clothes, who by now was on the other side of the turnstiles, waddling uncomfortably toward the stairs that led up to the train platforms.
Yeah. Makes em think they is oh so serious, whispering every dang thing Bill Shakespeare ever wrote down. Phooey! Would you stop starin at that guy and help me look for tickets.
But why is he wearing so many clothes? Lee asked again.
Huh? Mrs. Robinson turned to squint at the fat man. Immediately, the ragtag collection of clothes that he had been wearing seemed to disappear. Lee blinked and the man was now dressed in a yellow sports shirt and blue slacks. He was also considerably slimmer.
How? Lee said.
Sometimes ya have to know what it is youre lookin for, before ya start lookin at it, Mrs. Robinson sniffed. Didnt they never teach you anything in school? O.K. I found two third row seats to Our American Cousin, in my cap. That ought a git us through these dang turnstiles
You did? Lee said. I didnt see
Jes because ya didnt see me pull em out, doesnt mean they aint there. What did I say bout lookin for things? She reached up under her blue toboggan cap and produced two white theatre tickets. Lee could see the legend Our Amerikan Cosin, printed on one of the tickets, in a loping black cursive. Cmon, she said, pulling Lee forward toward the turnstile. There was a small slot, about eight inches wide in a kiosk next to the turnstile, and Mrs. Robinson jammed the tickets into this slot. They disappeared as if they had suddenly been sucked up by a vacuum cleaner.
Goody! Our American Cousin, the turnstile gurgled. Love that show! Especially the part where Abraham Lincoln breaks his leg when leaping to the stage
Nobody cares what ya think about it, Mrs. Robinson snapped. Jes let us through.
All right, the turnstile gurgled. Dont get testy. Have a nice day.
Mrs. Robinson slid her enormous girth through the turnstiles, motioning for Lee to follow.
Thanks for the tickets, the turnstile called after them.

Southsouth. We needs the southbound train, Mrs. Robinson sang.
Lee wasnt listening. He was staring at a large placard that had suddenly materialized in front of him, about six inches from his eyes. It just hovered there in the air, not attached to anything. There were words on the placard that appeared to be written in the same loping black cursive that had been on the theatre tickets.
Mrs. Robinson
Jes read it, Mrs. Robinson sighed. Dont know why I have to tell ya every little silly thing.
So Lee read it.
Too Hoo It Mae Koncern:
Please Refrane From Riding This Trane
If yoo r under six inches tall
Think you may be under six inches tal
In the immediate futur or past
Do not have a backbone
Think yoo mae not have a backbone
In the immediat futur or past
Have cloisterphobia
Angerphobia
Alluraphobia
Hyper-Angerphobia
Hyper-Alluraphobia
Whooping Crane Cough
A tendency to spontaneoosly combust
Exploding teeth or
Any other exploding body parts
Non-linear motshun sicknes
A Pet Thylacine

All right. Thats enough, Mrs. Robinson said. The only thing I think ya got is a tendency to ask way too many questions. This way.
Mrs. Robinson directed Lee toward one of the stairways. There was a sign on the wall there with a black arrow pointing upward. Beneath that were the words: South-Bound Trains.
Cant get any simpler than that, said Mrs. Robinson.

The train chugged into the station, just as Mrs. Robinson and Lee reached the platform. As Lee had observed before, each car looked like an automobile car from the early 1900s or thereabouts, like a Pierce-Arrow or something like thatnot anything that could possibly be seen chugging along on an elevated train platform.
How is everybody going to get inside that? Lee thought, looking around at the huge crowd that was surging forward on the platform.
By goin through the doors. How else? Mrs. Robinson said. Lee had almost forgotten that she could read thoughts.
And write em too, if Im pressed, Mrs. Robinson said. Lets not forget bout that.
The train came to a stop and, simultaneously, the doors opened. A number of older men jumped out of the cars, each of them dressed identically in striped green pants and white shirts with paisley suspenders. They were each carrying white sticks, about a foot long or so, that they started to wave frantically above the heads of the would-be passengers.
Train conductors, Mrs. Robinson muttered.
All aboard! the train conductors yelled in unison. This is the southbound train. This is the southbound train goinguh, south. Lee noticed that the train conductors were not only dressed the same, they seemed to be, as far as he could tell, the same exact personsame shock of white hair, same grizzled face adorned with the same salt-and-pepper walrus moustache, same gold pocket watch hanging on a gold chain from a breast pocket of their white shirts. The same.
Theyre the same Lee said.
Corse they are, Mrs. Robinson said. Job dont require much in the way of variety.
All aboard! the conductors shouted again.
Lee felt himself being pushed forward by the surging crowd on the platform, forward toward the extremely small space of the car in front of him.
Mrs. Robinson Lee said, a genuine note of panic in his voice. They were certain to be crushed. There just wasnt enough room for everybody!
Relax, honey, said Mrs. Robinson. Ya wont be crushed. Bruised, probably. Compacted, yes indeed. But not crushed. Not on the southbound train.
The bodies of people were pressed tightly against his own, everywhere, on all sides. The mass of people moved forward. For a second, Lee lost sight of Mrs. Robinson.
Mrs. Robinsonhelp! Lee said.
Whats the matter? Whats all the ruckus?
Lee suddenly discovered that he was inside the train, sitting down! Mrs. Robinson was seated next to him on a long wooden pew. There were quite a number of these pews arranged in rows inside the train, all full of people now sitting nonchalantly, waiting for the train to start moving.
How did wewerent we? Lee said.
We were. And now, were here, Mrs. Robinson said.
But how did we get here? Lee asked.
How do ya usually get in the train? Ya walk through the doors and sit down. A series of contiguous events. Or maybe not. It dont matter honey. Jes sit back and enjoy the ride. Now, where did I puts my knitting? She reached up under her toboggan cap and produced the knitting needles from earlier but this time, instead of the scarf, she extracted a large piece of cloth that looked like some kind of medieval banner. It was emblazoned with a variety of figures: a giant stag frolicking in the woods, a pale maiden in a long flowing blue dress, a castle with turrets and a drawbridge.
Lee didnt ask. He contented himself with looking around the interior of the train car. It was considerably larger on the inside, that was for certain. It appeared to be about eighteen feet in length, with a door at each end that Lee presumed led to the adjoining car. The walls were made of some dark wood, mahogany or something like that, with elaborate scrollwork everywhere: ornate carvings of foxes and grape clusters
Aint foxesthylacines, Mrs. Robinson said, not looking up from her knitting.
There were windows in the train, but Lee couldnt look out them. There were heavy muslin blinds over every single one and they all appeared to be down.
And dont be messin with those blinds. We dont want the train not to run properly.
How can looking out the window make the train not run properly? Lee asked.
Oooh boy. The things ya dont know wouldnt fit on the Great Wall of Tibet. Ya never heard of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle? No, course ya havent.
Lee admitted that he hadnt.
Wellsimply puthere at the quantum level, ya can know only one thing with any certainty bout a particle. Ya can know either A. its speed or B. its location. The more ya know bout one, the less ya know bout the other. Well here, on the train, were only interested in speed. Uniform speed. That is til we get somewhere. Then wes all bout the location, ya see.
Lee didnt see at all, but he simply added it to the list of things that had confounded him during the course of the morning. He went back to looking around the train car. There were about thirty or forty people seated or standing waiting for the train to start. Lee noticed that they were all dressed in the same confused profusion of clothes that the fat man from earlier had been dressed in. One man, standing in the aisles, was wearing about eighteen ties around his neck, at least three suit jackets of varying length, and what appeared to be swimming trunks and tennis shoes. A woman in one of the aisle seats seemed to be wearing, simultaneously: a hoop skirt, a belly shirt, several hundred necklaces, pince-nez glasses, and a Robin Hood-type hat balanced precariously on a bouffant hairdo.
Seeing, Mrs. Robinson said sharply. Seeing.
So Lee closed his eyes. He imagined that the woman was Marilyn Monroe from The Seven Year Itch, dressed in that tight white dress with the seemingly alive pleated skirt. When he opened his eyes, it was so. There was Marilyn Monroe in all her platinum blonde glory, laughing coyly as some invisible wind blew her skirt up toward her thighs.
This is fun, Lee thought.
Knittings better, Mrs. Robinson said. But to each his own.
Next, Lee focused his attention on a man who was wearing leather chaps, a hula skirt, and an old-fashioned motorcycle helmet and goggles.
A fireman, I think, Lee said, closing his eyes.
When he opened them, Lee saw a fireman sitting there, wearing a big red helmet and raincoat, an axe clutched in one beefy paw, a newspaper in the other.
Fun.
I hope this train gets a move on soon, Mrs. Robinson said. Weve been sittin here an awful long time. From under her toboggan cap she produced a brass alarm clock with silver bells on top of it and proceeded to shake it, as if she were mixing a martini. Sometimes, ya jes have to stir things up a little bit
Lee didnt care that the train hadnt started moving yet. He was more interested in his new powers. He focused on a man in front of him who seemed to be wearing earmuffs, a dunce cap, a powdered wig, and neck brace.
Abraham Lincoln, I think, Lee thought, closing his eyes.
When he opened them, the car was in chaos.
Assassin! a man on the other side of the car shouted. Murderer! Police! Police!
The man that Lee had successfully reimagined as Abraham Lincoln was now bounding down the aisle of the train, his stovepipe hat flying off his head, his long legs flailing. Quite a number of passengers were trying to grab him as he attempted to make his escape.
Entropy police! Entropy police! someone shouted.
Oh, honey, what have ya done now? Mrs. Robinson said quietly, laying her knitting in her lap.
Abraham Lincoln managed to make it to the forward door of the train, even though a man had an arm around his thin waist and two women were pulling on the tails of his silk coat. At that moment the door opened, and two men entered the compartment of the train. They were dressed like Keystone Cops: same long blue coats and blue hats. They had shiny silver badges on their chests and droopy handlebar moustaches. They were carrying nightsticks.
Halt! one of the cops said.
Abraham Lincoln, the other one said, producing a pair of handcuffs from his greatcoat. Abraham Lincoln, you are under arrest for the murder of our beloved 18th president, John Wilkes Booth. Will you come quietly, or will you comenoisily? he said, a trace of menace coming into his voice.
Noisily, I think, Abraham Lincoln said, surging forward and butting one of the policemen in the stomach with his now hatless head.
Oomph, said the policeman, clutching his stomach and falling to his knees.
Ummmph, said the other policeman, doing likewise, even though Abraham Lincoln had gotten nowhere near him.
Really honey, ya should try thinkin before ya think, Mrs. Robinson said, a little more quietly than before.
Abraham Lincoln now bounded through the open door and out on to the platform. He turned back to look at the policemen, still on their knees in pain.
Sic semper tyrannis, Lincoln said, leering. Suddenly he was whisked into the air by some unseen force. Lee saw his long ungainly legs kick up up and away.
Sic semper tyrannis! he screamed, as he went flying.
I think the train may be moving, Mrs. Robinson said, dryly.

Names Officer Argon, said one of the Keystone Cops, bringing his shiny silver badge about an inch from Lees eyes.
Officer KryptonEntropy Police, said the other cop, proffering his badge as well.
Lee didnt know what entropy police were. All he knew was that the cops were standing right there in front of him, looking at him accusingly through slitted eyes.

(To Be Cont.)