The Peaceful Affair: Chapter 36
“How did things go with de la Fesse yesterday?” asked Antoine Cent Eccent, who was busily arranging his album of drawings.
“The general showed a regrettable tendency toward collapsibility,” replied Victor, taking a minute sip from his lucky cap of coffee. The two were seated in Cent Eccent’s kitchen.
“Do you think he’ll accept the peace deal?” questioned Cent Eccent, debating whether the sketch he was holding should go under “sheep” or under “boxes with holes”.
“It’s too early to tell,” said Victor bluntly.
ACE finally placed the drawing under “ships”. “It may soon be too late, you know,” he said seriously. “We’re running out of time.”
“I know,” Victor admitted his being abreast of current reasons for unrest. “Events do seem to be closing in on us.”
ACE set aside the album. “So we must close in on our next target without delay,” he concluded gravely.
Carry Ling had started at the bottom, on the ground floor of NNN’s building, where she had begun her career as a receptionist. After a year of intensive phone answering, when she’d become wont to wake up in the middle of the night and ask her lesser half, “Good morning, you’ve reached No-Nonsense Network, how may I help you?”, she’d bumped into Choo Choo Bang on her way back from lunch. As a result of the collision Ling had spilled her beans all over the up-and-coming game-show host’s pink tuxedo, and had been left standing lunch-less and — so she’d thought — jobless. Happily, Ling’s fairy grandmother — Selma Rosenschein — had happened to be in the neighborhood, and so the young woman had been hired by Bang as his personal assistant. Over the years the up-and-coming host had turned into a down-and-going roast, while Ling had become the network’s number-one star. These days she could write her own ticket, and often indulged herself in doing so; particularly on trains.
“Ten seconds, Carry,” sounded the producer’s voice in Ling’s earpiece.
The show — broadcast live — was about to begin. “Three … Two … One …” counted the producer. “You’re on.”
“Good evening to all our viewers,” began Ling with the traditional opening, adding her winning household smile, “and welcome to Tourney General, the fastest, vastest, most general game in town.”
She waited for the in-studio audience’s applause to peter out, and continued. “Tonight we have two very special contestants on our show. Please welcome our first contender, General Private General, Commander-in-Chief of our campaign against Canada and Britain.” The general trotted in and took the white king-shaped chair to the right of the emcee’s pink queen-shaped seat.
“Private, may I call you Private?” began Ling with the usual pre-game claptrap, and continued without waiting for a response. “I hear you collect stamps. That must be fascinating.”
“I do indeed, Carry,” confirmed General in a jovial tone befitting the occasion.
“Isn’t that dangerous?” asked Ling in a low voice.
“ ‘The secret of reaping the greatest fruitfulness and the greatest enjoyment from life is to live dangerously!’ ” answered General quotingly.
“Bugs Bunny?” advanced Ling.
General returned the advance. “Friedrich Nietzsche.”
“Another cute bunny,” commented Ling, emitting one of her domestic smiles. “I hear you have some rare items in your collection.”
“You’re quite right, Carry,” responded the general. “I’ve this one stamp that says ‘fragile’ in French, which I obtained years ago when stationed in France.” He bent forward in Ling’s direction, and added quietly, “The manner by which this item was acquired involves a commando raid on the French post office. It’s too soon to go into the details; the world is not yet ready. In fact, this entire operation has been stamped ‘top secret’ by a stamp I acquired during — ”
Ling turned away from the garrulous general and leaned toward the camera. “Thank you, Private. Let’s now welcome our second competitor, General Lion Nap, Commander-in-Chief of our campaign against France.” Accompanied by the standard round of applause, the general entered and took the black king-shaped chair to the left of the emcee.
Ling turned to her left and said, “Lion, may I call you Lion? I hear you collect berets. That must be fascinating.”
“It’s baguettes, Carry,” corrected Nap amiably.
“Oh, must be a typo,” remarked Ling calmly, and shot a family smile in an offstage direction. “Heads will roll,” she whispered. Ling’s staff had a hard time keeping their individual heads, but to the woman’s credit it must be admitted she had not let stardom go to her own head.
“I have this one baguette I obtained at a wild bakery in Kenya,” began Nap. “It’s an incredible story. You see — ”
“Thank you, Lion,” interjected Ling warmly, “but we’re out of hogwash time. Let’s begin with the game!” She let the audience have a moment to itself, perchance to laud, perchance to applaud; but the audience returned the moment in its original wrapping, to be reimbursed in full. The traditional drums beat for a few seconds to mark the beginning of it all.
“As per custom, we’ll begin with a quick round of general questions,” explained Ling. “If you know the answer — buzz the buzzer.” She took hold of a batch of colorful cards, gazed left and right to make sure the competitors were still there, and shot the breeze. “How many army generals does it take to change a lightbulb?”
Buzz.
“Private!”
“None. According to the Supreme Court’s ruling in the case of Light vs. Dark Brown only the air force can change a lightbulb.”
“Correct!” cried Ling, and moved on to the next question. “How many lightbulbs does it take to change a general?”
Buzz.
“Again, Private!”
“Seven. One to hold his hand, and six to help him see the light.”
“Correct!” called Ling. “And we’re done with the general questions. Let’s see where the score stands.” She glanced at the scorebird perching on her shoulder and announced, “Private: one hundred and seven points; Lion: nine thousand, seven hundred and fifty-six points.” A humble round of applause emanated from the audience.
The camera zoomed in on Ling. “Now for our next event: giving orders. Each contestant has to make a single teenager obey orders. We’ll begin with Lion since he’s in the lead.”
General Nap rose from his seat and stepped over to a nearby stage on which stood a mock living room, complete with couch, potato, and television set. A deadpan youngster was slumped on the couch watching TV.
Nap assumed a general posture and began his tirade. “Stop watching TV right this instant! Go up to your room and clean up the mess! Finish your homework!” The couch, potato, and television set were now standing at attention. “Don’t talk to your mother like that! Promise me I’ll never catch you smoking again!” At this last command the teenager turned his head languorously a full half-inch, and said in a well-nigh inaudible voice, “Sure man, you’ll never catch me again.” Nap went back to his king-shaped chair and collapsed.
“Excellent, Lion, excellent!” cried Ling animatedly. “A full seven points! Your turn, Private.”
General walked over to the teenager, pointed a finger at him, and began his diatribe. “Get up! Go to your room! Don’t do your homework! Get your cigarettes! Take my car! Hang out with those dropouts! Don’t come home before two o’clock in the morning!” The youth was up in no time, running about and following the general’s orders to the letter. Surrounded by a sea of applause, General walked back to his seat and took it triumphantly.
“Fantastic, Private. Fantastic!” exclaimed Ling gleefully. “What a resourceful general. We don’t get many of those on the show, do we?” “Nooooo,” cried the audience in unison. “Let’s take a look at the scorebird,” continued Ling, and checked the beast. “Holy Network! What a seesaw. The score is now, Private: one point; Lion: two points.”
All of a sudden a look of consternation appeared on the emcee’s face, and she began tapping her earpiece with Nap’s right index finger. “What? What? Okay, I understand.” She raised her head to face the camera, and spoke sternly. “It seems that due to a malfunctioning ad-monisher we’ve missed thirty-nine commercial breaks, which we’ll take now. Don’t go away — we’ll be right back.”
Back from the break two hours later, Ling woke up the snoring generals to continue the show with much gusto. “And now for our next event: ballroom dancing!” Wings of magic appeared out of somewhere and whisked away the backdrop painting by van Gosh, Generals and Sunflowers. Ling, Nap, and General found themselves in the ballroom of Heidi’s Hiding Palace.
The place was awash in colors and gaiety, with scores of beautifully robed couples swirling and twirling in the dancing light. The three stood up and descended the platform that bore their seats; the small dais was immediately spirited away by a team of industrious dragon cadets.
“Don’t just stand there and gawk,” sounded an energetic voice. “Dance! Dance!”
“Hello, Prince,” said Ling and extended her hands.
The prince ignored her hands in favor of a humungous hug. “Carry! What a pleasure! What a pleasure!” The audience applauded handsomely, thus expressing much delight at the cheerful squeezing noises.
Three kilograms lighter, metrically speaking, Ling coughed weakly and motioned the generals to join the party. Nap strode purposefully over to a damsel in distress, bowed generally, and extended an invitation. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”
The lady jumped at the invitation. “Tank you, tank you. Dis stress is too much.” She and the invitation headed toward the center of the floor, and began to swirl and twirl like two peas in a pod. Nap wasted no time in continuing his invitation-extending tour of duty.
General headed straight for the king’s daughter, a pimply lioness who was standing beside a shy corner, vigorously wiping her thick glasses. “Dance?” he asked curtly. “Rrr,” roared the princess in return, meaning the general was to get the lioness’s share.
“Maestro!” cried General and raised the issue, two fingers, and some funds, at which the orchestra began playing Beauty and the Beast. The ensuing dance was nothing short of moving.
After several minutes of enchanted moves, the dragon cadets whisked back the platform and backdrop painting. Ling, Nap, and General regained their seats, amidst shouts from the prince, “Come back any time!”
“That was fun,” said Ling, looking somewhat puffed. “Let’s check the score. Oh my, we have a tie! Private: seventeen; Lion: seventeen. This is so exciting! I can hardly remember — ” She stopped talking and scratched her nose for several minutes, all the while discharging family smiles at the camera.
“Ah,” Ling finally ahed, “I remember. It’s the big moment you’ve all been waiting for! It’s — ”
“ABACO!” cried the audience exultantly.
“Yes!” called Ling. “Our final event: Appearing Before A Congressional Committee.” Beside her the two generals visibly tensed up.
Several stern politicians entered through a small entrance to the left of the stage, and took seats behind a long table. The chairman swore the two contestants in and began the interrogation without an instant’s delay. “General Nap, may I refer you to the events that took place on May 3rd of this year, when several monkeys under your command infiltrated a formerly friendly banana republic. A failed operation that has since resulted in a total banana split. If it please this panel I’d like to …” His voice faded as the audience turned down the volume.
After three grueling hours, when Nap and General had all but collapsed, the bell signaling the end of the show clanged, at which the politicians got up and left wordlessly.
“Let’s thank the gallant men and women of Congress,” said Ling, and applauded along with the audience. “Now it’s time to see who’s won tonight’s game!” She ruffled the scorebird’s feathers, and announced, “Private: four thousand points; Nap: a demotion to captain and another appearance on the show. It seems we have a winner!” Ling took hold of General’s left hand and raised it, as they both rose to a standing position in which one’s body is held vertically erect. As per tradition the two marched off the stage to shake hands with the audience. The audience said, “Thanks, I’ve had a lovely time,” picked up her purse, and hurried back home to feed her cats.
Turning toward the camera, Ling said, “Thank you for being with us, and don’t miss our next show of … Tourney General!” The closing credits began to dash on the screen, as Ling dashed to meet a dashing young private. She liked to get away from the general hubbub after the show.
General General entered the underground parking lot striding like a noncommissioned peacock, an aura of triumph trailing close behind him. As he walked up to his car someone came out of the shadows.
“Psst, General, good show,” said the man, who was wearing a gray hat and a gray trench coat.
“Who are you?” asked the startled general.
“I’m Victor.”
“Victor?”
“ACE sent me.”
The general was fast losing his patience. “What do you want?”
“You like to win, don’t you?” asked the man.
“Does the pope love soap?” snapped General and ordered, “Get to the point!”
The man flung open his coat to reveal an impressive array of hanging items. “I can offer you a winning deal like none you’ve ever seen.”
Piqued, the general’s interest jumped onto his left eyebrow and asked, “What kind of a deal?”
The man looked left, right, and left again; in a hushed voice he then said, “A peace deal.”
“How did it go?” asked Antoine Cent Eccent as he started the engine.
“Peacefully,” replied Victor.
The two exchanged a meaningful look, which — unbeknownst to them — had not escaped Lipps’ notice. As the car sped off, the heavenly operative removed her backseat costume and went to call up her boss.
