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<p class='no-indent top-title'>Hans in the Land of Bards</p>
<p class='no-indent top-author'>Ali Almossawi</p>
<p class='no-indent top-illustrator'>Illustrated by Alejandro Giraldo</p>
<div class='mommy-people-like-me'>
<p class='no-indent top-endorsement'>
<span class='serif'>“</span>Imagine accidentally bumping into, and
understanding, key computing concepts as you read through a wonderful
adventure story. That is what you are about to do!<span class='serif'>”</span>
</p>
<p class='no-indent top-endorsement-by'>—Mark Surman, Internet Activist, Executive Director of the Mozilla Foundation</p>
</div>
<img class='cover-image' src='images/cover.png' alt='Hans in the Land of Bards by Ali Almossawi'>
<p class='no-indent authors-intro'>This is a story about an absentminded tailor and his quick-witted
accomplice who struggle to escape a land where things aren’t always what they seem. During the journey,
our protagonist is exposed to concepts that are ubiquitous in software, but whose usefulness extends beyond
that field. Much as in life, the lessons come in the form of ‘head fakes,’ which means that our protagonist
doesn’t realize at the time that he is learning anything of value. This work is dedicated
<a href='http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/3.0/'>to the creative
commons</a>. I hope you enjoy this opening part of the story.
<!-- <span class='authors-intro-signature'>—A. A., San Francisco, March 2015</i></span>-->
<div class='row'>
<div class='content col-xs-9'>
<div class='opening-padding'></div>
<p class='no-indent pic1-link'><span class='opening-letter'>T</span>hey say that one begins
to see dead relatives as one approaches the land of no return. So it was that Hans
found himself fending off his deceased Aunt Jennifer’s projectiles with a shield that looked
suspiciously like a bin lid.</p>
<p>“All I want is one fish stick,” he pleaded, but much as
in his childhood, his mother’s sister—now grown to the size of the Gorton man’s
fishing boat—stood between him and the innocent pleasures of his favorite lunchtime
treat.</p>
<p>“Eat your vegetables!” she roared, as she lobbed another enormous brussels
sprout at his face.</p>
<p>This was no way to spend eternity. Restrained from eating his
food item of choice. With whatever energy was left in him, which mind you wasn’t all that much,
Hans pried his eyes open and lifted his head. It was time to get moving.</p>
<p>The piscine mouth that had swallowed him whole only moments before had carried him
into the fish’s belly—a dark and humid cavern of a place, not too dissimilar to the
wretched hotel lobby where he had made the puffer fish’s acquaintance. To Hans’ cost, alas.</p>
<p>He was feeling distressed and figured that a two-day stay at the hotel on the hill would do
him good. At the very least, it would lessen his anxiety. Poor Hans worried about a lot of things.
But mostly, he worried about not having anything to worry about.</p>
<p>Hans shuffled along for several yards and then stepped out onto a soft patch of mud, freshly
pounded by an overcast sky that was in the early stages of relieving itself.</p>
<p class='pic3-link'>It was a rainforest. And a vast one at that, with lanky trees
for as far as the eye could see. An attention-seeking breeze shook the leaves in front of him, before
fraternizing with another bunch of leaves farther away.</p>
<p>“It can’t be done, mate. It simply can’t be done.”</p>
<p>A middle-aged man with a thick, black, almost Nietzsche-esque moustache, sat on
a rock, cheeks resting on the palms of his hands, eyes shut. His dark suit,
brownish homburg and matching leather briefcase lent him the appearance of a
businessman. And yet, the earplugs that he had placed firmly up his nostrils suggested
that he was perhaps a few chips short of a fish dinner.</p>
<p>“Hello there,” Hans said. The man did not look up.</p>
<p>“Interested in buying life insurance? Figured not.”</p>
<p>“Excuse me, do you, well, do you, I mean, are you from around here, by any
chance? I’m trying to find my way back to the hotel and I’m kind of lost.”</p>
<p>“You and me both, mate.” He let out a deep breath.</p>
<p>“Is there no way out?”</p>
<p>“Way out? Out of where?”</p>
<p>“Here. Whatever this place is.”</p>
<p>The man opened his eyes and looked at Hans. He blew his nose in a super-smooth,
cavalier sort of way. The earplugs popped out onto to the ground.</p>
<p>“Why on Earth would you want to leave? This is where blokes like us make
bumloads of bangers and mash, what with all of those wild cats and birds here, none
of whom—” He looked around to make sure no one else was listening and then beckoned
for Hans to get closer. “None of whom have any life insurance. Don’t you see what an
opportunity this is?”</p>
<p>“Why do you need me? Why can’t you do it by yourself?”</p>
<p class='footnote1-link'>“Because Mickey McCoy here is old and slow. Listen up, I’m telling
you, there are thousands of potential customers around here. If I could figure out how to get
to all of them by sundown, I’d be swimming in cash. But I keep passing by the same old faces.
The same old critters. All of whom have the short-term memory of a goldfish. I could really
use that clever-looking nut of yours.”</p>
<p>“I’m terribly sorry. Mr. Rogers is stopping by on Wednesday to pick up his suit
and I’ve yet to finish it. Also, there’s this whole being-swallowed-by-a-fish
business that I need to figure out.”</p>
<p>“Off with the blinkers!”</p>
<p>Hans raised his eyebrows. “Blinkers?”</p>
<p>“There’s more to a race than the finish line, son. Think about that. Let it sink
in.” Hans scratched the back of his neck. “But seriously, now. I’ve got these two deaf badgers
who need my Platinum Plan, only they don’t know it yet. You’re just the honest-looking bloke
to convince them of it. What do you say?”</p>
<p>“I can’t, Mr. McCoy. I do alterations and pick fabrics for people. I don’t know
the first thing about selling life insurance plans.”</p>
<p>It was then that McCoy leapt onto Hans, moustache and all. A starving tiger lunging towards an
unsuspecting antelope. He bodyslammed the hapless tailor onto the muddy Earth and held on tight.
“Don’t leave me, son. Stray from the well-trodden path. We’ll be rich.”</p>
<p>“Let go of me this instant, you maniac!” Hans screamed as he wiggled his way out of
McCoy’s grasp. When Hans’ arms broke free, he grabbed the moustache before him from either end and
tugged on that abomination until McCoy’s eyes teared up and he let out a desperate
moan. Like a constipated seal about to be a hero.</p>
<p>“You monster!” He caressed his compromised facial hair.</p>
<p>Hans got up on his feet and scurried away. He ran as fast as he could through the trees,
for what seemed like miles, pumped by pure adrenaline. The excitement would have kept him going
were it not for a massive brick gate that finally obstructed him. Beyond it, he made
out what seemed like a beach town. Perhaps he could rest there for a bit before
making his way back to that damned hotel. But then again, perhaps not. The things that Hans
desired were seldom within easy reach.</p>
<p>In front of the gate stood a man in uniform. Right next to him was a plaque,
etched into which were the words, IF CAPTAIN IS ABSENT, CAKE IS ON US. And right
under that was a single slice of red velvet cake.</p>
<p>“Ooh, it’s going to start burning soon,” the man said, pointing to the shower
cap on his head. “If it isn’t too much trouble, could you mark your name in this
book?”</p>
<p>He was a burly man with wide shoulders and a chest so large and flat that one
could easily cook a meal for four on it. His eyes, round and blood-soaked, were
twice the size of his head. His head was twice the size of his nose. His nose was
twice the size of his mouth.</p>
<p>“Chop chop. I don’t have all day. Name. Book. Now!” It was less a book and more
a collection of coffee-stained pages, barely held together with plastic tape. “I’d
do it myself if I could,” he continued. “Orders from above, alas.”</p>
<p>Hans opened the book to its first page and began scanning the entries one by one,
looking for his name. The letters, while mostly legible, were written in varying
sizes. The entries had no line breaks between them.</p>
<p>“I’m having a hard time reading these names,” Hans said. “Is there a reason why
they are written this way?”</p>
<p class='footnote2-link'>“Ooh, we only get the one pen and fifty-page pad a year, so we
optimize for space. Letters that have a higher probability of occurring are written using
less ink and are hence smaller in size.” The guard kept flicking his eyes from side to side,
as if to check on that solitary slice of cake.</p>
<p>“Come on, now! I’ll need to wash this lye out of my hair pretty
quickly. I got me a date tonight, you see. And my good looks and that scrumptious dessert
are my tickets to glory.”</p>
<p>“Adler, Aigner, Anderson,” Hans began reading in a soft voice.</p>
<p><i>Pop, pop, sizzle</i>. “Oh my, oh my,” the guard cried. A few puffs of smoke
emerged from underneath the shower cap.</p>
<p>“Andert, Andres, Antone,” Hans continued.</p>
<p><i>Sizzle, pop, sizzle</i>. “Oh no, oh no,” the guard whimpered. By now, fingernail
shavings were darting out of the sides of his mouth and piercing the board behind him.</p>
<p>“Give me your last name, boy.”</p>
<p>“Nemec.”</p>
<p>The guard grabbed the book, slammed it shut and then flipped it open to its
middle. He gripped it with his massive hands and began to slowly tear the book in
half, down the spine, as satisfyingly as one might peel an aging, bumpy scab. As
his turnip of a head emerged from behind the parting pages, he had a look on his
face that commanded respect, and eyes that spoke to Hans. Eyes that whispered, ‘This
is how I roll.’ He put some plastic tape along the edges of one of the halves and
handed Hans the bundle.</p>
<p>“They are sorted alphabetically. By last name.”</p>
<p class='footnote3-link'>Hans took the now smaller book and flipped through its pages
until he got to the Ns. Nemec, Nemec, Nemec. The squinting was doing his head in. It was
then that he heard a tremendously loud pop and witnessed a spectacular phenomenon of nature.
One that he had hitherto only heard of from travellers from far-away lands.</p>
<p>The guard’s entire head of hair stood up on all fours and flip-turned off the
man’s scalp and onto the ground!</p>
<p>“My hair! My silky smooth hair, all gone! All gone because of you,
you snail of a man!”</p>
<p>“I’m terribly sorry, it’s just that I’m a bit slow on the uptake,” Hans said,
trying to salvage the situation. The emasculated man’s countenance turned grim.</p>
<p>“Men, take him away—” Two guards approached Hans and held onto
his arms. “And blast that Seth Rogen laugh track into his ears.”</p>
<p>The guards froze in place. “Captain, he is but a boy,” one of them protested, as he ever
so slightly loosened his grip. “Solitary confinement is punishment enough.”</p>
<p>“Silence!” the captain replied, holding back his tears. “Let him suffer.” With
that, he buried his face in his hands and ran into the trees.</p>
<p>Hans turned to the velvet cake. “I suppose I can claim that slice now?” The guard to his left
replied with a smack upside the head.</p>
<p>If Hans wanted to stand any chance of getting out of this place, he had to stop making grown
men cry.</p>
<p></p>
<p class='no-indent'><span class='opening-letter'>J</span>oan’s disappearance was a tragedy
for her pet Macau. For everyone else, it was a non-event. <!-- Joan had had the misfortune of
achieving success at an early age, and was thus surrounded by --> Joan had had the misfortune of
being surrounded by people who didn’t really like her, but were around her, all the same.</p>
<p>The wild currents made the journey seem like it would never end. At long last, the boat came to a
halt on the sandy beach of an adjacent island. The guards climbed out of the boat and grabbed
Hans by the lapels as he followed suit.</p>
<p>A voice, apparently from the heavens, shook every bone in Hans’ body.</p>
<p>“Oy! Who are you!”
<p>It seemed too colloquial a phrase to be transcendent, although the ethnic
accent was swinging it a bit.</p>
<p>Hans opened his eyes to the sight of a gigantic head looking straight at him. For Hans,
there was nothing more terrifying than the thought, or in this case the sight,
of a gigantic head. His mother had informed him time and again, particularly
when she would find the need to summon her maternal weapon of choice, that the ginger-haired
boy had been born a single gigantic head, with little arms and feet sticking out of it.</p>
<p>Occasional spices included the observation that it was a miracle that Hans was able to make it
out of the birth canal without punching a hole through his mother’s bladder. Generally speaking,
the amount of embellishment depended on the chore that was being asked of the young boy.</p>
<p>Hans backed away, trying to make sense of where he was. The head belonged to a red-haired
woman in a beige dress. A woman whose eyes were as blue as the waves on which Hans had just
voyaged, and whose face was adorned with a band of freckles from one ear to the other.</p>
<p>“Careful,” she said. “Don’t move too fast or you’ll fall off.” Hans looked down. He
was standing on the edge of what seemed to be a giant leaf.</p>
<p>“Where am I? The last thing I remember is being on a boat and coming into
shore.”</p>
<p>“Cave, guards, boat, then being shot out of a cannon into this place, right?
Yeah, been there. It was a while back. I woke up and found myself on top of this
gigantic pitcher plant. I couldn’t think of a safe way to escape, so I stayed put,
living off of beetles, flies and, on a good day, nectar that’s high enough to reach.”</p>
<p>“What’s a pitcher plant?”</p>
<p class='pic4-link'>“Come here, look. Look into that abyss. Do you see that purple juice?”
Hans nodded. “That’s the belly of the beast. That cavity holds caustic liquid that the plant
uses to digest its prey. It lures unsuspecting insects by giving off a scent that
they recognize as yummy goodness. Once they get here, they’re only a slip away from
falling in, and then <i>adios</i>.”</p>
<p>“So for all this time you’ve been living on the edge of this dangerous plant?”</p>
<p>“Indeed I have. Escape is futile, what with the hard Earth beneath us and all
those other carnivorous plants salivating at the thought of gulping a morsel like
me whole. Not to mention that the giant <i>Powelliphantas</i>—deadly land snails to
you common folk—that live in and around this area are quite aggressive. And even if
I could jump onto that stem down there, I’d slip right off.”</p>
<p>“How did this one grow to be so big?”</p>
<p>“Beats me. By the way, my name is Joan,” she said as she offered Hans her
hand.</p>
<p>“It’s a pleasure. Hans. How did you end up here, Joan? Were you also swallowed by a
puffer fish in a fedora?”</p>
<p>Joan put one hand on her forehead and pressed her eyes shut, as though calling to
mind the events of a long time past.</p>
<p>“Well, I was in the vicinity of water. That’s for sure. I had just necked two
pints of Ovaltine and so I excused myself and went into the restroom. I must have
passed out there. I was at the peak of my career, you know. Unstoppable, ambitious,
confident. Arrogant, actually. Pride goeth before destruction, as they say.</p>
<p>“We threw this lavish reception in our college’s atrium in honor of Dr. Lee who
had just donated three million dollars for a new state-of-the-art entomology lab. I
was there one minute, all dressed up, wafting between immaculately groomed guests.
Then here. I stormed out of that cave and walked right up to the guards and gave them
an earful. As it turns out, they don’t take too kindly to candor.”</p>
<p>Hans bit his lips. “But there must be a way to get out. I do not suppose anyone would
want to spend the rest of his life here. Trapped in a cage with death. Granted,
it is pristine. But a cage, nonetheless.”</p>
<p>“True, things up here are a bit more discernible.” She twiddled her toes to
scare away a group of flies that were circling close by, then looked up.</p>
<p>“If you really want to escape, then there’s one way that might, that just might, work.
There are these Asian hornets that stop by every morning. They take a nibble of anything
that may be trapped in the liquid down below and fly off, with the plant none the wiser.
They’re quite dangerous and have a sting that’ll make even the mightiest of people weep.
The larger ones are usually less perceptive, though they are sedentary.</p>
<p class='pic4-zoom-link'>“So my idea is this. We find a way to lure one of those bigger hornets to the
plant, then once it has its nibble, you jump onto its backs and fly away to safety.
At the top of that mountain that’s shaped like a banker’s heart lives a popular man.
He will probably know how to get you off this island once and for all. Be wary of
his associate though, a man so cynical and whose words are so laden with subtext
that he has devolved into a sort of mandrill-like creature. He lives on maggots and
lice that he picks from his skin and endures a perpetual allergy to life. No fool
doth he suffer well!”</p>
<p>Looking towards the east at the mountain, Hans made out what seemed like, well,
what seemed like an eyeglass repair shop. “Is that a shop up there?”</p>
<p>“Indeed it is. That’s where the supposedly great man lives.”</p>
<p>The conversation had uplifted Hans’ spirits and lowered his guard. Emboldened,
he proceeded in an uncharacteristic manner. He was in uncharted territory. He had broken
new ground and anything could happen.</p>
<p>“Why does he live in an eyeglass repair shop? I suppose—“ Hans cleared his throat and
straightened his back. “I suppose it’s to blend in with the other shops in the area.” Hans
waited, but Joan did not laugh. He then waited some more. “Tell me, Joan, what makes him a great
man?”</p>
<p>“They say it’s because he is a thinker.”</p>
<p>“A thinker, you say. Well—umm—what exactly does he do?”</p>
<p>“He thinks, silly. Personally, I’m doubtful of that sort of thing. I don’t believe there are
any experts in life. Just people with different levels of self-doubt.”</p>
<p>“How do you suppose we’d be able to get one of those bigger hornets to approach
the plant?”</p>
<p>“By making the plant give off a stronger than usual scent. The word on the vine is
that the strength of the scent is a function of the vapidness of the feast on offer.”</p>
<p>“I guess the other question is how do we get the plant to eat something that
would give off that kind of scent?” Hans held his breath as he saw in Joan’s eyes what
it was she was contemplating. “Joan, you hardly know me.”</p>
<p>“Someone enters your life passingly and does something unexpected and you wonder
what would have become of you were it not for them. Life is ephemeral, Hans. I’d rather run
after death and grab it by the neck than surrender to it in old age.</p>
<p>“The hornets fly back home to the east after breakfast. Once you get to the
river with the giant lilies, jump onto them. They will cushion your fall. From
there, make your way to the mountain on the other side of the forest, then up to
the Thinker’s shop.</p>
<p>“The forest is full of deadly predators that come out at night looking for warm bodies
to stuff their bellies with. I can’t be certain of these details, but I have it on good
authority that they’re accurate. Those fireflies sure love to kick back and gossip every night.”</p>
<p>As kind as the offer was, Hans couldn’t accept it. “I’m terribly sorry,
Joan, but your idea seems a tad too extreme. How could I possibly live with
myself?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”</p>
<p class='footnote4-link'>“Listen, I brought along this book that I picked up at the train
station. It’s about a symbologist trying to crack some code. This <i>ought</i> to have the
desired effect.”</p>
<p>Joan looked at the cover and pursed her lips. “Yeah, a few pages of that ought to
do the job.”</p>
<p>“Let’s leave together,” Hans pleaded. “It will be an adventure.”</p>
<p>“Oh, don’t worry about me. You’ll make it if you believe in yourself.
Don’t be drawn into the myth of your own inadequacy.”</p>
<p>“I don’t want to just make it,” Hans replied, faintly.</p>
<p>“Oh, very well then,” she said a few moments later. “You soft-hearted fool! We make
our move tomorrow morning!”</p>
<p>Hans couldn’t make sense of what seemed like Joan’s conflicting set of ideals. It
was as though he had caught her amidst a transition from one mindset to another,
during which liminal period, internal misalignments take on the appearance
of contradictions.</p>
<p></p>
<p class='no-indent'><span class='opening-letter'>A</span>s the hornet buzzed towards
the east, Hans held onto its furry back, tight as he could, looking down at a spectacular
view. A carpet of lush, green trees covered most of the island. There was a large hill
to the west with half a dozen wild cats resting on its peak. Right below that, a silky
white beach stretched between the foothills and the sparkling turquoise water. One of
the cats lay on the grass, belly up, not a care in the world. Like a capsized Budai,
modulo the smile of course. And the contentment, one might suppose. And the affection, one
might imagine.</p>
<p>“Look, over there.” Joan tapped Hans on the shoulder and pointed straight ahead.
“That’s the river with the lilies. On three now. One-two-jump!”</p>
<p>Hans flapped his arms like a scared chicken and filled the heavens with frantic sounds
of flipping, turning, shouting and screaming. He hit one of the lilies with a thud and let
out a formidable fart. As that civilization of methane escaped into the ether, the tailor was
comforted by the thought of vicarious freedom. He was peculiar like that.</p>
<p>Joan scrambled onto the riverbank. Hans followed suit.</p>
<p>“Well, this is it,” she said.</p>
<p>Hans glanced up and around. To the east, the mountain rose up against the sky. His
visceral thought was to go with the simplest strategy, which was to walk towards
the mountain in as straight a line as possible. There was no time to waste. Joan
agreed, and the two entered the maze of trees.</p>
<p>“Hey, look at this,” she said. Nailed to the tree in front of them was what appeared to
be a map. Joan tore off the aging piece of cloth with one hand and inspected it.</p>
<p>“Time for Plan B, Hans.” The map was littered with spots labeled DANGEROUS
and STAY AWAY along with drawings of skulls, crossbones and former vice presidents.
“We’re not going to want to risk going anywhere near those places.”</p>
<p>“Oh no, we’re going to be supper for a herd of hungry wild cats,” Hans said. “There
are so many possible combinations, with numerous forks along several of those
paths. We’re doomed.”</p>
<p>“Will you get a grip? How did you make it this far in life with that kind of
attitude? Now look here. The larger trees are connected with dotted lines and
along each dotted line is a number, in minutes. The only problem is that longer
paths don’t always take longer to traverse. In fact—see this—the longest path
reportedly takes the shortest amount of time to cross.” She pointed to the
footnote.</p>
<p>“Lions graze here, traveller—run,” Hans read.</p>
<p>“That wrinkle will likely make it difficult for us to visually determine the
shortest path.”</p>
<p class='footnote5-link'>“Perhaps if we always take the shortest path from each tree to
the next. That seems reasonable enough, don’t you think?”</p>
<p>“Well, let’s see, that would take—umm—around eight hours.” She looked up at the
sky. “It’s around noon now. The sun sets at half-past-six. Eight hours is too
long.”</p>
<p>Drops of sweat trickled down Hans’ forehead. He sat down on the ground and cradled
his head in his sweaty palms.</p>
<p>“We’re finished!” He closed his eyes to the near-immediate sight of Aunt
Jennifer. This time she was holding onto a rolling pin and slowly tapping the tip
of her shoulder with it. For someone named after the patron saint of disasters, Aunt
Jennifer had the uncanny ability to show up at disasters and make them worse.</p>
<p>Hans stood up, his eyes still shut. “I will not perish!” he screamed, pointing towards
the sky and whatever lay beyond it. “I will make it out of here. If it’s the last thing
I ever—”</p>
<p><i>Bam!</i></p>
<p>Something hit that faint-hearted traveller right on the side of his head, then fell
and cracked open near his feet. His vision swam and vertigo overcame him.</p>
<p>“What on Earth was that?” he said, with one hand on his forehead, and the other
holding onto his glasses. And then he heard tutting. Could it be? Was he in London?</p>
<p class='pic5-link'>As Hans’ eyesight refocused, he looked up and saw a group of onlookers dressed
only in white briefs, perched on a branch. They hefted coconuts and rolled their eyes. The sole human
among them was wrapped in a sunburnt cloak of oily skin. His shiny bald head made him appear
like a celestial figure—an image slightly dampened by the lightly smeared white briefs.</p>
<p>“Who are you?” Hans shouted.</p>
<p>“A cenobite from the Singuado monastery. We are all cenobites. We took an oath of
silence seventy suppers ago to trounce our persistent dependence on tutting. Your sobbing
distressed us so much that we snapped. Oh, how I’ve missed it. I’ve got so much
tutting to catch up on.”</p>
<p>Joan chuckled. “That’s just what you needed, Hans. A coconut to the head to shut
you up.” It was the very first time that Hans had seen Joan smile.</p>
<p>He had an interesting idiolect, that old tutter on the tree. A lisp, of sorts,
most probably caused by the way his lips were perched up and to one side, as though
they were an autonomous being about to lift off and embark on a flight into the
heavens. With every <i>thilenthe</i> and <i>thnapped</i>, Hans was treated to an
onslaught of warm, viscous saliva. Fearless kamikaze globules that darted towards
his face, their hearts atop their armor.</p>
<p>“Hey, you. Captain Underwear,” Joan said. “You must have a good view from up
there. We’re trying to get to that mountain before sunset.” Her statement led to an
outbreak of tutting amongst the tutters’ ranks.</p>
<p>“A simple person you must be to ask such a simple question. Is it not self-evident
what the quickest route is?”</p>
<p>“Now look here, friend, don’t you get all smart with me—”</p>
<p>“Your friend?” he interrupted. “Me, virtuous and scholarly, a friend of a
feckless cretin?”</p>
<p>“That explains why you’re missing the tip of your nose then.” Joan curtsied and
wobbled her head in a silly way, before adding, “Your Grace.”</p>
<p>“That was uncalled for. I lost my nose many years ago. It was calamitous,” the
Tutter countered. “I was being chased by several assassins when they struck. It was
cataclysmically catastrophic.”</p>
<p>Upon closer inspection, both Hans and Joan realized that the man was indeed missing a
large chunk of his nose. Now, less animated, he said, “Here, take a look at this. Whenever you
are stuck on a problem in life, it is not a bad idea to inspect the corpus of human
knowledge. There is a good chance that other people have encountered the same
roadblock before and managed to overcome it.”</p>
<p class='footnote6-link'>The Tutter dropped a stapled collection of papers towards Hans. It
floated down and landed on the ground, immediately soaking up its dampness like a sponge. Hans
picked up the stack and paged through it. An academic paper, whose content was
mercifully shorter than its title.</p>
<p>Recalling his recent encounter with the guard, Hans made sure not to make assumptions.
A wrong assumption now could mean death or worse—being stuck with the tutters.</p>
<p>“Excuse me, the method outlined in here, will it get us to the mountain before sunset?”</p>
<p>“Yes, perhaps the first one will.”</p>
<p>Hans handed the short document to Joan, but she insisted that he go through it and
report back. She said she had to get a few things. Hans took the time to go through
the first method in the document and saw that its suggestion was an improvement over his original
solution.</p>
<p>He had been blinding himself from potentially better paths by always
assuming that a shorter path in the beginning implied a shorter overall one, which
of course isn’t always the case.</p>
<p class='footnote7-link'>Using this new method, he would start at the first tree and look at
all of the possible paths to neighboring trees and make a note of the time that it took to get to each
one. He would then, in turn, do that for each of those neighboring trees, starting with the ones
that he could get to the quickest, and so on until he covered the entire set of trees. If it was his
first time crossing a tree or if a previous visit had resulted in a longer recorded time, he would
scratch out the old time and make note of the newer, shorter time.</p>
<p>The suggested route to the mountain would get them there in six hours.</p>
<p>Satisfied with the now higher likelihood of making it through the forest before
sundown, Hans folded the paper and slid it into his back pocket. He waved to Joan. She
was a few yards away behind some bushes. “Hey, Joan. I think we got our Plan B.”</p>
<p>She walked back, carrying what seemed like a bunch of rocks and leaves.</p>
<p>“What’s that?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Preemption. I’m going to have to fix up my dress, in case we have to leg
it!”</p>
<p>“Well, you’re in luck,” Hans replied, with a smile. “That’s the one thing I’m
quite good at.”</p>
<p></p>
<p class='no-indent pic6-link'><span class='opening-letter'>H</span>ans pushed the door to the
eyeglass repair shop open until the hinges creaked. There before him was the cynic he
had been forewarned of. That ghastly creature who knew the price of everything and the
value of nothing. He sat on the floor, stony-faced, against a dusty wall. One would have
thought that the sight of a physically drained man drenched in sweat, gasping for breath,
would evoke a more hospitable welcome.</p>
<p>Hans felt Joan’s elbow poking him in the ribs. He took a step forward.</p>
<p>It would perhaps not be uncharitable to say that the Mandrill had a unique face. His eyes
were droopy, but only just, as though his eyelids had decided to drop, then discovered that
it would be too taxing a task. His mouth, no less perplexing, appeared to be frowning,
smiling and mocking, all at the same time. The ensuing sneer was so patience-testing that one
wouldn’t have been surprised if it turned out that the Mandrill was actually a presenter on a
major news channel.</p>
<p>“I suppose you’re here for the Wi-Fi?” he said, sniffing.</p>
<p>“Wi-Fi? Umm—no, we’re here to see the Thinker,” Hans replied, assuming the body
language of a man of moderate self-confidence.</p>
<p>Joan had run out of patience. “We’ve travelled all day through the forest,
racing against a setting sun and evading wild predators and booby traps. We’ve
walked up hundreds of flights of stairs, risking our lives with every step. Lead us
to him at once, Mandrill!”</p>
<p>The Mandrill looked at Joan without saying a word. His hands were clasped
together in his lap. Every couple of seconds, he would twirl his thumbs about each
other. After what seemed like the better part of a minute had passed, he opened his
mouth.</p>
<p>“Why do you want to see the Thinker? So you can take a selfie with him and
exchange it for Facebook <i>likes</i> and Internet <i>karma</i>? I know your type. The Thinker
doesn’t have time to socialize with visitors. The little free time he does have, he
prefers to spend it in the company of smart people, a list of whom I have here.” He
pointed to a pile of papers that rested against the wall beside him.</p>
<p class='footnote8-link'>“Umm—is there any way you might be able to add us to
that list?” Hans asked.</p>
<p>The Mandrill turned his gaze to Hans. Without raising his right hand, he pointed to
the adjacent wall. “Have a seat.” Hans walked to the wall and sat down, as did Joan.</p>
<p>He poured Hans a glass of a shiny red liquid. “Have a sip of this artisanal
Kool-Aid. It will calm your nerves.” Hans did just that, and as though by magic, he was
overcome with the pressing desire to create a mobile app. He didn’t even know what a mobile
app was.</p>
<p>“Let me introduce myself,” the Mandrill said. “My name is Kolon. Dr. Blok D. Kolon.” He
raised his hands as a magician would after a particularly clever trick. “I run this
place. Don’t be fooled by the corridors paved with slime and the flaky walls. We do
a lot of valuable research and development here. We’re in stealth mode at the moment. Hence
the disguised exterior.”</p>
<p>Joan sighed and undid her hair.</p>
<p>The Mandrill continued. “This is an intellectually sterile environment, so we want to be
careful who we let in. Your general appearance tells me that you’re probably not cut out for this
place. How about you come back in a few years time when you’re more experienced?”</p>
<p>“What exactly would I want to become more experienced in?” Hans said.</p>
<p>“A priori knowledge of—things.”</p>
<p>“Things? What things in particular?”</p>
<p>“All the things.”</p>
<p>“That’s well and good,” Hans said. “But we really need to see the Thinker, and
pretty soon. I’m not too sure that we can afford to wait for a few years.” He
glanced at Joan. “Can you do anything?” he mouthed to her. She shrugged.</p>
<p>“Let’s get out of here, Hans.”</p>
<p>Hans looked at Kolon. “Just so you know, the thought of taking a selfie with the Thinker
did cross my mind.” Joan turned the knob and walked out.</p>
<p>“Wait,” Kolon said, as Hans was about to close the door behind him. Hans popped
his head back into the shop. “There’s a campsite at the bottom of this rock.
Every now and then, I see smoke billowing from there. Just saying.”</p>
<p>“Hey Joan, I found us a place to rest tonight. Apparently, there’s a campsite at
the bottom.”</p>
<p>“Sounds like a plan, Hans. But first, come and have a seat. Let’s soak this
in.”</p>
<p>Hans and Joan sat at the edge of the mountain and looked at the majestic view before
them. At that glorious orange disc in the sky, edging its way towards the horizon. The
heavens were calm. Quiet. Serene.</p>
<p></p>
<p class='no-indent'><span class='opening-letter'>B</span>y the time Hans and Joan reached
the mountain’s foot, the sun had all but set. As night fell, the two travellers became engulfed
in pitch darkness, yet they walked. No sooner had Hans entangled himself in a bad analogy about
a fetus in a womb than he heard sniffing and scratching. He proceeded slowly until his view was
unobstructed. It was a dog. A fox terrier in fact.</p>
<p>“Shoo,” he whispered to the the fluffy white animal as he flicked his hands at him.
The dog just stood there, looking at Hans, eyebrows raised.</p>
<p>“Leave him alone.” Joan walked up to the dog and scratched him behind the
ears. Hans approached. The dog leapt out of Joan’s arms and ran into the trees.</p>
<p>“I guess he doesn’t like you,” Joan said. She picked up a dusty bone from the
ground, one that the terrier was likely munching on, and threw it towards the trees. The terrier
darted out from behind the bushes, scooped up the bone with his tongue and then dashed back.
Hans walked towards a nook in the mountain and rested against the smooth slab of rock. Joan was
moving about, gathering things. Smelling
and tasting them.</p>
<p>“What are you doing?”</p>
<p>“If we want to stay warm tonight, and fend off unwelcome guests, we’ll need to
light a fire.”</p>
<p>Hans crossed his hands behind his head. In the darkness, he could just about make out where
the terrier was hiding. He took out a chocolate bar from his jacket and broke off a small piece.</p>
<p>“Here, doggy,” he said as he threw the block of chocolate towards the trees. The dog didn’t
wait long, jumping as he did towards the piece and gulping it down whole. He took a step
forward and then began a cervine walk towards Hans, stopping every so often and
looking around. When he was close enough, Hans broke off another piece of chocolate and
placed it in the dog’s mouth.</p>
<p>“I see you’re friends now,” Joan said. She was rubbing two twigs against each other and
blowing into a recess that she had made in the ground.</p>
<p>“Indeed. Little, umm—Pavlov, yes, that’s what I’ll call him. Pavlov here sure
likes chocolate.”</p>
<p>“You gave chocolate to a dog? Get it out of his belly right away! For heaven’s
sake. Who gives chocolate to a dog!”</p>
<p class='footnote9-link'>Hans remembered that during a particularly lonely summer’s day,
back when he was a schoolboy, he had tasked a neighbor with tickling him for so long that
the activity had led to immediate bowel action. That ought to work.</p>
<p>He grabbed the poor soul and positioned him on his back. The dog looked into Hans’ eyes
as he descended on the innocent chap. <i>Tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle</i>. The dog raised one
eyebrow and lowered the other. As though to say, ‘Human, what on Earth is wrong with you?’</p>
<p>Joan had by now started the fire and was cozying up to it. Hans continued his noble pursuit.
Ten minutes must have passed and then, without a perfunctory warning of any kind, the
terrier let out a loud burp and unleashed a pint of warm belly juice into Hans’ face.</p>
<p>“Argh! It burns!”</p>
<p>Hans fell to the ground and rolled around until the stickiness of the smelly vomit
had been replaced with the choking powdery feel of dust. He opened his eyes not to
the sight of his comrade, holding his head in her lap, wiping his forehead with a warm
towel, giving him words of encouragement—Hans watched a lot of soap operas, you
see—but rather, to said comrade looking intently at a piece of laminated paper.</p>
<p>“What’s that?” he asked, wiping off the dust and dirt from his clothes and sitting up.</p>
<p>“It came out of the dog. It seems like it’s, well—it seems like it’s a business
card.”</p>
<p>“What does it say?”</p>
<p>“Walter Jones, NSA Agent.”</p>
<p>“NSA? Nordic Scrabble Association?”</p>
<p>“No, Hans. National Security Agency. You know, monitoring, counterintelligence,
enhanced interrogation techniques. That sort of thing.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Oh, I see. Why would an NSA agent be in a place like this?”</p>
<p>“More importantly, why did your friend here swallow his business card?” Joan
looked at the puddle on the ground. She bent down and, with the force of a suburban
parent disciplining their child, she picked up a round object.</p>
<p>“Whoa. Is that a button?” Joan nodded.</p>
<p>“Pavlov, where did you find this?” The dog barked and ran towards the trees,
wagging his tail. He turned his head and saw that his human friends hadn’t moved. He
barked again.</p>
<p>“There’s no way we’re leaving now,” Joan said. “It’s too dangerous. Let’s get
some rest and make our move in the morning.” Hans pantomimed the plan to Pavlov.</p>
<p>The dog walked back to the nook with Hans and cuddled up beside him. Joan slept a
few feet away. It wasn’t too long before everyone dozed off. For it had been a long day.</p>
<p></p>
<p class='no-indent'><span class='opening-letter'>T</span>he next morning, Hans, Joan and
Pavlov ventured into the trees until they encountered a jumbled pile of mismatched apparel.
Beige corduroy trousers and a blue jacket. <!--How terribly transatlantic.--> The corpse
underneath was of course equally disturbing. A yard or so away lay a coconut covered in
gunk. Joan approached the spot, treading ever so lightly.</p>
<p>“It’s—a man,” she said. “A man in a suit.”</p>
<p>“Is he asleep?”</p>
<p>“Well, he is missing half his torso. I mean there is that. But otherwise he’s in
pretty good shape.”</p>
<p>“Oh. So he’s asleep then?”</p>
<p>“Ha! You’re not going to believe this, Hans. Look.”</p>
<p>Hans examined the slip of paper that Joan had in her hand. “Hey, it’s a picture of that
blocked colon guy!” he said. “A selfie with the Mandrill. Well, what do you know.”</p>
<p>“Whatever this guy’s connection to the Mandrill is, I bet you he’s on his list.”
Joan’s eyes grew wider.</p>
<p>“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Hans took a moment to compose himself.</p>
<p>“I’ll be honest with you, Joan. Somehow I doubt it.”</p>
<p>“You become Walter Jones,” she said, elongating every syllable of the
decomposing man’s name.</p>
<p>Hans scratched his head. “You mean in spirit?”</p>
<p>“No. I mean you put on his jacket and shades and you go to the Mandrill pretending to be
Walter Jones. It’s worth a shot. Pavlov and I will wait for you at the campsite. How about that?”</p>
<p>“Sounds like a plan.” Joan handed Hans the slip of paper.</p>
<p>“Come on, Pavlov. Reconnaissance time.”</p>
<p>Hans took off his jacket and slipped into Walter Jones’ jacket. He then popped on the shades.
When they all reached the campsite, Joan wished him luck and they went their separate ways.</p>
<p class='footnote10-link'>Hoodwinking the Mandrill was a quick affair. He looked up briefly,
figured that his visitor was actually Walter, and then allowed Hans to go through to the back. Hans
walked under the arch of Detoxia—named after the Greek god of charlatanism—through the
corridor of Halitosis—named after the Greek god of indigestion—and finally reached the
wall of Moostafa, which had been christened so for ironic reasons.</p>
<p>“The code is still the same,” the Mandrill shouted from across the corridor. “86-75-30-9.”
The Mandrill happened to be enchanted with prime numbers and obscure pop culture references.</p>
<p>There in the back, sitting flush with the wall was a large door with a combination lock and
lever guarding it. Hans dialed the combination lock. It clicked. He took a deep breath and
straightened his back. He would have to go in poised, self-assured, dignified.</p>
<p>He pulled the lever and unleashed a puff of clammy air that smacked him square in the
face. It fogged up his glasses. As the moisture on Hans’ second pair of eyes slowly receded,
he saw that three rows of steel pipes obstructed the top of the entrance. He held onto the wall
for support and lowered his head. Crawling might have been the better option. It’s just that, in
Hans’ experience, there appeared to be an inverse relationship between how close his face was to
the ground and the favorability with which others perceived him.</p>
<p>He was inside. When he got to the end of the entrance, he raised his head, and lo and
behold, there actually was a human being there. The magnificent Thinker whom he had heard so much about.
The person whom he had been searching for. Encased, embalmed you might say, inside that tiny
steel room. That gamy room.</p>
<p>The Thinker was sitting on a wide chair, arms extended along the armrests, His eyes fixed
on the wall straight ahead, as though the whole weight of the universe rested on His shoulders.</p>
<p class='pic8-link'>The Thinker was a thin, pasty man with a full head of grey hair. He had thick, bushy eyebrows and
a pair of heavy eyes. He wore a brown suit, a brown waistcoat and a brown bowtie. To Hans, it was a
splendid sight. The Thinker looked perfect in every sense of the word. Divine.</p>
<p>“It’s an honor to finally meet you. I was told that you, of all people, would be able to give me
direction and guidance.”</p>
<p>Hans sensed that the man was about to open his mouth, so he lowered his
gaze. Nothing happened. Hans looked up and saw that the man was still thinking. He lowered his gaze
again. Again, nothing happened. Hans fidgeted a bit then looked up at the man once more. Could it be that
this beautiful creature was, quite literally, a thinker, in that He wasn’t capable of doing anything
other than thinking?</p>
<p>“Umm, sorry to bother you, but are you able to hear the words that are coming out of my mouth?”
Nothing.</p>
<p>“Would you mind nodding if you can hear me?” Nothing.</p>
<p>“If you can can see me?” Nothing. Hans took out the piece of paper that had the photo of Walter
and the Mandrill on it and held it up to him.</p>
<p>“Look, this is me. It’s ok. I’m intelligent.” Nothing.</p>
<p>So it was then. Hans had finally found the one person whom he had thought could help
him, only to be disappointed. The Thinker was a being so absolute that, in actuality,
He had no practical value. A corpse covered in honey.</p>
<p>Hans walked out, Joseph Merrick-style, as before, and stood there, unsure of how to
proceed. He was just about to put the photo back in his jacket pocket when he noticed
something. The moisture in the room had weakened the paper causing the corners to
curve outward. It was in fact two pieces of paper stuck together. Hans peeled the sheets apart.
The one concealed underneath the photo was blank, except for a small red cross in one corner.
How odd. He folded both papers and put them back in his pocket.</p>
<p></p>
<p class='no-indent'><span class='opening-letter'>S</span>ave for a torn piece of Joan’s dress,
Hans’ two companions were nowhere to be seen. He was back at the campsite.</p>
<p>“Joan, Pavlov, where are you?” Hans was on the verge of panicking, and so, like a protagonist
in a Hollywood war movie, he ran into the trees, screaming at the enemy and waving his
hands around. To his disappointment, the laws of nature did not bend in his favor.</p>
<p>The unguided walk through the trees was proving to no avail. Hans’ comrades were nowhere to
be seen.</p>
<p>“Joan, can you hear me? Jo—” <i>Tick</i>, and then <i>wham!</i> He felt a loop of
rope tighten around his right ankle and then propel him upward. Hans suddenly found
himself inside a sack of thick ropes, suspended in midair.</p>
<p>“Oh no, help! Somebody, help!” he screamed. This was bad. This was really bad.
There was no way things could get any worse.</p>
<p>It wasn’t long before Hans heard the sound of something moving between the bushes.
He froze in place and did his best to put a cap on his heavy breathing. Was He being
hunted?</p>
<p>It was then that it jumped out from among the trees. Homburg, briefcase and
all. He saw Hans right away. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t my old pal.”</p>
<p>Hans let out a groan as the thought of being hurt by this most capricous of beings
crossed his mind. “I’ll do anything you want, Mr. McCoy. I’ll help you sell insurance
plans if that will make you happy. Please don’t hurt me.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know what you’ve been drinking, son. I’d never hurt you.” He took off his
homburg and sat down on a nearby rock.</p>
<p>“I get it. People have different priorities.” McCoy took a handkerchief out of
his homburg, wiped his forehead with it, and then put both the handkerchief and the homburg
on his head again.</p>
<p>“Most people get older and they start losing their drive, son. I never did. But I was
never too smart to begin with, you see. Still, I like to think of myself as a land not yet
plowed. It’s the only way not to abandon hope, you know. I don’t want to be like my old man.
A plasterer by day. A janitor by night. Forgotten in death. The poor sod.”</p>
<p>Hans fidgeted a bit amidst the ropes. “Mr. McCoy, I thought you weren’t good at
navigating the forest. You seem to have made it really far.”</p>
<p>“Luck, son. If you asked me to get here again tomorrow, I wouldn’t have the
faintest idea. By the way, I’m a bit strapped for cash. Any chance you could lend
me a few quid?”</p>
<p>Hans dug into his pockets and found a solitary coin. “This is all I have.”</p>
<p>“That makes you the most generous man in the world. It’ll come around,” he said
with a wink.</p>
<p>“You know what? I bumped into someone a short while after our first encounter,
and he taught me a really smart way of moving through the forest. Let me tell you
how it’s done. Better yet, let me give you something to read and you can learn
about it yourself.”</p>
<p>“Oh I’m too old to read. Why don’t you just tell me how it’s done?”</p>
<p>“No, I insist. It’s not that hard, and you’ll be grateful that you did. Thinking for
yourself forces you to dispel assumptions that you might have otherwise taken as
read. Trust me, I speak from experience.” Hans took out the paper that the Tutter
had given him and waved it at McCoy.</p>
<p>“Oh, where are my manners. Let me get you down.”</p>
<p>Once Hans was on the ground, he handed his savior the paper and the map. McCoy opened
his briefcase and took out a camera.</p>
<p>“I’ll take that clever talk, but not the map. You might need it yourself. Let me
snap a photo of it.”</p>
<p>And that’s when it hit Hans. A pesky fly. And then it hit him. Why of course. He
took out the piece of paper that he had discovered right after he came out of the
Thinker’s room and placed it on top of the map. Through the semi-opaque fiber, he
noticed that the red cross lay almost exactly on top of the skull and crossbones of
the map below. How peculiar. What if the predators in the forest were as artificial