Ignatz Ignatz By Ron Goulart GLENN WHEELAN stepped back out of the way as the water came hissing up across the quiet night beach. He rolled his pants cuffs a turn higher and looked back at Karen Wylie. "And the whole thing is worse. Teachers, you know, look forward to vacations as much as kids. More. But I was almost afraid to come back here." Karen's cigarette glowed red in the darkness. "But San Miguel is much brighter and cleaner. They even have a theater that shows nothing but foreign movies. And three laundromats. Now the place is building up, Glenn." "Because of a bunch of nitwits who're tired of all the lunatic outfits in Los Angeles." Wheelan moved to the girl's side. "Why, even in Pasadena people talk about San Miguel." Karen caught his hand and led him up to the beach away from the water, "Well, every town is noted for something. Like one's the lettuce capital and another's the wine center. It certainly doesn't hurt San Miguel to be known." Wheelan turned from the glare that the city's lights made against the faintly overcast sky. "Ever since I was a kid I've hated cats. They make me feel crawly all over. Like persimmons do." "Persimmons don't do any such thing," Karen said, tossing her cigarette at the foam below. "So I come back to my old hometown. Unpack my bags and walk into my aunt's homey kitchen, and she springs it on me." "What?" "She's one of them now, too. It's not bad enough a bunch of retired dentists from Omaha go along with Balderstone. My aunt now! I'll have a hell of a time forcing down second helpings. I get this crawly feeling." "You're as touchy as Pavlov's dog. Everything makes you crawly." "Well, look, Karen. You've been up at Cal most of the year. Doesn't the place seem odder to you?" Wheelan stepped next to a driftwood log. "Doesn't it bother you?" Karen sat down on the log and put her elbows on her knees. "I told you, Glenn. San Miguel looks newer file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Ron%20Goulart%20-%20Ignatz.html (1 of 15) [10/16/2004 3:32:47 PM] Ignatz and cleaner. Why, even the slums look better. I think they've painted them." "The only time we ever had a cat, when I was eleven, it made me sneeze. My aunt made me give it away. I wanted to drown it in a gunny sack but she talked me out of it." "Oh, you couldn't have. You're too tender and kindly." She held her hand out and motioned him down beside her. Wheelan sat, feeling the sand seep in over the sides of his loafers. "Maybe I'll talk to Neff. There should be a law against this kind of thing." "Chief Neff? I doubt if he'll do anything." "Why?" "Because he's so active on our Civil Public Relations Committee. And he owns a couple of motels." Wheelan absently put his hand on Karen's shoulder. "'Now, somebody must be against this. Maybe Dr. Watchers. He was even against free paper towels in the public Johns." "He passed away," Karen said, moving Wheelan's arm around her with her shoulders. "I could write to the governor," Wheelan said, noticing Karen's soft dark hair fluttering faintly over the tip of his nose. "There must be a law against lycanthropy." Karen shook her head. "No. They checked on it. There is in one of the New England states. The dunking stool is the penalty, I think." "Why?" he said in a loud voice. "Why dunking?" "No," Wheelan said, blowing her hair out of his face. "Why do people want to turn into cats anyway? My God, it must feel crawly." "Well, you know what Mr. Balderstone says." "He's a quack." "Perhaps. But nevertheless he perfected a method for turning people into cats and back. And that's more than a lot of people have done. He can't be all quack." Karen relaxed and snuggled back against Wheelan. file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Ron%20Goulart%20-%20Ignatz.html (2 of 15) [10/16/2004 3:32:47 PM] Ignatz "Who the hell else would want to discover something like that? You might just as well invent an economical method of canning persimmons." Wheelan shuddered. "Cats." Karen closed her eyes. "Anyway, he says it's a great tension-reliever. People get out of themselves. Forget their troubles. Aggressions. That's very important in times like these when everyone is worrying about blowing up unexpectedly." Wheelan tightened his arm around her. "Damn. When I think of all those people going out to the old fairgrounds and turning into cats and yowling around it . . ." "Makes you crawly?" Wheelan turned her head up and kissed her. Karen's tongue shot under his and back and she pulled away. "You take everything too seriously. Mr. Balderstone has a way of helping people relax. So what? What's that Latin thing about disputandum and all?" "Yeah, but a whole town. My town and yours! And it's given over to turning people into cats." "My town and yours! You sound like Chief Neff." She kissed him on the cheek. "Hey. Last summer we didn't spend all this time debating." Wheelan smiled quickly. "I'm maturing. Once you pass twenty-six you get wisdom. You'll see." "I say if they want to be cats let them. It's very good therapy. And Lord knows we need it." "It's not right." Karen sighed. "What was that comic strip when we were kids, about the cat and the mouse? Cicero's Cat?" "Krazy Kat?" She nodded. "You're like that mouse. Always have to go around throwing bricks at the cats. And it always got him in trouble. Ignatz. That was his name, Ignatz Mouse. That's who you are." "Very profound insight." Wheelan ran his hand down her back, touching each of the white buttons on her sweater. "I'm still going to do something about it." file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Ron%20Goulart%20-%20Ignatz.html (3 of 15) [10/16/2004 3:32:47 PM] Ignatz Though she was fading away Wheelan could feel her smile. "Glenri?" she said. He undid the first small button. "Yeah?" "I went out there last week. And it is quite relaxing. I've felt much happier this week." Wheelan got to the second button before he realized what she had said. "Karen, you're kidding!" "No. So you see, it's nothing so terrible." Wheelan stood up. "Damn it. Damn it!" Karen rose, reaching behind her to rebutton her sweater. "You're being pretty intolerant." "Damn it, the whole town!" He backed away, his feet sinking deep in the cold sand. Karen shrugged. "Don't take it so big." She looked up at him hopefully. "Well, you'll at least drive me home?" Belatedly, Wheelan said, "Sure. Come on." Near his car he said quietly, "Now I'm really going to get them." It wasn't until the next Wednesday that Wheelan had his leaflets ready to hand out. The local printers had, one way and another, refused the Job. He'd had to have them done in Santa Monica. The two cub scouts he'd hired to help him had both come down with something late Tuesday. Wheelan stationed himself on Chambers Drive near the two largest tourist motels early on the clear June morning. He had handed out five of his anti-lycanthropy leaflets when Chief Harold Neff drove up on his official motorcycle. Wheelan spotted him a block away by his gold-painted crash helmet. It was the only one on the force. "Hi, there, Glenn," said Neff, after he'd/parked the cycle in a red zone. "What are you up to?" Wheelan frowned at the chief's broad, tanned face. "I'm agitating, Hal." Neff rubbed his jaw. "Without a permit, though?" "As a matter of fact, yes." The chief nodded. "You'll have to stop. You can't hand out those things without a permit." file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Ron%20Goulart%20-%20Ignatz.html (4 of 15) [10/16/2004 3:32:47 PM] Ignatz Wheelan tucked his box of leaflets up under his arm. "Who do I see about a permit?" "Me, Glenn." Chief Neff flipped off his helmet and stroked his crewcut, looking down the street. "Let's go down to the Blue Oasis and have a beer and talk." "Can you drink while on duty?" "Beer." He took Wheelan's arm. "What about your motorcycle?" "Won't come to any harm." In one of the Blue Oasis's dark leather booths Neff said, "Don't you like the way the old town's blossoming, Glenn?" "Cats make me feel crawly," Wheelan said, pushing his schooner back and forth in front of him. "Why, even the slums are a sight to see. And San Miguel's getting to be a well-liked spot. Like Capistrano and Disneyland. Being well-liked is good for a town's civic pride." The chief grinned at Wheelan. "I think there's something basically wrong with people turning into cats." Wheelan made up his mind not to drink the beer. "There might be something wrong in it if people did it out of spite or for mischief, Glenn. But I think most competent authorities will agree that Mr. Balderstone's method has a real, honest-to-gosh therapeutic value." He looked straight at Wheelan. "There's a lot of nervous tension these days, Glenn. Even teaching in Pasadena you must have seen that." "Well, Hal, I'll admit that. I just don't think Balder-stone's approach is any solution." Neff laughed. "There's not really much solution to anything." He leaned back into the shadows in the booth corner. "You're as interested in our town as anybody, aren't you, Glenn? Growing up here, playing in the Little League, attending Grover Cleveland High." "Sure. That's why I hate to see it taken over by some crackpot cult." "You're entitled to your opinions. Just don't hand them out in the form of leaflets." file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Ron%20Goulart%20-%20Ignatz.html (5 of 15) [10/16/2004 3:32:47 PM] Ignatz "About that permit?" "Well, Glenn, you kno...
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