Relatively Part 2

Ready for another lengthy installment of my Relatively story?

“Philip!” Mayhem called. “Where on earth is my tea?”

“Coming, sir!” Philip replied, balancing at wide silver platter piled with two teapots and three plates of cakes as he hurried to his master as quickly as his short legs would carry him.

“Here you are, sir,” Philip said, placing the bounty of tea things in front of Mayhem, trying his best not to slosh tea or drop any cakes, lest Mayhem be catapulted into a tantrum.

“Thank you, Philip.” Mayhem nodded at his faithful servant and reached for a chocolate cake.

“It’s been a dreadful day and you know tea always soothes my frazzled nerves.”

poured Mayhem a cup of tea and watched anxiously as Mayhem sipped slowly from the china cup. “Is everything to your liking, sir?” Philip asked.

“Yes, Philip, I suppose it’s alright. Although I’d prefer these cakes to have a bit more parsley in them.”

“Parsley, sir?”

“Yes, Philip. Why, I read just the other day that parsley aids the digestion and alleviates stress, and I am inclined to believe the author of that particular article.”

“Oh? If you don’t mind my asking, who wrote it?”

Mayhem looked down at Philip, who was considerably shorter than Mayhem, even when Mayhem was seated. “Me.”

“I see, sir. And where, may I ask, did you get your information?”

“How many times must I tell you, Philip? The voices inform me daily in all aspects of knowledge.”

Philip raised his eyebrows, but only slightly, so that Mayhem would not notice and mistake his doubt for disrespect. “Yes sir. If it’s all the same to you, sir, I think I’ll go see about supper now.”

“Don’t forget the parsley!”

Philip nodded and, bobbing his head at his master, turned and hurried out of the room.

Philip could not remember a time when he had not lived with Mayhem in the little house in the hill. The packed dirt floors and walls, the heads of foot-long earthworms hanging from the ceiling, and the sharp, pungent smell of decay and earth were all he had ever known. On occasion, his master would permit him to exit the little dwelling to pick some flowers to brighten the otherwise dim residence, or to check if any letters had been dropped in the mailbox. While there where almost always flowers of some sort reaching up through the tangled grass disguising Mayhem’s house, there was hardly ever any mail; after all, the mail carrier wouldn’t have known where to leave it. It seemed that no one knew anything of the existence of Mayhem and his faithful companion, which was just the way Mayhem wanted things. “We wouldn’t want any intruders roaming about, sticking their noses into my personal affairs,” Mayhem always said. But Philip could never completely extinguish his deep, yearning desire to explore the world outside.

It took mere moments for Philip to reach the kitchen, as Mayhem’s house had only three rooms which were all clumped together. Mayhem had told Philip on several occasions that his house was shaped like a turnip: it had a long, thin hall that led from the front door to three rooms that were all bunched together in a bulb shape. There was the kitchen, which had a small, curtained lavatory in one corner and the tiny black back door in another. Next to that was Mayhem’s study, where he spent the vast majority of his time. And, connected to both of these rooms was Philip’s room, which doubled as a storeroom for vegetables, fish packed in salt, gardening tools, paper, pens, ink, books (all written by Mayhem, because Mayhem didn’t want any bothersome ideas from the mind of any other to influence his dear servant) and a myriad of other random articles. In the corner was Philip’s bed, covered with a thick down blanket which Philip has sewn himself.

Philip searched the small pantry for something to cook for supper. There were a few onions and some dried pork. Philip also managed to find some cooking wine and a bag of flour, and he proceeded to pour a little of the wine into a bowl and mix in some salt, pepper, and parsley. The pork went into the wine to marinate, and the onion was thinly, tossed in flour and fried in a little oil. Mayhem had once informed Philip that one should eat at least one raw vegetable at every meal so as to cleanse the digestive tract and prevent the growth of parasites, so Philip went to his room and, after rummaging about for a moment, found a couple of carrots. He carried these back to the kitchen and proceeded to remove the pork from the marinade, fry it quickly, and arrange the little meal on two ceramic plates.

Just as Philip was piling the meal onto another silver platter (Mayhem had a strange fondness for them, and over the years, he’d collected at least a dozen) he heard the voice of his master.

“Philip? Am I to die of old age before I receive my evening meal?”

“Coming, sir,” Philip replied, and he hurried into the study.

“There you are, sir,” Philip said, placing a plate in front of Mayhem. After Mayhem began to eat, he sat on the floor and began to eat as well.

“Philip, my boy, have you ever wondered what I do in here all day?” Mayhem asked, his mouth full of pork.

In fact, Mayhem had told Philip countless times of his tinkerings and experiments, but Philip had lived with his master more than long enough to know how to reply to this question. “No, sir, please tell me.”

“Well, Philip, to discuss my activity in its entirety would take a lifetime, but here is what I have been doing of late.” With this, he set his plate aside, and, standing up, he strode across the small room and plucked a round, green jar from a collection of similar jars on a shelf.

“Do you know what this is, Philip?”

“No, sir.”

“Look closely, Philip! How on earth do you intend to learn anything if you don’t closely examine the world around you?”

“Sorry sir I…” Philip looked very hard into the jar and saw a small round object floating in liquid. “Yes, sir, that’s very nice.”

“Nice! Nice? Why Philip, you must not understand what is contained in this jar. Otherwise you would not say something so stupidly idiotic as “Nice”. You might say, “Run for your life!” or “We are all surely doomed!”, but nice, Philip, most certainly does not describe this.”

“I’m terribly sorry sir,” Philip said. “We are all surely doomed.”
Mayhem frowned at Philip. He had a strong inclination to smack some sense into the boy, but he refrained. He was not a man of violence, and he knew that Philip was not nearly as intelligent as he.

“Philip, pay heed my boy, and witness the wonders of the universe!” At this, Mayhem tapped the jar gently with his thumb.

At first, Philip saw nothing, and began to try to think of something to say that would please Mayhem. But, after a moment, the little ball began to move. Before it had been moving, yes, but not on its own as it did now. The thing began to rock violently within the liquid and suddenly, an appendage not unlike a leg sprouted from the ball. Next came what appeared to be an arm, then another, and then another leg. Two horn-like structures protruded from what seemed to be the head of the ball, and two eyes flashed open. Last, the middle of the ball pulled apart into a mouth shape and began to do something not unlike talking, except there was no sound.

“My, sir, this is interesting!” Philip said.

“Yes, my boy, it is indeed.”

The thing in the jar continued its frenzied chattering, and, although it still made no sound, it seemed to be relaying a very distressing message.

“What’s it saying, sir?”

“That’s somewhat complicated, Philip. You see, if I were to take him from this sound-altering liquid, he would be speaking at a decibel level much too high for us to hear.”

“Oh.”

“But, you see, because he is in the liquid, if you put your head very close to the jar” (at this, Philip leaned his ear against the cool glass of the jar) “you can clearly hear him.”

Sure enough, Philip heard a squeaky, high-pitched voice calling from inside the glass, but he still could not quite tell what the thing was saying. After relating this to his master, Mayhem replied, “Yes, that’s the problem. He seems to be quite worried about whatever he’s saying, yet I don’t speak his language. I was hoping that, by some strange stroke of good fortune, you might understand him. But you don’t.”

At this, Mayhem snatched the jar away from Philip’s face, replaced it on the shelf, and began his meal again.