Casper Roth

This morning like many mornings before it, Casper Roth found himself in the Penny-farthing lounge resort and spa. Signage misleading for it was neither a resort nor a spa. It was one of the three shops south of Brixton you could find a butter biscuit worth tasting. Casper was placid. Domesticated and soft. Unmovable in a pathetic sort of way. After collecting his tea and scone he sat in the corner shop sipping. Longing for a reception with one unknown to him, so that he might impress upon them his cleverness. For although he had a will similar to the rigidity of wheatgrass, he had the eyes and mind to equal the difference. Being the sole owner of the world's largest pancake collection, he felt a great deal of imagined importance. A great weight of batter about his shoulders.

It all began when Casper had wanted to take his pancakes for a walk the Saturday before last. Ignorant of the catastrophe it would end up causing. Each pancake was sealed in resin. He had collected one pancake from each of Sunday's batch for sixteen years. It consisted of thirty-three trolleys all strung together with twine. Twenty-five pancakes were suspended in rows from each of the carts. Robust rubber wheels capable of handling the harshest roads in London. He swayed down the intersections causing pandemonium. The parade of one accumulating thirty-six thousand pounds of property damage.

An older man slipped into the café with a kind of hushed urgency. He wore a Phrygian cap with a coat that seemed like smoke if looked at for too long. After a few moments of sizing the man up, Casper concluded he was on the run. It was obvious in his tone, his posture. Curious but not enough to inquire further, Casper gazed out the Spa's window.

The morning passed by into early afternoon. Casper held his trance with the window until a mug was shattered by the entrance to the parlor. Both Casper and the old man turned. Their eyes met one another.

A moment happened, the kind that seemed to last much longer than they should. A plume of stardust unwrapped itself from a forgotten drafting drawer. Between rolls of parchment and metal instruments, the gust unhinged itself. Readying to storm the beaches of modern Normandy. Finding only topless French women to play backgammon with.

The man began " Roth you've got to listen to the shells. They've sought Blue for you. The Trowels, they've got every wheelbarrow in the world accounted for."

Casper nodded slightly if only by accident, leading the man to another tune.

"When the ladder speaks easy green and the dandelion roots take pause. That's when the sun will be out, for both of us Roth. You have my word."

Casper was a level-headed man. Very little disturbed him. He was all too familiar with fantastic happenings not supported by common reality. The most distraught he became was when the bakery ran out of his favorite fresh butterscotch tarts. When this strange man in the local café started bubbling and speaking his name. It was not altogether out of commonplace for Roth. After his last sip, the man raised himself from the chair and motioned to a small black book on the table. Whisking himself out the door, into the flurry of London.

Roth had no intention of taking interest in the book. The man was mad. Lost his rocks and marbles on the same day. After a quarter-hour, the book began to mock him. Another quarter-hour still before his curiosity overcame him. Sneaking a peek around to make sure no others were sneaking one back. He Slipped the notebook up his sleeve on the way out. After two blocks Casper examined the contents. Inside there steeped a web full of well-organized mispronounced ideas. Pages of schematics, diagrams, and symbols. Casper hadn't seen anything quite like it before. An attractive riddle.

As he turned the corner, a pigeon slammed itself into the shop window three paces from him. Casper froze. The broken bloody thing hopped and bled about Casper. He did not like this. It was sour like sucking on the end of a battery. Now with pace, Casper stepped into the street at the same time as a bicycle courier was passing. Metal peeling back flesh, pavement breaking momentum. The two stammering flushed apologies. Neither terribly injured but scuffed enough to feel nauseous.

After reaching his flat Casper had a long think. Keeping his questions quiet, as not to disturb his goldfish. He whispered, " What do you suggest Terry? What do I do about the upcoming court date? They can't confiscate the collection... Can they?"

Casper represented himself during the trial. It was a true disaster. On more than one occasion he called out " The cactus obeyed his well-molded jib with sinewy tenderness of an overgrown trout ". The Judge understood that Roth was a different case than the others. They gave him what was in their minds a simple sentence. A twenty thousand pound fine and eight months of community service at the Dolphin Ponds Collective. A regional boat manufacturing facility.

As the court was concluding the man from the café appeared along the sidewall. Arms waving frantically, motioning for Casper to join him by the window. A brown paper bag full of buttons was thrust into Casper's face. The man leaned in smelling of licorice " Roth, these are from fact. They will do just fine." Slipping off again before Casper had processed what had happened.

As the Judge gathered himself and began to waddle out of the chambers. The buttons caught his eye. "Casper hold on a moment will you?". Without asking the Judge snatched the bag from Casper and emptied the contents on a nearby desk. " That is a grand collection you have Casper. A few real rare ones too. I'll offer you twenty thousand here and now." Casper agreed to the exchange. The Judge gave him a shake and called them square for the pancake parade. On the condition, he completed his eight months of service without fuss.

Knowing something peculiar had happened. Though not knowing exactly what it was, Roth maintained composure. On returning to his flat he found the man waiting for him. Whispering to Terry as Casper entered. Hearing only a snippet and out of context. " The bugle sounds at dawn with gold spine and tamarind ''. At this point not at all surprised the man had found his way into Casper's interior life. " The orchids shine again Casper. A good thing too for they were running late". "Tea?" Casper replied. " Yes, thanks.". They sat in silence for a long while. Not uncomfortable. It felt as if Casper was alone in the room. Small bubbles slipped from Terry's mouth rising to the surface of his glass globe. The fern by the window waved back and forth.