Chapter 9. Klieglight’s Quest
Principal Klieglight looked haggard. His face slumped with fatigue. He sat at his office desk behind piles of the school newspaper and several crumpled Diet Coke cans. Ms. Blandishment had counted the newspapers as he brought them in: there were 561 copies of the paper on his desk.
The first 150 copies had been easy. Ms. Blandishment had given him his first copy, of course, and she had retrieved 149 copies from distribution bins placed around the school. Principal Klieglight himself had prised 367 copies from the hands of students standing around the lake, and another 42 had been collected from students and teachers within the school itself. Two copies, inexplicably, had been nailed to Principal Klieglight’s office door while he was outside.
Ms. Blandishment had said, and Mr. Thorndyke had confirmed, that only 600 copies of the paper were printed each week. That meant that there were 39 copies of the paper still out there. That seemed a pretty small number, but Principal Klieglight knew better. Any one of those 39 copies could end up in the Mayor’s hands. Any one of those 39 copies could spell his doom. What would Principal Klieglight be without the word “Principal” in front of his name? That was the question that kept niggling at the corner of his mind, keeping him distracted from the task at hand. Just “Klieglight”? “Mr. Klieglight?” He groaned.
“There there,” Ms. Blandishment crooned. She patted his shoulder. “It’ll be okay. There are only 39 more copies to find. That should be easy. We just need to figure out where they are!”
Principal Klieglight groaned again. He had looked everywhere. He had stalked every hallway and entered every classroom in the building. He had blustered at every student by the lake, not even bothering to roust them from the grassy hill and toward their classes, but just snatching the newspapers from them. There would be time to get them into their classes later, but that would require a master plan. He wasn’t thinking well enough to manage a master plan at this point: he had newspapers to worry about. He had his future as the principal of Lone Tree High to consider. And he had his stomach to take care of. His stomach had been roiling all morning, ever since the mayor had called. Maybe, he thought, another Diet Coke would help.
Ms. Blandishment had an idea. “Maybe,” she said, “The janitor has already thrown some of the papers away!”
Her idea, however, was met with nothing but silence. Principal Klieglight moaned and lowered his head onto his desk. He put a hand up to his head, perhaps because of his headache, or perhaps just because he didn’t want anyone seeing his bald spot. Then, however, he lifted his head, and his eyes refocused a bit. “I have an idea,” he said. “Maybe, just maybe, the janitor has already thrown some of the papers away!”
“Now that’s a good idea,” said Ms. Blandishment. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
This new idea gave Principal Klieglight the energy to stand up from his desk and walk across the room to the I9000 Central Communications Nexus. He pushed the green activation button and flicked the VOICE OF GOD switch. He could do this in his sleep, he ruminated. It was one of the principal skills he had mastered early on. He picked up the microphone and fingered the on button.
“Fellow students!” he boomed. “If any of you has seen our janitor, Mr. …um…Mr. …” He released the button on the microphone for a moment and scratched his head.
“Miss Kimberlane, sir,” offered Ms. Blandishment.
“Now see here, Ms. Blandishment. I’m the Principal! And I’m not a Miss at all! Not most days, anyhow. In fact, never! Never have I been a Miss. Klieglight is the name…not Kimberwhatsis! And don’t interrupt me when I’m on the P.A.! How many times have I told you that? Now, where was I?”
“You were trying to call the janitor, sir.”
“Oh right. Of course! Of course I was!” He pulled the microphone to his lips, and once again pushed the button.
“Fellow students!” he said again. “It has been known for some time that many of you, or possibly just a few of you, or at least, might we say, ONE of you…”
“The janitor, sir” said Ms. Blandishment.
“I know that!” Principal Klieglight screeched. He glared at her for a short moment, but then stopped and closed his eyes. He relaxed his shoulders. He exhaled. He took a deep breath. He seemed to have made some kind of internal decision. Finally, he smiled. He once again lifted the microphone, pushed the button, and spoke. Now, his voice held a smooth tenor. He was the picture of a calm, well-educated rationality.
“Fellow students,” he said. “It has come to my attention that Ms. Blandishment requires the services of our janitor, Mr. …um…the janitor. If anyone has seen him, please forward him or…reroute him…or um…direct him, that’s it! Direct him! To the principal’s office!” His voice once again began reveal a bit of strain. “Immediately!”
Principal Klieglight had only barely gotten back behind his desk when a small woman with long blond hair came in the office.
“Miss Kimberlane reporting as requested, sir,” she said.
“Ah yes. Miss Kimberlane. Now. What was it that you wished to see me about?”
The woman pursed her lips for a moment. “I believe you wished to see me, sir.”
“Of course, of course. You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve been a bit busy this morning. It’s not an easy task, as you might imagine, steering the cruise ship of a high school safely through the sharkinfested waters of learning.”
“Cruise ship, sir?” Miss Kimberlane asked.
“Well, it’s not a cruise ship exactly, is it?” Principal Klieglight said. “There is very little cruising here. Time on task! That’s the ticket! Perhaps it’s more of a, say, a pirate ship! That’s it! A pirate ship, with lots of…slaves…. Each of them uh….slaving… in the galley! That’s it! Each of my students is a slave, each with an oar in his hand. Well, obviously, this is a coeducation institution, so I guess that would more appropriately be ‘his or her hand.’ Yes! Equal opportunity slavery!” Principal Klieglight summed up his argument for her: “Time on task, a cruise ship, equal opportunity slavery, a steady hand.” He smiled and clasped his hands together in a self-satisfied manner.
The woman just looked at him. Principal Klieglight noted that she looked a bit confused. Perhaps she wasn’t following his argument. Perhaps his metaphor had been a bit too grand. Not everyone, Principal Klieglight had noted, could follow his more abstruse expositions. “It’s only a pirate ship so far as the slavery is concerned,” he amended, carefully. “We’re not actually engaged in piracy! No no! We proudly teach our students to live and work within the traditions of American capitalism! We engage in no actual piracy whatsoever! I’m sure you’ll agree!” Principal Klieglight faltered for a moment as he saw the eyebrows of the woman in front of him curling upwards. In confusion? In judgment? Klieglight couldn’t tell. He looked toward Ms. Blandishment for support.
“You were going to inquire about the newspapers, sir.”
A look of panic flashed across the face of the principal. This woman was from the newspaper? He had thought she looked vaguely familiar. A member of the press, here in his office, unannounced? Today, of all days? Had she already seen the students, loitering by the lake and not in their classes? Had she taken photographs? That was all he needed, on top of his current troubles. When the mayor saw the exposé, he would be calling again, this time with questions that Principal Klieglight wouldn’t want to answer.
Within seconds, however, Principal Klieglight wiped the look of panic from his face. Years as a principal had taught him that the best expression to face the world with—even the world of the fourth estate—was a noncommittal one, a slightly vacant one. With a well-practiced effort, he donned that mask.
He smiled. “I’m so very sorry, but I’m unable to submit to an interview right at the moment.” Principal Klieglight got a far away look in his eye, and said, “As you can imagine, it is quite difficult steering the cruise ship of a high school through the shark infested waters…pirate ship! Pirate ship!” He raised his finger at her. “But we’ve been over this already, haven’t we? You can’t entrap me with your wily journalistic questions! No sir! I’m not just any yokel fresh from the turnip truck! I’ve been around the block a time or two!” But the reporter evidently wasn’t buying it. She had her innocent act down pretty well, Klieglight had to admit that. Clearly, it was time for a different tactic. With a sudden finger in her face, he percussively asked, “Do you have a warrant?”
The woman shook her head. She looked bewildered. That was just a little too much for Klieglight. He narrowed his eyes at her, then said, decisively, “No comment!”
“Sir, Miss Kimberlane is not from the newspaper. She’s our janitor. You were going to ask her about the newspapers we’re trying to collect.”
“Oh yes! Quite right! Quite right! I’m sorry, Miss…Miss…uh, miss. I didn’t recognize you for a moment. I apologize. However, as you can see, we’re very busy here. Actually, I don’t have time to speak with you at the moment, because, you see, I’m trying to collect every paper that this school has ever published, ever, in the history of the school. Every one of them! I’m only missing….” Here he reached for the pad of paper on his desk “…39 copies! So, as you can see, we’re far too busy to speak about…that…that thing…that you needed to see me about. As Ms. Blandishment has indicated, I need to speak with the janitor! He should be coming at any moment. I called him…” he glanced at his watch, then at the clock on the wall, and then back to his watch. “Perhaps a short while ago. Perhaps not. In any case, he’ll be here soon! When I shout, people ask how to jump! Um…high! How high to jump? Yes!”
Miss Kimberlane folded her mouth into a perplexed frown. She seemed unsure how to proceed. She backed toward the door, shook her head slightly, said, “Oh…kay,” then quickly turned to go.
Ms. Blandishment took her by the elbow before she could scoot out the door.
“Miss Kimberlane, dear, the principal was wondering if you might have picked up any copies of the school paper. Perhaps you’ve thrown some away?”
The blond woman nodded. “I start throwing them away as soon as I see them. It takes me all day to throw them away. People leave them everywhere. They’re a fire hazard.”
Ms. Blandishment smiled. “That’s perfect. Now, how many do you think you might have thrown away?”
Miss Kimberlane shrugged. “I dunno. Probably a hundred and fifty, maybe a couple hundred.”
“Aha!” Principal Klieglight shrieked. “Finally! We finally have an answer! Not an exact answer, but at least the beginnings of an answer! I always say that an estimate is halfway to the right answer! I used to teach math, you know. Second grade math! Second graders estimate almost everything! Sometimes, that has to be good enough!” He scribbled furiously on his little scrap of paper. “Let’s see…Five hundred sixty one plus one hundred fifty….hmmm…one, um…eleven carry the one…um….” He suddenly stopped with a satisfied grin on his face. “711! We now have at least seven hundred and eleven out of the six hundred papers printed! Let’s see, that leaves…” He again worked the numbers with his pencil. “That leaves, um, a negative one hundred and eleven still to find! Now we’re getting somewhere! Now, where is that blasted janitor?”
It was Ms. Blandishment who finally thought through the logic of the problem that they were facing. The phrase that acted as the sword for the Gordian knot of the newspapers was this: How, exactly, did the mayor end up with a copy of the newspaper in the first place?
And if he had one, how many other people in town had one? She exited to the outer office, and made a phone call to the printer.This is how the mayor came to have a copy of the Gazelles Gazette, if the curious reader wishes to know: Victoria Moon King, the mayor’s wife, led a rather lavish lifestyle. Every morning, she took what she called her “constitutional.” She didn’t know what a constitutional was, exactly, but to her it sounded nice and governmental. Her constitutional involved a walk to the local salon. There, she received her daily shampoo and hair style.
On this day, her stylist, ever on the lookout for topics of conversation that might net her a large tip, asked the town’s first lady if she had heard about “the business up at the lake.”
“Moon Lake, would that be?” Victoria Moon King asked. “Why no, I haven’t.”
The hairdresser, ever helpful, handed her a copy of the school paper, which of course Lori Bradshaw had delivered that morning before school, to the salon as well as, the reader will remember, the grocery stores, the bank, the Laundromat, and other businesses about town.
Unfortunately, the hairdresser received no tip that day. Immediately upon seeing the paper, Victoria Moon King screamed and fainted dead away. She was out for perhaps five minutes before she came to, picked up her purse, and, with a towel still draped about her head and the school paper still clutched in her hand, left to see the Mayor. The ambulance that the hairstylist called hadn’t even arrived before she was out the door of the salon and halfway down the street.
Truth be told, Victoria Moon King made several trips per week to city hall. She had advice to offer, was all. Good advice. Womanly advice. Much of her womanly advice was about Lake Maebiewahnapoopie. Such a name, she thought, was sure to drag down the town like an anchor.
“Maebiewahnapoopie,” of course, is a fine name, with a proud history and tradition. In the Sioux language, it means “lake of the buffalo fish,” because of the fossilized bone headed fish that they had found there the first time they passed through. (Though historians still argue about this. Some side with those who suggest that Maebiewahnapoopie means “lake of buffalo water,” and was named for the uncomfortable feeling the Indians had in their bellies after they drank it).
Victoria Moon King, however, was not interested in the historical argument. She simply thought the name undignified, and she knew just what it should be called instead: Moon Lake.
Mayor King, in fact, had proposed this new name in his State of the City address the year before. He suggested that Lake Maebiewahnapoopie should from here on in be referred to as Moon Lake, because that body of water was so deep that all you could ever see in it was the reflection of the moon. (He hadn’t, at that point, sunk his boat in the lake, otherwise he would surely have avoided talking about what one might see in its depths).
Mayor King’s adversaries quickly pointed out that his wife’s maiden name had maybe more to do with the name change than the mayor’s sense of poetry, and that however beautiful the name Moon Lake might be, the town already sported a Moon Plaza (complete with a statue of the matron of the family, Henrietta Kojak Moon), a Moon Park, and a Moon Room in the local historical museum. Weren’t these enough Moons?
Whatever the controversies, however, the lake has continued to be called Lake Maebiewahnapoopie, except by Victoria Moon King.
Oh this day, Victoria Moon King had marched into her husband’s office, paper in hand, to give a little womanly advice that the Mayor, if he valued his peace of mind, should strongly consider.
The mayor, coincidentally, had already received a copy of the newspaper by one of his aides. The aide had been in a near panic as he had handed Mayor King the sheet. The mayor, though, used to the histrionics of his staff, hadn’t yet looked at it. “For God’s sake, just calm down,” he told the young man. Just leave it on the desk there. Whatever it is, it can wait.” The aide had set it on the corner of his desk, where it remained as Victoria Moon King stormed his office.
She wasn’t fully in the room before she began. “Have you seen what they’ve done to my lake?” she screeched.
“Now now, dear, what lake would that be?” the mayor asked.
“Moon Lake, you idiot,” she said. By then, of course, she had fully arrived in his office, and the first thing she saw was the paper on the corner of his desk. “So! So you HAVE seen it. What, may I ask, have you done about it?”
“Seen what, my love? I haven’t seen anything.” He looked a little lost. “What lake?”
“MOON Lake!” she repeated. She shook the crumpled paper in her hands in front of his face, then snatched the paper from his desk and shook it as well.
“Now dear…OUCH!” said the mayor. Victoria Moon King, from time to time, liked to place her stiletto heel firmly onto his foot. This was one of those times.
“Please,” said the mayor, the voice of reason. “Calm down. Start at the beginning. What are they doing to your lake?”
Victoria Moon King’s voice was reaching convulsive limits. “Haven’t you even looked at the paper?”
“Of course! Of course I looked at the paper. I read the paper first thing every morning. As the mayor of this town, it’s my responsibility to keep abreast of the news! I keep my thumb firmly on the pulse of Lone Tree 24 hours a day! Uh, what paper?”
“This paper, you idiot!” Victoria Moon King unfurled the paper from the salon and held it in front of his face. He pushed it away. Now dear!”
But Victoria Moon King was insistent. She pushed it back in front of his face, and this time he saw the creatures looking out from the middle of the lake. The eyes of the lead creature bored into him.
“Wha…wha…what is that?” We’ll forgive the mayor the bit of drool that appeared in the corner of his mouth with his question.
Victoria Moon King looked at the picture herself. “It’s…it’s…” but Mayor King didn’t get to hear what it was, because Victoria Moon King had, once again, passed out. She slumped across his desk, the paper still gripped tightly in her hand.
The mayor knew what he had to do. He had to track down this story. He had to put a stop to it. He pried the paper out of his wife’s cold hand. Whoever had printed this story would pay. As a servant of the government, he supported a free press, but this was ridiculous!
Of course, we know whose office he called. Well, we know the second office he called. First, he called the Lone Tree Sentinel, the town newspaper, but of course no one there knew what he was talking about. None of them, evidently, read any paper but their own. Only after he worked through three or four editors at the Sentinel did he take a second look at the paper in front of him and learn that it had come not from the Sentinel, but from the Gazelles Gazette.
We also know what he said once he got Principal Klieglight on the phone. And, we know that Principal Klieglight took the mayor at his word that he’d better round up some newspapers if he wanted to keep his job. Finally, we know that eventually Ms. Blandishment had asked, somewhat innocently, “Where did Mayor King get a copy of the paper?
And though we’ve known for some time that there are indeed newspapers all over town, only now do we hear the low guttural noise from Principal Klieglight as he puts the facts together and comes to that knowledge himself. This low guttural noise is interrupted only by Ms. Blandishment poking her head into his office with a bit of news: “I just called the printer; he says that Mr. Thorndyke ordered 2000 copies of the paper. He said it was supposed to be a special edition.” The only other sounds we hear are those of Principal Klieglight’s head repeatedly hitting his desk: thump thump thump.
For Principal Klieglight, this was turning into a very long day.
Finally, however, he stood up, rubbed absently at his forehead, which now had a sizeable red dot right in its center. He took a deep breath, straightened his tie, and set out into the town to collect those papers.
Set out, that is, right after he steeled himself with another Diet Coke.