Chapter 6: The Barnacle


New York is a city of contrasts. Union Square is no exception and two of
the sides would be as different as the two sides of a coin. On the North
side, you have the outdoor cafes, where folks would lounge and chat away
the endless hours over their five dollar milk shakes and fancy salads
that look like weeds harvested from an afternoon of gardening in the
yard. You also have the art galleries full of inscrutable modern art
paintings and meaningless faux art deco sculptures priced higher than
most people would earn for a week's labor. And then you have the student
bookstores selling books at five percent to ten percent discounts, as if
such discounts would offset the enormously extravagent tuitions that the
students were paying at the nearby university. For while a sheepskin
from a fancy school may be prestigious, a degree in the arts in no way
makes one more prepared for the world at large than an apprenticeship at
a wheel wright.

And you have businesses so strange that no one knows what they sell or
what services they offer. One such store right at the Northeast corner
of the square bore the name "Plascu Prytii", which is presumably in a
foreign language that no longer finds usage among the living. As you
enter the store, you are confronted with a hallway of mirrors, like a
funhouse, propped up over a floor of tiled wood pieces. Bizarre clay
sculptures resembling organs of the body are scattered here and there
seemingly in no logical pattern or order. Walking through the
passageways of mirrors, you would occasionally arrive in an area where
the passageway broadens and all you see is a television screen hanging
down from the ceiling. Each such screen would be playing a panorama of
bizarre geometric shapes interrupted at random intervals by transmission
noise and snow. Many have speculated that such a display is greatly
enhanced by certain drugs that can be purchased in the back room of the
store, although none, including the New York Police Department, have
figured out if that is the case as there has never been anyone in
attendance in the showcase area.

In summary then, the North side of the square was about as far removed
from every day existence as you can get. In contrast, the South side of
the square was about as gritty and day to day as you could get.
Along 14th Street, running along the South side of the Square, was a row
of discount, bargain basement and dollar stores selling everything from
items of clothing to cheap toys to small electronic appliances to
crockery and silverware. Some of the stores even set up merchandise out
on the sidewalk, as though they had so much to sell that goods were
literally spilling out of the store. Instead of outdoor cafes, you have
the down to earth wonders of quick service, where a chef wearing a night
shirt will ladle a glob of any soup or entree you wish into a
polystyrene bowl on a greasy plastic tray. After the discount stores and
the cheap eats, you have the massage parlors, where you can get a bit
more than a massage if you pay up. Although, if you are not careful, you
can get a lot more in the bargain in terms of certain diseases
transmittable that way. For as Bill Bonner, famed 21st century economic
philosopher would say, people get not what they want but what they
deserve.

And wedged in the cracks and alleys amongst all the aforementioned
stores, there are the piercing and tattoo parlors. Morphic beings,
having a large variety of shapes and sizes of ears have been fertile
ground for experimentation in piercing and ring placement. Some have
taken to the piercing of muzzles and nasal cartilages, not unlike the
ring in the nose of a bull. And many have experimented with piercing and
ringing some more bizarre parts of the body that are inappropriate to
elaborate on in polite conversation. The tattoo side of those businesses
would seem not to make sense at first as every morphic being is covered
in fur or feathers or even scales but a certain amount of shaving has
become a bit of a fashion statement, although none but the most bold
have dared to take on the appearance of poodles. Still, a patch shaved
here and a patch shaved there would be sufficient for most to show off
the ink of a tattoo.

It was along the latter gritty side of the Square where Frankie
preferred to walk. Not so much to partake in the massages or the
piercings or the tattoos, mind you, but merely to take in the atmosphere
of the daily hustle and bustle. Sometimes, when you are thinking about
your problems, setting them against a backdrop of a hive of activity as
the sidewalks on 14th Street were, you tend to see your problems as what
they really are, and those would be hardly anything within the larger
picture. Mainly, Frankie was numb. In a daze at all the events and his
adventures of the past few days. Numb at the fact that he had fought two
well armed opponents and killed them both, although the cat warrior
ninja really died of one of her own careless leaps. Still, he could not
quite shake the feeling of shock at seeing their lifeless bodies, with
blood dripping down and pooling around them.

Frankie walked one block, then another and another. With the constant
stream of cars and buses on the road and the sea of people on the
sidewalk, soon everything dissolved into a blur and he was but a
minnow in a school of minnows. An ocean of faces became an indistinct
blob, all with one face. Even the endless row of stores and buildings
became one grey rectangular block of concrete and steel. And the street
itself was a long grey river of asphalt and cigarette butts flowing,
albeit in a halting manner, and spilling out into the alleys and back
streets.

And then for a moment, everything became crystal clear once again and he
saw it happen. A child, a very young kitten girl, broke out of the crowd
and ran off the sidewalk into the traffic on the street. Two cars
swerved around the child with but narrow misses. A big yellow taxi,
however, appeared to be heading right for the child. As everyone else in
the crowd appeared not to notice, Frankie wasted no time at all. He dove
through the crowd, tumbling off the sidewalk onto the street. Turning
head over heel and picking himself up, he ran for the child and scooped
her up in his right arm and did another dive out of the way of the taxi,
barely avoiding getting a foot nicked by the yellow cab. which was still
barreling down the street. As he bounced off the asphalt, Frankie took a
look back at the driver in the taxi. A middle aged grey and black furred
goat with a classic goatee wearing a leather cap, the driver was staring
ahead with wide and glassy eyes as though transfixed on the street
ahead. Frankie did not think anything was odd except maybe the cab
driver was tired and not concentrating too well. Then in the next split
second, he saw what he needed to know. A small jar of light brown cubes
sitting on the dashboard. He was having mushrooms.

By then, traffic had pretty much stopped on the street and there was a
cacophany of horns of many different timbres depending on the make and
model of the vehicles. It was almost an orchestra or a grand concerto,
where the only instruments were a bunch of horns. Frankie picked himself
up, still carrying the child, who was herself in a bit of a shock and
maintaining a death grip on Frankie's right shoulder. He then calmly
went back across the street to the sidewalk, where by now a crowd had
stopped and gathered to watch the action and drama unfold. As he stepped
towards the sidewalk, the crowd parted and he saw a cat lady in a shawl
and paisley dress standing on the sidewalk. She appeared distraught but
the look on her face brightened considerably when she saw that the
kitten girl was okay and that not a hair on her was harmed.

"Thank you. Thank you so much, kind sir" she cried out in relief. "I
swear I was holding on to her hand. She just got away from me. I don't
know what I would have done if my little Anna got run over in traffic."

"You're welcome. I would have done that anyway. I know what it is like
to lose a child. My little sister was taken from me at a very early age
and I have never seen her since." Frankie replied.

"I'm Hazel, by the way. It is nice to meet such a helpful and heroic
young man. While I do not know the exact circumstances of your sister's
disappearance, you have my deepest sympathies and my prayers are with
you that you will find her one day." Hazel said, looking to Frankie with
a look of gratitude.

"Aww shucks." Frankie shuffled his feet a bit as the high praise was
just a bit embarrassing. "It's nothing. My name's Frankie."

"Oh listen," Hazel started "we live in an apartment upstairs. If you
have the time, why don't you join us for some tea and cake? It will not
be an imposition. We insist. And you can see The Barnacle."

"The Barnacle?" asked Frankie.

"You will see. You will see." emphasized Hazel. "Come along!"

As Hazel and Anna, weaved through the crowd, Frankie following, trying
his best not to get lost in the sea of people. To be honest, he did not
like visiting folks at their homes very much. Even when he was invited
to parties or sleepovers, it always felt like an intrusion as it was not
his place. He always felt that one could not feel at home unless one was
at home. And he made it clear that it was not a reflection on the
abilities or grace of the host whenever he turned down an invitation.
The pair seemed very different from most people, however. They had a
certain magic, a certain charm and Frankie was just a bit curious as to
where they would be leading him.

After about one and a half blocks, Hazel stopped and motioned Frankie to
come over to a doorway that was neatly sandwiched between a record store
specializing in used albums, which amazingly have survived for centuries
without crumbling into pieces of plastic, and a small convenience store
specializing in small convenience store food items, which amazingly have
survived for weeks without developing mold. Hazel rummaged in her purse,
which until that point in time Frankie had not noticed she was carrying,
and fished out an large ornate brass key with a flowery pattern on the
handle. He noticed that the door had a key hole but it was a regular
sized key hole. But with a bit of a flourish Hazel stuck the large key
into the key hole, apparently with no problem at all and turned it.
There was a distinct click and the door opened slightly. Hazel opened up
the door and waved an arm out into the doorway as if to show Frankie the
way in. He stepped across the threshold, followed by Hazel and Anna. As
Hazel slowly closed the door behind her, Frankie glanced back out to the
street and saw that the crowd was not moving at all. Everyone out on the
street seemed rigid and frozen in time. Even the cars on the street had
stopped.

Frankie was about to say something about frozen crowd and traffic
outside when he saw the hallway and forgot all about it. It was a
strange place. The walls looked like they were wet clay, somewhere
between beige and brown in color, and they seemed to be pulsing in and
out a bit, keeping time with an imaginary heart beat. The pulsating
walls ended at the floor, which was not unlike green astroturf. It was
like carpet but a bit rougher like the back of a brillo pad. As they
walked down the hallway, Frankie could see that there were portraits of
various people, all in heroic poses. One was in a general's uniform. He
was himself a horse and was sitting astride a regular horse. The next
portrait was of a tiger in a suit of armor. He was carrying a massive
bastard sword, holding it high up in the air with one hand, even though
it appeared to be a two handed sword, literally needing two hands just
to hold it up. The third portrait was of a killer whale. He had on a sea
captain's hat and sea captain's coat, and he was standing at the bow of
a large ship with three sails. He was saluting. The last picture was of
a ferret in a yellow and black jacket. He bore a striking resemblance to
Frankie himself. In one hand, he was holding what appeared to be a large
45 caliber gun with a pearl white handle. He held the gun diagonally
upwards and wore a smirk on his face as if he had just defeated a great
nemesis. As they were passing by, Frankie quickly scanned the picture
for any other possibly important details. There was almost nothing in
the background except a large wooden crate.

"Umm... about that picture we just passed..." Frankie started to ask.

"No time to explain" Hazel replied, with what would have been an air of
impatience if she was not exuding charm and hospitality in her body
language. "The Barnacle awaits your visit."

"Oooh oh-kayyy" said Frankie, still not knowing anything.

They were standing at what appeared to be an elevator. That was the
point where the beige clay walls stopped, only to be replaced by flat
walls with a plaster surface that was painted light green. The
steel elevator door was about seven feet by ten feet and so looked a bit
squat. In the doors, there were two rectangles at about eye level with
steel cross bars. To the right of the elevator door, there were two
buttons, one with an up arrow and the other with no insignia on it.
Frankie wondered if the latter button did anything. Hazel pushed the
button with the up arrow and it lit up with an orange light.

In a mere few seconds, Frankie could see that another pair of
rectangular windows, the same size as the rectangular windows in the
steel elevator doors, slid slowly down until the former windows were
about even with the latter. Then there was the ding of a little bell and
the steel doors opened. The walls of the elevator were a dull grey
smooth surface and the floor was black rubber with circular studs. Hazel
stepped into the elevator, followed by Anna and Frankie. There was an
elevator control panel with six numbered buttons and a few other
buttons to open and close the door, and to sound the alarm. Hazel pushed
button number five. Almost immediately, the doors of the elevator closed
and the elevator jerked upwards and started a smoother ascent, dinging
once at each floor but not stopping until it got to the fifth floor. The
doors opened.

Frankie was relieved to find that the hallway of the fifth floor was not
a pulsating beige wall of wet clay. It was in fact a rather ordinary
wall, just like a wall in any other apartment building. The plaster wall
was whitewashed all the way from one end of the hallway to the other.
The floor was a marble tile with dark grey and light grey marble specks.
The grooves between the tiles were almost black in color, indicating
that the floor needed some serious scrubbing.

Across the hallway from the elevator, there was a light purple door with
the number 501 on it. There seemed to be sounds of laughter and mirth
coming from behind the door. Hazel went up to the door and with a twist
of the brass handle, she opened it. They went in.

Inside the apartment, it was like a typical living room of a typical New
York City apartment. Just a bit cramped but livable. There were
bookcases and shelves of dark brown wood, possibly mahogany. While there
were a few books, Frankie noticed that most of the shelve space was
devoted to ornate vases. Looking at one of the vases, he saw that it
depicted the same battle scene as the vase in Smith the snake's back
office at Lace 'n Love. A television that looked really ancient was
sitting in one corner of the living room. It was set in its own wooden
cabinet and instead of buttons, it had turn dials for both the channels
and the volume. It was not turned on at that time.

There was a rug on the floor with the same battle scene, a clash of
furred warriors that looked like mice and human warriors. On the rug,
sat a number of kids. One of them was a young ferret wearing glasses. As
Frankie got near, he saw that the young ferret was holding some kind of
plastic eating utensil that looked like a cross between a fork and a
spoon. As Frankie watched, the eating utensil appeared to bend and twist
like a clock in a Salvador Dali painting. Curious, Frankie got closer
and watched the gyrating eating utensil in amazement.

"That is a spork?" Frankie asked.

The ferret child said softly, "There is no spork." He continued, "It is
but a fabrication of the fast food industry."

The spork continued breakdancing. It twisted and turned back and forth
faster and faster. Then the ferret child threw it up in the air and it
disappeared. The ferret child did not seem surprised at all. He merely
stared blankly ahead as Frankie gasped and looked all around, open
jawed, trying to see where the flying spork had landed.

"That Nemoy, always playing with his spoon forks." said Hazel, shaking
her head slowly from side to side. "Come on. The Barnacle is preparing
tea as we speak."

Hazel walked across the living room, followed by Frankie. As they
approached the kitchen, he noticed that the entrance had a set of wooden
swing doors like a bar in a Western. Hazel motioned for Frankie to go
through the swing doors. Glancing back at Hazel, he stepped forward,
pushed through the doors and entered the kitchen.

The kitchen reminded Frankie of his parents' home. It was a bit of a
mess but strangely quite comforting. All along the wall for about half
the room, there were beige formica cabinets at eye level and up. A
refrigerator festooned with fridge magnets stood right by the door. Next
to the refrigerator, there was a kitchen sink half filled with dishes
that needed to be washed. From the sink, a beige formica kitchen counter
went all the way around the corner of the room and stopped just before
the stove and oven set. There was a kettle on the stove. The gas flames
were burning and percolations in the kettle were imminent. A small
wooden table with a few chairs around it sat in the middle of the
kitchen. On the table, there was a plastic table cover printed with the
same battle motif as the rug and vase outside.

In the middle of the kitchen stood a plump lady capybara in a paisley
dress. She almost looked like Frankie's mother, if his mother were big
and plump and a capybara. Capybaras being the world's largest rodents,
it was not surprising that she was a bit large but she still seemed a
bit wider than proportion would allow. She was facing towards the stove
but as Frankie came in, she turned around.

She said "Hello, Frankie. I have been expecting you."

Frankie said "Hi... you must be The Barnacle. How did you know my name?"

The Barnacle replied "You are correct. I am The Barnacle. As for your
name, I believe that is one of your bowling shirts you have on."

"Umm... yes" Frankie replied, as he took a look down at his name sewn in
yellow thread in a cursive script on the upper left side of his shirt.

"I believe the tea is almost ready." said The Barnacle. Her timing was
perfect as right at the moment she said the word "ready", the kettle
started whistling and a rush of steam came out of the spout. "I will
pour us a cup."

She had two cups with tea bags in them already set on the table. She
picked up the kettle from the stove, saying "ooh" as the steam ran up
her arm a bit. Then she brought the kettle over to the table and poured
a bit of the boiling water in each cup. "We will let those steep for a
bit" she said.

Then she picked up a plate of small brown cookies that Frankie only
noticed was there when she picked it up. "Have a cookie. These are made
from mushrooms. It is an old family recipe," she said.

Frankie hesitated, remembering his experience with Smith the snake's
mushroom snack.

Almost as if she could read Frankie's mind, she said "Oh, don't worry.
They are good. Trust me. Here, I will have one to show you there is
nothing to worry about these."

And with that she picked up a cookie from the plate and bit off part of
it. "See? It is delicious. Like momma used to make if she knew the
recipe."

Frankie picked up a cookie. In a hesitating manner, he slowly brought it
to his mouth and took a nibble. It was sweet and had some crunch, like
most other kinds of cookies. Frankie thought there would be mushrooms
embedded in the cookie but it did not taste like mushrooms. Whatever was
in the cookie tasted nutty like walnuts instead of mushrooms.

"Listen... destiny is the name of the game" she philosophized. "I have a
destiny. Hazel outside has a destiny. The kid with the spoon forks has a
destiny too, although I think the circus is not accepting applicants
right now. And so do you have a destiny, which you are seeking even if
you do not know you are seeking a destiny or even what your destiny is."

Frankie went into blank stare glazed eye mode, not knowing what the
point of the speech was.

"I am here to help you find your destiny. To answer questions you did
not even know you needed to ask." she continued.

Frankie thought for a bit and decided to start from the beginning. "When
I was entering the building with Hazel, the traffic and crowd outside
seemed to stop. Why did that happen?"

The Barnacle replied "Okay, so I am here to answer questions you
know you needed to ask too." She continued, "Well you see, I forgot to
pay my time bill to the time utility company. So inside this building,
time has stopped moving. It is at a standstill. The crowd outside will
not even see the entrance to the building because to them, it is a blip
and then it ceases to exist. However, with the large brass key, Hazel
could stop time long enough for you, Hazel and Anna to enter the
building."

"And what of the walls that look like wet clay and are pulsating with an
apparent heart beat? What are they, actually?" asked Frankie, continuing
with the middle.

The Barnacle said, "Well, you see... the author of this novel was
scarred for life after watching a poorly done British horror television
series at an early age. It featured such a wall and so now he cannot
help but to write about it."

Frankie was bewildered at the idea that they were in a novel but not
together enough to ponder the philosophical implications.

So it was a good thing The Barnacle did it for him. "We are all living
in a story that someone is writing. In a dream that someone is dreaming.
In a song that someone is singing. In a live stage show that someone is
staging in... uhh... well, you know what I mean. We go about our lives
every day. It seems so real and yet, could it be that we are all taking
part in someone's dream and the moment he wakes up, we will all cease to
exist? What if God was a dreamer and we were all screaming too loudly?"
she said. "Makes you think, huh?"

Suddenly, The Barnacle raised her left hand and caught a spork that had
just come flying through the door. "Darn kid. Does that all the time.
What a nuisance." she said.

Frankie's head was swimming the backstroke at that point as philosophy
was not his strong suit. But he pulled himself together and asked
another question. "And what of the portraits hanging on the wall? Why
does the last one look like me holding a gun?"

The Barnacle replied "Ah, but that is you. Each of the portraits is of a
warrior who fought the imperial frog before you. Each of them, the
general, the knight and the sea captain, has won the battle by some
measure. And so will you, oh yellow and black jacketed one."

Frankie asked further. "But how does the picture know? For all it knows,
I could be run over by a taxi out on the street or get the incurable
ferret fever or join a monastery and devote the rest of my life to world
peace."

"Well, the world peace part sounds mighty tempting" The Barnacle said.
"But no, it is your destiny and you cannot avoid it, any more than a
river can avoid flowing down to the ocean."

"But the Orinoco River in South America..." Frankie started.

The Barnacle palm smacked her forehead. "It's the way destiny works.
Everything is can be determined ahead of time, if you read enough of the
tea leaves."

Frankie noticed that The Barnacle was now holding one of the tea bags
and peering into it with a bit of a squint.

She continued "What will really crumble your cookie is if I had not told
you about the vase, would you have knocked it over?"

Frankie turned around. There was indeed an ornate vase sitting on top of
the refrigerator. That vase too was decorated in a battle motif. It was
not broken.

"But it is not broken" Frankie said.

Almost without hesitation, The Barnacle pulled out a small pistol, from
where Frankie would rather not know, lifted it up, pointed it at the
vase and pulled the trigger. There was a loud crack and the vase
shattered into several pieces, one of which fell to the floor and
shattered even more, almost to a fine powder.

"As I said, if I had not told you about the vase, would you have broken
it?" The Barnacle repeated.

"Um no, you broke it, pistol lady" said Frankie.

The Barnacle ignored that. "My goal is to give you the tools you need to
fulfill your life's destiny, and that is to find and rescue your
sister."

With that, she opened one of the drawers below the kitchen counter and
pulled out a large 45 caliber gun with a pearl white handle.

"Just like in the picture!" Frankie exclaimed.

The Barnacle said "Take it. You will need it." She held the barrel of
the gun in one hand and brought it to Frankie with the barrel pointed
down to the floor, extending it in a gesture of offering.

"But I have never fired a gun before" said Frankie.

The Barnacle replied "Well, no better time to practice than on some bad
guys. Yee haw!"

Frankie took the gun with some reluctance.

She continued "Just remember this. In order to find your sister, you
have to follow the red rooster, pay the toll, do the monkey hop and kill
the frog."

Frankie once again had a wonderfully puzzled expression on his
countenance.

She explained "As Sean Hannity, a 21st century radio talk show host
would say, let your heart not be troubled. All will be clear as you come
across each of these."

"I think we are just about done. But oh, you have not had your tea." She
said. And with that, she pulled out a piece of paper from the drawer.
With a number of deft folds going this way and that, she folded a
perfect little origami paper cup. Then she took one of the cups of
steeped tea, picked up and tossed the tea bag aside, and then proceeded
to pour the tea into the origami paper cup. Then she took the cup and
folded it up. Then she handed the folded paper cup to Frankie.

Frankie took the cup from The Barnacle. Amazingly, it was not soaked or
wet at all. Just a dry folded paper cup.

"Be careful when you open that" advised The Barnacle. "The contents may
be hot."

Frankie nodded. He was just about to leave the kitchen but thought of
something. He turned around and asked "Why exactly are you called The
Barnacle?"

"My, a curious one, aren't you?" said The Barnacle. "Well, I will show
you."

And saying that, she lifted up her skirt a bit. Frankie could see that
she was a monopod. Instead of two legs, she had one big foot. To
Frankie's surprise, she jumped up to one of the walls and stayed
right there, with her large foot stuck to the wall.

Frankie was all agape at that. Upon seeing The Barnacle's feet, and
also her foot, his jaw was literally dangling down all the way to the
floor.

"And so you see, I have a destiny too and that is to live up to my name
and make vague prophecies. Now you pick up your jaw and go take on the
world. Okay?" said The Barnacle, still standing on the side of the wall.

Eventually, Frankie recovered. Bidding his farewells and giving a little
wave, he turned and left the kitchen, the apartment and the building.