The Reality Rat’s Guide

It wasn’t long before she came back up Main Street. She was going to bypass us by walking around instead of through the circle, but when the Rat called her over she reluctantly crossed the street.

“What now?” she said, rolling her eyes humorously and pretending to be put out.

“Two more questions,” the Rat said. “The first one’s theoretical. Why would someone want a person to be angry during an experience they were exposing him to? For example, if I took someone to see some of the stonework, could any advantage be gained by having him be angry?”

“Not really,” she said. “You don’t notice things when you’re angry. It would only be good if you were trying to distract their outside attention, you know, their conscious mind, completely, and put something directly into the subconscious part that records everything like film. But that’s just what most people don’t want, so I don‘t know.”

We looked at each other. That was better than anything we‘d come up with. “O.K.,” the Rat said. “And have you heard that the world’s supposed to end in December of 2012?”

She nodded, looking right at us for a change. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ve heard it. I think it’s a bogus issue. Another way for people to distract themselves.”

“You mean you don’t believe it?” he said.

“No,” she said, her shyness lost in her earnestness. “I mean, it could be, but so what if it is? In most cases, paying attention to the fate of the world is a way to not pay attention to your own life. The end times of the world, how relevant is that? For any given person, it’s always the end times.”

As soon as she stopped, she looked as if she regretted her speech, like a mother who was embarrassed by something her child had blurted out. She grimaced a little. “Sorry,” she said. “I can be kind of outspoken.”

“That’s O.K.,” the Rat said. “I just wonder if some people aren’t better off when they’re distracted from their lives a little.”

She smiled a little ruefully. “Touché,” she said, edging away. “I’ll get right on that last days thing, then, shall I?” she joked. “See ya.” And she headed for home.

“See ya,” I said. And the Rat said “Thanks.” We watched her walk away.

“The end times are irrelevant,” I mused. “I wonder what my crow companions would think of that one.”

“That it’s true, but not for you,” the Rat said. He sat back and seemed to be thinking. “She’s like an oracle in a way. I’d like to ask her more questions.”

We sat there for a few minutes. He seemed absorbed in thought. I was watching the play of light through the leaves of the large fern-leafed beech that stood in the circle, and listening to the birds. I knew the calls and recognized them: cardinals, house finches, starlings, and from down the street I heard a dove cooing, all ordinary sounds I heard every day.

Then, in a moment, clouds darkened the sky and the birds were silent. I heard a sound that brought me to my feet, a shrill cry similar to that of a red-tailed hawk, but louder and with deeper undertones, a huge sound almost like a small thunderclap. The Rat had stood up at the same time I did, and in a moment we saw a momentous sight: a huge bird the size of a small plane glided over us. It reminded me of pictures I’d seen of pterodactyls, with the bony, crested head and long narrow wings, but it was covered with tiny feathers, mostly dark and some silvery, refracting light into pale rainbows where the sun hit them directly.

When it had passed us going northward, I looked at the Rat in horror, my mind racing for an explanation. “Was that a condor?” I said.

He was jubilant. He slapped me on the back, grinning, and said, “Yeah, that’s one of those rare Pennsylvania condors. Don’t see them too often!” He looked at me grinning. “Seriously, want to know what we just saw?”

“I have decided that I did not, in fact, see anything,” I said. “But tell me what I would have seen had I, in fact, seen something.”

“A thunderbird. We just saw a thunderbird!” he said.

The sun had come back out, and the birds slowly began to sing again.

“A thunderbird? I thought they were cars,” I said. “What is it?”

He was all but dancing around. “They come to bring about the destruction of the world!” he said, as if he were saying “They cure all known diseases and bring world peace!” And I guess in a way he was saying that. “Let’s go find it,” he said and started off in the direction it had gone. I couldn’t help but notice that no one else on the street seemed to have heard or seen what we had.

I hurried after him. “Won’t it be long gone by now?” I said hopefully.

“No,” he said, his eyes on the sky. “You don’t see them unless they’re coming down.”

He led me up the hill from Main Street toward the cemetery above the borough park woods. Before we could see it, we could hear the sounds. Thunder cracked and rumbled. Wind sang through trees, and as we got nearer we saw trees along the edge of the cemetery whipping back and forth.

Finally the cemetery was visible. Rain fell like large pellets, blowing in sheets across it. To my horror, not one but three thunderbirds circled above. They were unbelievably huge. As we watched, another appeared out of the east, and then more arrived until there were seven spiraling over the hill, constantly changing angles and altitudes as if in a complex and ritualized dance.

The sky above them was terrible with dark towering clouds and flashes of red fire. Fear overcame me and I turned to run but the Rat grabbed my arm. He tried to say something, but the sound of it was lost in the storm, so we just stood and watched as the creatures spiraled higher and higher and finally disappeared.

It wasn’t cold, and I hadn’t gotten wet, but my body was shivering so hard that I had to sit down. He guided me to a dry place not far away where we could sit and talk and not be seen.

“Hey,” he said, “Come on. What’s the matter? Wasn’t that cool?” He poked me in the shoulder as I sat, head buried in my hands. “Most people never get to see anything like that.”

“That’s the problem,” I said with difficulty. “No one else sees all this crazy stuff. I might as well be insane, seeing impossible things, being talked to by birds, believing in wild theories . . . This would be an easy diagnosis for a psychiatrist, you know—schizophrenic psychosis.”

I realized as I said it that it was true. Qualified people would have no problem figuring out what was wrong with me if I told my story. My case wouldn’t even be extraordinary. Just another candidate for Haldol or Risperdal or whatever they‘re giving people now. I looked down. I think all this is happening, I told myself, but I’m just nuts. Of course! I just hadn’t wanted to see it. I need to get medical help.

“I have to be crazy,” I said, looking up. I could hear the wonder and horror in my voice. “This stuff can’t possibly be true. Those things can‘t be real.”

The Rat laughed and patted me gently. “I get what you’re doing,” he said quietly. “You’re trying to get back to your safe old reality by denying everything that’s happened to you in the last few days. It‘s more comfortable to pretend it‘s not there.”

“But any psychiatrist in the world would say I was nuts,” I said.

He leaned forward, looking up into my face. “Only because he’d assume it wasn’t true,” he said. “But it is true. You think you can take refuge in the communal consensus at this point? You want someone to tell you that since no one else has experienced what you’re experiencing, it has to be false? You can’t limit the world that way just because the truth scares you.”

“But . . .” I couldn’t think of what to say. My mind was out of control.

“Listen,” he said in a low voice, “You crawled out of that puppy dog house a while ago. Now you’re a big dawg, buddy. I guarantee you won’t fit back in.”