Title: The License of the Balms

Author: A.A.Aaron

Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling lay in their bed side by side, after a vigorous and inventive lovemaking session. He was wearing the smug, self-congratulatory grin of one that knows he has performed well. She was smiling beatifically and radiating the warm glow that confirmed that he had indeed outdone himself.

"Congratulations, big guy," she murmured. "You've made the Olympic screwing team."

"I owe it all to clean living," he responded, modestly.

After several minutes of silence, Clarice said, "Speaking of clean living, how come you never became a smoker? Not that I'm complaining but I always pictured a man of your rarefied tastes as puffing an expensive after-dinner stogie."

Hannibal turned on his side to face her. He gently brushed several hairs from her cheek.

"Funny you should ask that. I used to smoke the occasional Havana; not very often as it tended to affect adversely my olfactory sense. However, I do recall one occasion when smoking a cigar nearly cost me my freedom. I don't believe I've ever told you about it."

Clarice gazed at him suspiciously. "This isn't by any chance another Bath Sheet story?"

Hannibal looked hurt. "I have no idea what you're referring to. Do you want to hear my story or not?"

"Oh, all right," she said, resignedly. "Let's hear it."

Hannibal put on his robe as he began his discourse.

"After my escape from Memphis," Hannibal began, "I laid low for a couple years, holding odd jobs such as lumberjack, pro wrestler (I wore a mask for that one), piano player in a Dixieland jazz band, and balloon salesman.

"In my free time I began a serious study of how my memory palace functions. As you know, the memory palace is a mnemonic system well known to ancient scholars. They were able to store much information in them during the Dark Ages while Vandals burned the books. However, I found an additional purpose for my palace; I was able to live there. My eidetic memory of an event retained essentially all the sensory input of the original event. I was reliving the experience, not merely remembering it. I spent years among the exquisite displays in my palace while my body in a straitjacket lay in its cell in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

"My goal was to go a step further; to be able to change a memory palace display: to be able to manipulate the contents of the display."

Clarice interrupted, "That would make you a God to any inhabitants of the memory palace universe, wouldn't it."

"Is that a problem?" Hannibal asked, baring his teeth malevolently.

"Nope, just checking. Carry on."

"Very well. To continue: My first step was to locate other possessors of advanced memory palaces to see if any of them had developed the desired techniques. I won't go into the details of my search, but after following several unrewarding leads I located an individual in Thailand who seemed to have the abilities I was seeking. We made contact by telephone and he agreed to meet with me. I was on the next plane to Bangkok.

"I picked up a taxi after checking in at the hotel. The driver was hesitant when I gave him the address.

" 'You sure this where you want go?'" he asked.

"I assured him it was. He shook his head in disbelief, and we drove off. The building at the address appeared to be an abandoned movie theater. There were aging posters advertising some long-forgotten movie, Napoleon and Samantha. The lobby doors were padlocked, but a side entrance appeared to be accessible. I pulled the bell cord, and in a moment a woman in Dragon Lady regalia opened the door. I introduced myself.

"'Hello. I'm Dr. Lucifer Fell. Mr. Tate Sommersby invited me here.'

"She looked at me blankly. I tried again. 'Bonjour. Je m'appelle Lucifer…'

"She interrupted me, 'King Tate is expecting you. Please empty your pockets of cigarettes and leave them on the table. You may retrieve them when you leave.'

"It seemed an odd way to greet a visitor but I made no comment. She beckoned me to follow her into the foyer. The table was against the right hand wall and was bare except for an open pack of Camels.

"Directly ahead was an alcove with two exquisite Ming Dynasty vases, one on either side. Each had a multilingual sign above it."

Dr. Lecter interrupted his discourse to hand Clarice a sheet of paper on which was printed copies of the two signs:

Cendrier……………Détritus

Portacenere………..Rifiute

Ashtray…………….Trash

Aschenbecher……...Abfall

Cenicero……………Basura

Cinzeiro…………… Lixo

"You had this already prepared," Clarice accused. "How did you know we'd get on the subject of 'cigars'?"

Dr. Lecter smiled complacently. "There were a number of key topics that would have permitted a segue to this tale; for example: religion, memory palace, Siam, Toulouse-Lautrec lookalikes, and so on. You were bound to hit one of them eventually."

Hannibal resumed his tale while Clarice examined the signs.

"I followed the Dragon Lady down a short corridor to a receptionists station, currently unoccupied, in front of a doorway. There was a discrete plaque on the wall beside the doorway that read:

KING Enterprises

Import & Export

The Dragon Lady spoke into the intercom. 'Dr. Fell is here, sir.'

"'Please have him come in, Nellanna.'

"I entered and found myself in a roomy office with a large plant of some sort in one corner, a computer, a bookcase packed with well-worn volumes, a four-drawer file cabinet, a large mahogany desk centered near the far wall and three comfortable-looking chairs. A bearded gentleman who looked vaguely familiar was seated at the desk, holding a telephone to his ear. He waved me in, then tapped on his watch and held his index finger up to signal that he would be finished in a minute. He completed his call and stepped down from his chair. I saw that although his upper body seemed normally developed, his legs were foreshortened to about half the normal length. I realized that he bore a strong resemblance to photographs I've seen of Toulouse-Lautrec. We shook hands and introduced ourselves.

"'Dr. Fell, I'm Tate Sommersby. Folks generally call me King.' His deep voice had a trace of a southwest Pennsylvania flavor.

"'I'm very pleased to meet you, King; and please, call me Lucifer.'

"We met for long sessions over the following week. He had developed memory-editing techniques, which I needed, and I was able to provide him with nesting strategies that improved his efficiency. Our quid pro quo exchange of information was mutually satisfying.

"When our business was completed we had time for some relaxation. He showed me the side of Bangkok that tourists never dream exists. However, I won't go into details at this time."

"Shucks, why not?" said Clarice. "It was just getting interesting…And when are we going to get to the cigar?"

"Patience, my dear. It's coming soon."

"Yes, yes, I know. All good things… yada yada yada," said Clarice. She began retouching the nail polish on her toenails. Hannibal looked on, bemused. He found the sight of her in the buff, working on her toenails, particularly arousing. Not surprising, as he found the sight of her under almost any circumstances arousing. He continued with his narrative.

"There were a number of framed certificates and awards hanging on King's office wall. One was a license for the import and export of balms, fragrances and unguents. I remarked that I had a certain expertise in this field. King was delighted at my interest in this area and astonished at my olfactory capabilities.

"He told me that he leased only a small area in the building. An offshoot religious group that called itself the Mavericks owned the building. They considered the building their temple. They had taken random features of established religions and combined them to form their own religion. They were for the most part harmless. However, there was one subject on which they were fanatical. They had somehow obtained an article from an old issue of the National Tattler. Despite the trashy headlines, the article itself was a straightforward piece of journalism on the health hazards of smoking cigarettes. The article also stated that cigar smoking had not been shown to be harmful. The Mavericks made the article a key component of their religion. Tobacco in contact with paper was a no-no. Cigarettes were forbidden. A cigar without a band and in a non-paper container was acceptable, but the butt had to be disposed of without coming into contact with paper. Any violator of these rules on temple grounds would be severely punished.

"On the final day of my trip, King and I were in his office smoking excellent Cuban cigars. In accordance with the house rules, the cigars came in individual metal containers and had no bands. On the way out, I passed the two Ming vases that were doing garbage duty – the one designated ashtray in several languages, for cigar butts and the other labeled trash for paper products. I felt an overwhelming urge to violate one more taboo. I took one final puff, then tossed the cigar butt into the trash receptacle. King looked horrified. A gong sounded loudly, and I was immediately surrounded by an angry mob bearing assorted cutlery.

"A tall, skinny individual with a scraggily beard, who appeared to be the spokesman for the group, spoke to me.

"'Let the accused step forward. You have defiled our temple! Do you have anything to say before we exact punishment?'

"King groaned and wrung his hands (The first time I'd seen anyone actually do that).

"'Oh, this is bad… so bad…' he gibbered.

"'Get hold of yourself, old chap,' I told him. 'There is no room for panic on my behalf. I assume the threat is serious.'

"'Oh, yes. One or two people a year are hacked to pieces for violating the Mavericks' religious code.'

"The situation looked fairly hopeless. I found it grimly amusing that I, a serial killer with more than fifteen victims, should be executed for mishandling a cigar butt."

Clarice was giving Hannibal her full attention now. "Ooh, this is getting exciting. Did you survive?"

"Patience, my love… patience."

"The spark of an idea came to me at that point. I spoke with the Maverick spokesman. 'I see that your signs at the vases are written in six languages. What if the person speaks none of these?'

"The spokesman smiled cynically. 'That would absolve him from punishment. But I think you would have difficulty in convincing us that you are unfamiliar with the languages listed.'

"'No, no,' I assured him. 'I would never claim that. But suppose that a person's favored language did not appear on the list, even though he was somewhat familiar with the other languages? I assume that he would first look for his favored language; not find it; then look at the less familiar languages.'

"'That is correct.'

"Now suppose that a person's favored language does not appear on the lists. But suppose that one of the items on the list appears to be a word in his language; and suppose, further, that the word in his language would place it in the wrong list?"

"The spokesman looked confused. 'Do you mind waiting a minute while I figure this out?' He patted his pockets ineffectually. 'Does anyone here have a pencil?'

"The crowd looked at one another, shrugging their shoulders and mumbling, 'Nope… not me… no pencil here… we don't need no stinkin' pencils...'

"One burly fellow carrying a machete said hesitantly, 'I have a red crayon.'

"The spokesman looked at him with loathing but accepted the crayon. The crowd remained respectfully silent as he worked the problem out on the back of an envelope. After five minutes, he looked at me and said, 'what you're proposing is that your favored language is not one of the six listed: French, Italian, English, German, Spanish or Portuguese. However, one of the words in the two lists happens to be spelled the same as a favored language word; and the meaning of that favored language word wrongly places it in the other column.

Cendrier……………Détritus

Portacenere………..Rifiute

Ashtray…………….Trash

Aschenbecher…….. Abfall

Cenicero……………Basura

Cinzeiro…………….Lixo

"The spokesman looked at the mob and saw a lot of blank stares. He sighed and said, 'Let's take a specific case. Suppose a person's favored language is called, say, Rudish. Suppose that there is a Rudish word Ashenbecher which happens to mean Trash. Then that person seeing the word Ashenbecher on a list would conclude that the list is the Trash list, which is wrong. Is that clear?'

"The crowd broke into small groups that huddled and deliberated. After several minutes they reached agreement with the spokesman's explanation. They began to cheer and slap each other on the back. The spokesman waited for the hubbub to die down and then directed his words at me. 'That is all well and good, but I defy you to come up with a legitimate language that includes one of the words in a list but with the other list's meaning.'

"'Very well,' I said. 'My favored language is Pig Latin!'

"This went over big with the mob. There were catcalls and boos, and rumblings of, 'What did he say?… What's Pig Latin?… That's no language… Let's chop him up…'

"The spokesman motioned the mob to quiet down, then said to me, 'You just made that up. There's no such language.'

"'Indeed. Would you care for a demonstration?' I called out, 'Ingkay, olday oybay, ouldway ouyay indmay elpinghay emay outay ayay itbay?'

"'Adglay otay elphay, ymay earday umchay,' King called back

"I looked at the stricken spokesman and asked, 'Would you like a further demonstration? You can whisper to me some action for King to perform. I can then pass it along to King in Pig Latin, and he will follow that instruction.'

"'That won't be necessary,' said the spokesman. 'Just state again what happened and that will be the end of it.'

"I said, 'I looked at the two signs and the only word I thought I knew from Pig Latin was the word ashtray. The Pig Latin word ashtray is equivalent to the English word trash so I concluded that the list containing the word ashtray was the trash list. This meant that the other list was the ashtray list so that's where I threw my cigar butt.'

"The spokesman declared me: Not Guilty by Reason of Translation Error.

"The crowd dispersed except for a few who wanted my autograph. I shook King's hand again, then the spokesman's hand, and was on my way."

"And that, my dear, is the story of how I was almost done in by a cigar butt," said Hannibal.

There was an extended pause while Clarice grimaced and Hannibal tried to look innocent.

"So Pig Latin is your favored language," Clarice remarked, suppressing an urge to giggle.

"What can I say, except it eemedsay to ebay an oodgay ideayay at the imetay."

She grinned. "You seem to have become unusually fond of word play lately."

"I do seem to play word games more readily than I used to. It's just become a habit. I can quit any time."

Clarice said, "You'd have about as much luck trying to kick the habit as would a one-legged nun."

"And that, my love," said Hannibal, "earns you top honors in Worst Pun of the Day."

Fin