100. Mr. Binky at Western New Year’s Eve

Mr. Binky had two offices. One was a grand building on the top of a hill with three basements, all full of papers and what he said were archives.This office was accesible to all, or that was Mr. Binky’ intention. There was a great sign on the roof of the building that read “Welcome, Protesters!” so anyone who hated him would feel welcome there. He could be found there from nine to five whenever he didn’t have a reason to be somewhere else. Most of the time, his reasons not to be there were valid.  

His other office was a secret place. It was shaped like a small submarine, because in fact it was just that. Mr. Binky kept all his top secret files there. And the submarine itself he kept in the murkiest part of Swamp Eerie.

Eerie was a swamp that some said was part of Minced Forest and others thought simply bordered it. It was so dismal a spot that even the omnipresent moles had nightmares when duty sent them to go do their spying there. The sun was said to never shine on it, and the moon was never anything but a silver sliver that could be seen only a couple of days a month.

At this office Mr. Binky would often burn the midnight oil, and too often, when most people were having a holiday, he would penetrate into the swamp, wade to his submarine and sink it and himself as deep in the quicksand there as he could and study his secrets until the feasting was over and it was time to return to work.

One thirty-first of December he was doing just that when he felt he simply needed some fresh air. After all, he had been buried in a mound of paper for so long that he felt he might not even get out of that.

Mr. Binky pushed first a thumb amd then a hand and finally his head out of the mound of secret papers and confirmed that he did need some fresh air. So he allowed his submarine to surface,  slipped out of it quietly, and strolled out of Swamp Eerie rather quickly, for the air there was anything but fresh.

Once out of the swamp, he entered Minced Forest. The air there could not have been fresher. It smelled of evergreen trees and recent rain, and though it was almost twilight, he could still see his way about.Breathing that wholesome air, Mr. Binky decided he would stroll for a while through Minced forest. He did this thinking to himself a sad soliloquy.            

 “I’m so unlucky,” he thought, allowing his usually positive self to loll in self-pity. “I hadn’t written a letter asking the Magi for gifts since I was six.   The day before yesterday I thought of writing one to ask for money for my school. If they could give a kid a blank check to solve a ridiculous problem with, surely they could help me with my interworld problems.I deserve that school. Goodness needs it. So I sit down and write this letter to the Magi. And what happens? The Magi goes bankrupt.”

Mr. Binky pressed a hand on the coatpocket over his heart where he kept the letter he had written. He looked a little like Napoleon doing that, expect he wore no hat and really had no physical resemblance to Monsieur Bonaparte whatsoever.

“Of course there are ways of raising money. But I don’t know...I’m not sure. Only the darksiders seem to have big money. The truth is I don’t often come to this forest. I don’t feel at home here. Not that it is mine. But I could sell it to the darksiders. There are ways of obtaining things. I could confiscate, expropriate. I’ve received interesting offers. If I sell, the buyers will in turn sell to the mortals.They will cut down all the trees. They will use the wood, or maybe even not. Perhaps they really need it to make toilet paper with.  That’s a problem they have. We digest everything we eat. One thing is sure. They will raise those beehive-like buildings they love, always competing to see who makes them higher. What would become of those who live here? Although I know they don’t like me, I don’t want to do these little people any harm. The truth is they have nowhere decent to go if they refuse to live in Apple Island. If I get my school in exchange of this forest, well something will be gained. I would have sacrificed these people for a good purpose. But will they see it that way? I’d better go. It’s starting to snow and there is a crescent moon but it doesn’t give much light. I can’t see very well.”

And what Mr. Binky said next was “Yaaaaaahhhh! I’m falling!”

He fell into a hole full of dead leaves, rotting roots, earthworms and snow. But inside it he continued debating with himself, though less comfortably.

       

“This could be a trap those little leaf fairies have set for me.They haven’t the slightest chance in a fight, but they are quite mean and spunky. Well, I was only musing, but they may have heard. Some of us can read minds.Or perhaps they hate me for some other reason. They are always accusing me of something or another. How dreadful! Being here must be like being dead. I hate having to do this, but I suppose it will be necessary to shout.”

Mr. Binky’s cries for help were heard by the Leafies. They stood close to the hole and peered down inside it.

  

                                   “What have we here?” they said.

“It is I, the Prime Minister!” Mr. Binky called out. “Please get me out of this hole. I think I’ve sprained my power to fly. An ankle too. It’s beginning to swell.”

“Hmm,” said the Leafies. They looked at each other, shook their heads and murmurred, “The Binky. Always giving trouble.”

But they decided to help.

“Although we have no reason to like you, we’ll haul you out. And you know why? Because it’s still the Christmas season. Tonight is one of those mortal New Year’s Eves. So we’ll sign a truce. Where will you dine? We’ll take you there.”

The Leafies thought Mr. Binky was going to party with big shot darksiders, but the truth was quite different.

“Why, I...I have no idea. I’ve made no reservations. The only fairy place I know of that is still open to the public tonight is the hamburger joint in Wee Elmira. It never closes. I suppose I could have a salad there. But they might poison it because they hate me since I have the need to revoke Wee Elmira’s status as a town because of  its absurd size. We’re settling the matter in court. Well, I think...I’ll return to my office.”

The Leafies shook their heads. It was obvious to them that Mr. Binky for all his big plans, couldn’t take care even of himself.

             

“I don’t know, but...do you like acorn purée?” asked the Leafy Vinny.

The elders nudged him, but he was neither daunted nor detained.

And that night Mr. Binky ate acorn purée and a fine piece of a huge roasted chestnut with red berry sauce. He also made a clever and ambiguous speech about the future and the importance of progress that none of the present understood or took into account. But he didn’t have the traditional twelve grapes for good luck that some people have just before the clock strikes midnight because the Leafies’ budget didn’t allow for imported foods.