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On my way to UMass the other Friday morning I innocently picked up a Valley Comic News to read on the bus. I was in a fine mood: it was payday, end of the week, a pleasant morning. I kicked back and relaxed, caught up on "Ihe Far Side" and chuckled at the international cartoons....until I came to a somber, captionless pen-and-ink drawing from a Lisbon newspaper. There on the page was a suffering George Bush nailed up by his hands and feet to an angular kind of cross. They really know how to blaspheme in Catholic countries, I thought admiringly. Bush's lugubrious face and scrawny limbs were contorted in Gothic agony. He wore a Stars and Stripes loincloth, and smoky rays emanated from the base of the double-barred "cross" as if he were also being burned at the stake. The drawing was powerful, emotional - but what did it mean? |
After I arrived at my office and booted up the computer I examined the cartoon again. I
still didn't get it, and I began to feel theatened. I prefer to think of myself as
Well-Read, Intelligent, Sophisticated, in fact as a Wrissie (an acronym for our times here
in the Educated Valley).
Wrissies of various ages and styles, from bright undergrads to jaded know-it-alls,
began to come into my office. I resisted exposing my ignorance to them, but soon curiosity
pevailed. So one by one, I showed the cartoon to everyone I encountered that morning and
in the Campus Center at lunchtime. "Explain it to me," I would say. And everyone
gave the same sheepish response: "It obviously means something. It's very
well-drawn, isn't it?" On those two points we all agreed, but by Friday afternoon
nobody had figured it out. How obscure could it be? It was a syndicated cartoon, after
all!
In desperation I called the VCN. I reached Mike Chrisman, The Editor himself,
who had selected the cartoon and placed it on the page. My breath quickened; the mystery
would now be solved. But no! Mike didn't get it either! He said there are so many
knowledgeable people in the Valley that he was sure some of them would understand it - and
it was very well-drawn. Besides, it fit perfectly in that spot. Made sense to me. And he
can't be accused of pushing any specific ideology. I thanked Mike and hung up, but I was
too committed to end my quest. Surely the answer was within reach. Maybe it was a Russian
cross, or the emblem of some European political party. I'd look it up at home, I thought.
None of my books had the answer, so on Saturday I brought my wrinkled copy of the VCN
to local Wrissie headquarters, the reference desk of the Jones Library. The librarian
admired the quality of the cartoon ("very well-drawn") and directed me to a
shelf of books about symbols. Forty minutes of research turned up only a medieval
stonecutter's mark faintly resembling the mystery object - close, but no cigar. I stuffed
the paper back into my bag and went forth with the librarian's parting words, the same
ones everyone else (including Mike Chrisman) had said, "Let me know if you find
out." How had I been chosen for this ordeal?
By now I was a terrifying presence on the streets of Amherst. The winter sun advanced
my shadow ominously aIong North Pleasant Street. Acquaintances scattered at my approach
for fear I would pull IT out of my bag and demand an explanation. Dogs tucked their tails
and ran; children clung to parents' legs; Star Trek buffs signaled the Klingon warning
"Lohc-jwt-ca!" meaning, "Look out, here comes Julie with that cartoon
again!" Villagers, I was sure, were gathering their torches and stakes.
Whew! It was time to go home and recover. I made myself a bland supper, crawled into my
oldest pajamas, read some Jane Austen, and drank a cup of Sleepytime tea before turning
out the light. In the dark I chanted my mantra, "It's only a cartoon...only a
cartoon..." to clear my mind of George Bush, international relations, the balance of
trade, the slipping value of the dollar against the franc and the pound and the - Gasp!!
My eyes flew open. Could it be the yen? I jumped up, turned on all the lights,
rushed to the unabridged dictionary, and there it was: the obvious answer we all could
have seen, should be embarrassed not to see.
I dragged out my tattered VCN one more time and recognized the artist's
finishing touch: the rays of the Rising Sun glowing up at the base of the yen/cross. Of
course, I told myself, I knew it all the time. I just wanted to see if anyone else
got it.
But honestly, it was a bad day in Wrissiedom.
Published in Valley Comic News, April 2, 1992.
All material on this web page is copyright 1995© Victoria A. White for Julie Hill Alger; or copyright as noted. For reprints of poems or stories, please contact Victoria A. White by writing vwhite@noho.com.
