In which the author continues to tell the most appalling lies.

Chapter 2

Beth paused at the bottom of her apartment building to readjust her grip on the bag of pastries and the marmot-filled cage. The hand that had held the cage had a red line across the palm where the metal had dug into it. Beth glared at the line in some disgust and asked herself for the fifteenth time just what exactly she thought she was doing.

"Why, rescuing us, of course," said a squeaky voice emanating from the general direction of the caged animals.

Beth jumped back, glad she had already set the cage down; she was sure she would have dropped it otherwise. The bag of pastries, of course, fell from her suddenly paralyzed fingers, and a single éclair fell out, landing with a gentle squelching noise right outside the marmots' cage.

"Unghrgh," Beth said, which, under the circumstances, she felt was quite a reasonable statement to make.

"Oh, don't be coy," said the voice, now unmistakably coming from one of the marmots. The one who had spoken curled its tiny paws around the wiring of the cage and pressed its nose through a small opening. The other marmot sidled over to the éclair, and began picking at it, pulling pieces into the cage and stuffing them into its mouth.

Beth sat down hard on one of the carpeted stairs.

"I'm so sorry," she said, even though she wasn't. "I always feel frustrated with characters in books who just can't seem to get over it when an animal starts talking to them, but really, it is just so astonishing when it happens in real life."

The speaking marmot shrugged, (or at least Beth thought it was a shrug; it looked so different on a marmot), then turned its head towards its companion and reached out one paw, palm up. The éclair-eating marmot paused and swallowed, then obligingly passed over a sizable chunk of pastry. The first marmot stuffed it in its mouth, then licked both its paws thoroughly.

"Ah," it said at last. "That baker does an extraordinary job. He'd be quite a fine human if he weren't so insufferable."

Beth said, "Hmm," as noncommittally as possible, then leaned forward over her knees to peer at the cage more closely.

"Wait," she said. "Isn't there some part where you're supposed to explain just how exactly you learned how to talk, or why you're talking now, or did I miss that bit?"

The marmot looked at Beth scornfully. She didn't know how it managed it.

"Do you think we go around asking humans how they learned how to talk? Or cows? Or dung beetles? Of course not. Really," it huffed, "you people are so species-centric."

Beth blinked a couple of times, then leaned forward to rest her forehead on her knees as she sighed heavily.

"Fine," she said, her voice muffled by her speaking into her jeans. She lifted her head and looked at the marmots again. "But I don't really have time to deal with talking marmots right now, you know, even if you were to tell me how you did it. It's almost the end of the semester, for crying out loud! How about I rent a car and take you guys out to Walden Pond, eh? Would that do? I'll even give you the rest of the éclairs."

The éclair-eating marmot nudged the other with a furry elbow and stage-whispered, "Isn't there a lovely bakery out there in Concord? Sally Ann's, wasn't it?"

The other marmot put one paw on its companion's shoulder, and said, "Patience, Jean-Marc." Then, turning to Beth, it said, "We gladly accept your offer. In any case, it beats being drowned in the Charles River."

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Several hours later, Beth pulled her Zipcar up onto the side of the road, in a woodsy area bordering Walden Pond. (She didn't feel it would be the best idea to release the marmots too close to Concord and its enticing bakeries.) She pulled the cage out of the backseat, rested it gently on the ground and undid the clasp, then stood back to allow the marmots ample room to burst forth into the wilds of Massachusetts.

They ambled out of the cage, and one of them came up and looked up at her expectantly. (She was pretty sure it was the one who had first spoken to her; its fur was a little darker than the other's.) The marmot cleared its throat. Beth looked down at it blankly.

The marmot raised itself on its hind legs and rolled its eyes. "The éclairs?" it said, putting both paws on its rodent hips.

"Oh!" said Beth, embarrassed, and dove into the passenger-side to retrieve the bag of pastries. "Here," she said, handing the bag over to the importunate marmot.

The marmot sniffed and said, "That's better," then started off, dragging the bag behind it.

Beth watched for a little while, and then shook her head, laughed a little to herself, and turned back to the Zipcar.

"You realize what this means, of course," she heard just as she was about to shut the front door.

"What?" she said, leaning and looking back at the retreating marmots.

The one with the bag had raised itself on its hind legs again, and cupped its paws around its mouth. "You'll get three wishes, I mean!" it shouted.

"Wha... For saving you?" Beth said.

The marmot shook its head and called out, "You read too many fairy tales! No, it's for the éclairs!" and it turned back and shuffled along through the leaves until it and the other marmot were completely out of sight.

(To be continued...)

In which the author tells the most appalling lies.

Prologue

She pressed one finger into the small tense spot between her two eyebrows and regarded the computer screen with frank incredulity.

There was so much space to fill!

And so much to tell.

She supposed that she ought to just start, but she worried that no one would believe her. No one could possibly believe her, not even the bit about the estate in England, let alone the unicorns.

But she knew that the only thing she could do was to record it all, record it for posterity, record it for the little urchins on the street who looked to her to write down her own life in the most inept fashion possible. She owed it to them all.

So she decided she would tell the very, very exciting story of the past several weeks, and she would tell it in the third person, because she knew it would help her to look at everything wholly objectively.

"Right," she muttered to herself (causing her rommate to glance over at her in alarm). "I'll do it."
And so she began:

***************************************************
Chapter 1

It all began with the marmots... No...earlier than that. It all began the morning she decided to have a bagel for breakfast instead of an egg.

Beth had been eating eggs for breakfast steadily for roughly the past year of her life. And while she admired the efficient packaging, not to mention the cheerfully bright yellow of the yolk, she found that morning that she had simply had enough. She had had enough eggs.

Unfortunately, despite her desire to eat a bagel, she was unable to find one anywhere in the apartment. (She even checked the 'secret shelf' where one of her roommates stashed particularly divine eatables.) So, to appease her craving, she dashed down the stairs of her apartment building, and down the street to a fine little French bakery. Which did not sell bagels. Alas.

However, while there, she noticed that there was a large cage set up behind the counter of the bakery. Intrigued even more than she was hungry, Beth inquired about the two animals that circled the interior, occasionally snapping at passing customers.

"Oh, zoze [those]?" said the man behind the counter, in an obviously fake French accent. "Why, zey are ze marmottes."

"Marmottes?" murmered Beth musingly.

"Oui, mademoiselle," replied the fake French bakery man.

Beth cocked her head in a manner which was meant to imply charming confusion (for even with a fake French accent, the man was not bad looking) and said, "But why marmots?"

"Ze marmottes, mademoiselle, zey haf been pilfering ze pastries!" cried the man.

Beth gasped in shock, for it is not every day that one meets rodentia who share one's tastes so completely.

"Thieving marmots," she said, shaking her head gently to express just the right degree of sympathy. "Shocking indeed. So, what do you plan to do with them?"

"Ah," the not-French man said, looking away from Beth and rubbing his upper arm with one hand, "Zat is perhaps not a sing [thing] I should be saying to ze young lady."

Beth hurridely glanced around for the young lady he spoke of and saw a woman with a parasol just exiting the building.

Once the woman had left, Beth turned back to the man and said, "Now that she's gone, won't you tell me?"

The man's face flushed, and a vein throbbed in his left temple. He pounded his two fists on the counter, causing the eclairs in the display case to jump up and turn upside-down. "I will drown zem all!" he shouted, causing the elderly gentleman in the corner to glance up nervously and fold his newspaper with some speed.

As the bell over the door marked the exit of the elderly gentleman, Beth turned her mind to the problem at hand. While she could not, in her heart of hearts, advocate pastry theft, she found she could advocate the drowning of the marmots even less.

Glancing over at the marmot-filled cage, and leaning forward to emphasize her earnestness, Beth said, "I'll take them."

The man of dubious nationality rubbed one hand through his hair, causing most of it to stand entirely on end (which, incidentally, made him just a little bit less becoming), and said, "Mademoiselle, you know not zese marmottes. Zey are full of ze tricks. Zey will make you meezerable, I believe."

Beth drew breath to argue: she did not care how miserable the marmots made her; she would not let them be drowned. But the baker spoke again before she could reply.

"But, I have not ze time to go to ze river today. I have ze orders up to here," he said, pointing to his left eyebrow. "You can have ze marmottes. But know zat I have given you ze warning, mademoiselle."

He looked grimly at Beth.

Beth looked grimly back.

Then the man who was not French shrugged, and shoved the cage forward with his foot. Beth smiled at him and reached for her purse.

"Now how much are those eclairs?" she asked.

(To be continued...)