Golublog: An Anthropology Blog

“Ok, now this is insane,” I said.

“Trust me.” said Kathy, gesturing ‘gimme’ imperiously.

I scrunched up my face and prepared to make my ‘Anne is About to Cry’ face that always proved so effective on Rex. Kathy, I quickly realized, was much harder to sway.

“But it’s insane!”

“Shut the fuck up and hand it over.” While my mind boggled at the idea that Rex and Kathy had ever gone out, my short time with Kathy had more or less convinced me that she wore the pants in the relationship.

I reluctantly handed over the small plush handbag I kept my tampons in.

“If you even think about opening that…” I warned Kathy.

Kathy’s eyebrows raised in a question.

“It’s just private is all.” I sulked.

“Wait a second – ” said Andrew, “maybe I’m still a little woozy as a result of that enchantment, but… who is this ‘Winnie the Pooh’? Some foreign agent?”

“This,” said Kathy, pointing to the beaming face of my favoritist bear, “is Winnie the Pooh.”

Everyone gathered around for a look.

“My,” said Cinnamon, looking concernedly at Eeyore, “that donkey seems rather unhappy, doesn’t he?”

“The tiger is quite enthused, though!” added Cumin chipperly.

“Ok ok you get the idea,” I said, snatching it away from their prying eyes and blushing a little, “what are you going to do, Kathy? Will Lessig’s love for Eeyore overwhelm his concern for Baklava?”

“Not exactly. Here,” said Kathy, placing my bag prominently on a small side table, “Andrew – you call them in. We’ll hide.”

We ducked behind yet another large curtain, Cinnamon complaining under her breadth about how she’d decorate a harem if she wanted to secure it.

“Oh Lawrence, oh Baklava!” shouted Andrew, “can you come in here for a moment?”

After a few seconds Baklava Kerpushkin swept into the room in a flutter of transparent textiles. Lessig trailed along attentively behind her.

“Andrew?” she asked, looking around, “what’s wrong?”

“I think you left your bag here, uh, my dearest.”

Baklava looked in perplexity at my bag and I felt Kathy squeeze my shoulder.

“Repeat after me:” she whispered, ” ‘Oh yes this is my bag.’ ”

I understood what she wanted at once. I closed my eyes and tried to relax.

“Oh yes this is my bag.” I said softly.

“Oh yes this is my bag.” said Baklava.

I was about to continue, but I felt another wave of pain shoot over me – the blood magic was growing stronger in me, I could feel it. I tried to fight down the wave of nausea and continue.

Baklava walked across the room and picked up the bag, obviously startled by both its appearence and her unmotivated claim to ownership. She held it up and examined it, eyebrows narrowed in puzzlement.

“I… that’s… that’s a Winnie the Pooh bag!” said Lessig, clearly startled.

“Yes – it’s Baklava’s. Haven’t you seen it around here before?” said Andrew.

“But Winnie the Pooh won’t be invented for another fifty years or so. How…?”

I concentrated and willed Baklava to turn to face him.

“That’s what you think, Larry.” she/I purred.

“But…”

“Oh Syvestro and Klaas have been up to quite a lot,” I/she said, running one finger down his chest before continuing, “this may just look like a colorful bag to you, but it’s our future fortune.”

“Fortune?” asked Lessig, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Yes – once we copyright these images we can sell bags like this across the world. Klaas has a wide assortment of items gleaned from his first experiments with the Codex.” Baklava said.

“Taking retail merchandise from the future… and copyrighting it now? But that’s… that’s… pure evil.”

I tried to get Baklava to say something, but she was too busy purring over Lessig’s use of the term ‘ pure evil’. When she was done I made her say:

“Evil – and lucrative. And with Syvestro’s connections in the British parliament, our copyright will never expire.”

Lessig’s face was turning beat red and his mouth was twitching uncontrollably.

“We’ve got a whole room full of items in the back,” said Andrew, playing along. I reached out with my mind and gave him a small kick to consciousness, “Baklava, some day you’ll have to tell me who originally invented that ‘Mickey Mouse’ character you just got a hold of.”

“NOOOOOO!!!!!!” Lessig exploded in a primal, animal roar of protest at unfair intellectual property regimes. He rushed Baklava and pushed her up against the table with one hand on her throat.

“NOOOOO!!!! THE MOUSE…” gurgled Lessig in an incohate rage, “FREE THE MOUSE!!! MUST FREE THE MOU – ”

Lessig’s thumbs moved onto Baklava’s Adam’s apple. We sprung out of our hiding place and Kathy and Cinnamon dragged him off of her. She collapsed in a massive pool of gasping-for-breath with occasional ripples of choking. With obvious relish, Cumin tied her up and gagged her.

“No! You don’t understand!” screamed Lessig and we restrained him, “She’s got the mouse! She’s got Winnie the Pooh! She’s probably got a hundred unix patents with the words ‘GNU Public License’ crossed out and the words ‘SCO’ written in in crayon! For all I know she’s going to copyright Shakespeare! We’ve got to stop her… stop them… this is why I was sent back in time… I understand now…”

“Larry, calm down…” began Kathy.

But Lessig was raving and incosolable. Cinnamon looked him over, decided there was nothing for it, and delivered a strong, short blow to his solar plexus. Lessig went down instantly, the wind knocked out of him. Cinnamon also yelped with pain and bent double, reaching for her side. Andrew rushed over to her.

“Good god – ” he said, looking at the unmistakable red stain that slowly began soaking her clothes, “you’re hurt. You can’t exert yourself! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m fine,” grunted Cinnamon, “That should… calm him down…”

“You need a doctor!” Said Andrew, “Let me help…”

He moved to touch her side and a moment later found a knitting needle making a gentle but threatening depression in the flesh immediately adjacent his windpipe.

“Cumin, do us a favor would you?” she said, retreating into the other room with her sister, “I could use some help… away from prying eyes.” she said, staring at Andrew accusingly – and with maybe just a hint of something else slightly less hostile as well.

“I… that wasn’t unchivalrous was it?” said Andrew, casting his eyes around the room looking to drum up support for his cause.

“Unchivalrous?” said Kathy, “Andrew, the last time I gave Rex a look like that we were in a situation which involved finals week, homemade brownies, and a 1.75 liter bottle of Jim Beam.”

“Who’s Jim Beam?” asked Andrew. Kathy sighed. I walked across the room to the table.

“Now can I have my bag back?”