The Fishmonger Returns

The students show up en masse -- some fainting, some drooling -- at Rebecca's campaign headquarters. What, she wonders, could they possibly want?

By Dave Eggers

Mar 5, 2004 | "Ms. Romaine," said the voice, the evil voice which actually, come to think of it, which Rebecca now was doing, didn't sound so evil.

"You're running for Senate, aren't you?"

"I don't know. Please leave."

"Ms. Romaine. We're from Eastern Illinois. We heard you speak yesterday. Remember us? The twins? We're here to volunteer. Do you take volunteers?"

Rebecca didn't believe a lick of it, not yet at least. Nevertheless, she decided to face down her oppressors.

"How do I know you're not here to eat me?"

"Eat you?" the voice said.

"Or do whatever all you people are here to do. Why are there so many of you? Why aren't you at school? Where are your parents?"

"Ms. Romaine, just open the door. Take a look. You'll remember us. We're just students."

Just students -- ha! Rebecca thought. Ha ha! she thought. After that she thought more, and came up with Ha ha ha ha! Students were the most dangerous force the world could bear, especially a mob of them. There could be nothing more deadly than a huge mass of healthy ideologues full of soda-delivered caffeine and their parents' gas station credit cards. Still, Rebecca decided to take the twin, or whoever that voice belonged to, up on her offer, at least to gauge the situation and be better able to describe her predicament to the police.

She unlocked the door and opened it quickly and only as wide as her face, keeping her foot firmly planted behind it. Her eyes swept over a field of young faces. At least eighty of them, maybe more. They smiled at her. They cheered. They roared and clapped. There were about twenty outside, unable to fit, looking in through the glass. These people were also cheering. Rebecca closed the door again and locked it. She looked around for hidden cameras. She was now fairly sure that she wouldn't be eaten, but equally sure that this was some elaborate joke, or a new reality show, perhaps called "Candidates Are Stupid and Here's Why." She closed the blinds on the window. She took the mirror off the wall, expecting one-way glass. She found no evidence of cameras and thus found herself confused. She called Giacomo.

"How many are there?" he asked.

"About a hundred."

"Wow."

Rebecca waited for his advice. It was not forthcoming. He said this instead:

"Jeez. That's a lot."

She waited some more. "Say something productive, please."

"Are you sure they're not here for an in-store appearance? You know, there's a record store right there --"

"Giacomo, you idiot!"

"Okay. I'll be right down."

Ten minutes later there was a knock. Rebecca placed her ear to the office door. The knock came again, but not from the door. She turned and Giacomo was there, at the window. She opened it and he climbed through. He was surprisingly agile, and when he was perched on and perpendicular to the windowframe, Rebecca found herself noticing his buttocks, which she really had to admit were exceptional. They seemed to be made of a very solid substance, like steel, but also of a somewhat pliable and rubbery substance, like rubber. Giacomo did a shoulder-roll on the office carpet and stood.

"You're hiding out?" he said, immediately beginning to pace. "That's good. It didn't look safe in there."

"Did you see them?"

"I did. I scoped them out from the front. I think we're gonna need to fight our way out. Do you know any self-defense tricks? Jujitsu? Anything like that?"

"No."

"You have mace?"

"No."

"Stun-gun?"

"No."

Giacomo sighed. "Well, I guess then we're just gonna have to face the music. I'll ask them for their demands."

Giacomo slipped through the door. There were cheers which died quickly, when they realized it was him, and not Rebecca, followed by a few minutes of intense conversation. He returned a minute later.

"Okay. Seems simple enough. They won't eat us."

"Good. What do they want?"

"In exchange for not eating us, all they want is for us to restore their interest and faith in the democratic ideal."

"That's all?"

"Well, there were a bunch of other subdemands, but that was the main one."

"And how do we do that?"

"They want us to run the campaign you talked about."

"I don't understand."

"Well, this part was kind of a jumble, but they said something about running for Senate, the whole way through and getting elected, without spending any money whatsoever."

"Oh shit."

"What?"

"Did I say that?"

"Did you say what?"

"I must have said something."

"I think you did."

"Damn."

"Yeah, Charlie warned me about that. Said you might say something loony once in a while. I was ready for it, but maybe not ready for this. I thought you'd talk about repealing Nafta or something. That would be tough enough."

"What do we do? I can't even remember what I said. I blacked out but my mouth kept going."

"I think we're screwed. You want to try going through the window? They have a couple people guarding the alley, but I think we could bite them and if we wield these staplers right, they'll look kind of threatening and --"

"Wait. I'll talk to them. I don't care what they do to me. I've had a long life. I'm ready."

"Rebecca, no! Don't be a hero."

It was too late. And with that Rebecca opened the door and the crowd exploded into rapturous whoops and whistles and grins. As in the classroom, there was drooling and fainting. "Rebecca," said Giacomo. His face was one of great earnestness and strength. Rebecca turned to him, in slow motion.

"Yes, Giacomo?"

At that moment he seemed very clearly a man who would be behind her every step of the way, who could be counted on in any situation.

"I will," he said, his eyes alight, eyes aflame, nostrils wide and eyebrows aquiver, "be hiding under the desk if you need me."

Episode 14: Now, her fans wanted her to speak to them.

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