The Great Phone Directory of the Earth and neighbouring planets: Chapter 9
Chapter 9
- Listen, all I see is that it's getting late and I don't even know how long I've been on the phone with you. Besides, thanks to this nice chat I haven't had the time to get something to eat.
- I believe that the true reason why you have not eaten yet is exclusively that you haven't made your mind up about what you want to eat.
- I can assure you, it's definitely not as you say. But now - I know I'm going to regret this - I'm curious: what makes you so sure about that?
- It's not difficult, you really don't need to be an Encephalophage Wiglet to know that you haven't got the faintest idea of how to get proper nutrition.
- Encephawhat?
- Encephalophage Wiglets.
- And... what are they?
- Oh, they are frail, cute and lovely multicolored little birds, who live on our planet chirping happily. They come in a weird shape.
- What do you mean... weird?
- How do you call that thing people with no hair put on their heads?
- You mean... a hat?
- No, no, it goes under the hat.
- Oh, wigs, not wiglets. They are made of fake hair.
- Call them what you like. Over here we call them Encephalophage Wiglets, they are made of real hair and they fly. Basically, they are wigs with wings.
- They are like the slippers?
- Slippers do not fly.
- No, I mean: are they alive like the slippers?
- I have never seen anything more alive. But I'll tell you something else: Encephalophage Wiglets look so frail and helpless you almost feel like holding them in your hands to protect them from the rest of the world. But... no!
- No?
- No: they get their nourishment in a rather bizarre manner.
- What do you mean?
- As their name reveals, they are encephalophage: they love eating brains.
- Look, I personally can't stand brains, but some humans do eat animals' brains: they cook them with...
- I am sorry to interrupt you, but I probably haven't made myself clear: Wiglets love to eat fresh brains.
- As a matter of fact, no, I'm afraid I didn't quite get that one.
- Let's put it this way: imagine you are going for walk by yourself, when this cute little bird crosses your visual field, fluttering and chirping joyfully; you say: "Oh, spring is here!", but you're wrong, because if that cute little bird happens to be a Wiglet, and if you could turn your head 360 degrees...You can't turn your head 360 degrees, can you?
- No, not really.
- There, I knew it. But if you could, you would see it behind your back hurling against your head at full speed and without making the faintest noise, then skilfully adjusting the color of its plumage to that of your hair in order to camouflage itself perfectly, stabbing that sharp beak in your skull and, finally, making itself at home and starting to suck your brain as if it were drinking from a can through a straw.
- My goodness, what a horrible death!
- Death? Who was talking of death?
- Well, I mean: if a freaking bastard of a bird stabs its beak into my skull and starts sucking my brain, I guess I would be the first to want to be at least dead.
- On the contrary, to be attacked by a Wiglet may be considered as a privilege.
- I really can't see how.
- Let me explain: as I was saying, Encephalophage Wiglets love eating brains so much that they don't know where to stop. Even when they are completely full, they are so greedy they keep on sucking and usually end up with indigestion, throwing up everything back.
- A nice privilege indeed.
- Of course. Come on, let's admit it: once in a while the brain needs a good stir. A little mixing up and there you are, smarter than before, more creative, more lively and, I would dare to say, even happier. This is what the Wiglet, in brief, does: it shakes ideas, memories, intuitions, notions together and, mixing them all up, they come in contact, creating new and, until that moment, unthinkable connections among those lazy synapses. This is why, on our planet, when somebody, out of the blue, has a brilliant idea, we say all together: " Cheers to the Wiglet!".
- Like in a toast?
- Right. But there's even more: sometimes the Wiglet may even throw up small parts of other people's brains, probably undigested, into the brain it has just finished sucking. So when the Wiglet stops throwing up, we may find in our heads the revolutionary ideas conceived by somebody else (that maybe weren't so brilliant before meeting ours, and before being completed by them). I even know people who, out of the blue, have started speaking languages they didn't know before. The very fact that I am speaking your language and that you can understand me, makes me think that, somehow, a Wiglet has succeeded in shaking my brain together with that of somebody living on the Earth.
- You mean that we have Wiglets also over here?
- I am almost sure, it's just that you have never noticed.
- It can't be true. I've never see one.
- I'm not surprised. Wiglets are ingenious: they study all the latest hairdos and learn how to reproduce them to perfection. Then they settle on your nape and they are almost invisible to the naked eye.
- I see, but when we look in the mirror, or when we comb our hair ...
- With that comb you just tickle them on the back. And how they love it!
- I still find all this hard to believe.
- I am going to ask you something: have you ever met somebody who, out of the blue, has changed completely, or looks livelier, or maybe has left home, quit his job and dumped his family to flee to Betelgeuse to open an ice-cream parlor overlooking the universe with a pretty 17-year old local girl?
- Well, I know somebody who did that, perhaps not ending up in Betelgeuse, but yes, I do.
- Very well: quite probably a Wiglet was involved there. As an example, I have no idea if this happens also over there too, because it does over here: sometimes women decide all of a sudden to change their lives, and do things like start collecting supermarket vouchers, or a photography course, or deliberately exchange bodily fluids with their Capoeira instructor. When they do that, they feel like they have changed on the inside, so they want to feel different also on the outside: that's why they tell us they've been to the hairdresser's.
- What do you mean "they tell us"?
- Because it is not true: they have simply met a Wiglet. And this, besides, explains the new hairdo.
- So you are claiming that women are liars...
- Absolutely not. They really think they have been to the haidresser's. Have you ever heard of mosquitoes?
- Of course I have, but I really cannot see why you are mentioning mosquitoes right now.
- I have all the right reasons to mention them. While they insert their sting in your skin, mosquitoes inject a substance with anticoagulant and anaesthetic properties, so that you won't even notice they have bitten you.
- I kind of knew that one.
- Right. Wiglets are provided with a sharp beak that is capable of doing the same thing, but the liquid it injects can do a lot more things: it stops blood, for instance, and can also anaesthetize the pierced area. But this happens with men. When the victim is a woman they inject a further chemical compound that hits a particular area of the brain whose task is to make a woman believe, in total honesty, that she has really gone to the hairdresser's.
- This, to tell the truth, explains a lot of things. Except for one.
- Tell me.
- I still don't understand why you said you don't need to be that Wig-thing to get it into my head.
- That's a common expression, a metaphor we often use, over here: it may mean that you are very predictable, or that you are rather confused.
- But what does it mean in my specific case?
- You claimed you wanted to have something to eat. I simply replied that if you really wanted to eat, you would have eaten.
- I would have eaten if I hadn't remained here talking with you forever.
- No, you did not eat because you said you were thinking about eating "something" , but still had not made your mind up.
- You know what?
- Of course I don't. I am not a Jovial: my species is unable to read the mind.
- I don't know if it's you in particular, or your race in general, but I have this feeling you are taking me too much to the letter.
- You know what they would say on Jupiter?
- No.
- "As long as it's not a zed".
- I believe that the true reason why you have not eaten yet is exclusively that you haven't made your mind up about what you want to eat.
- I can assure you, it's definitely not as you say. But now - I know I'm going to regret this - I'm curious: what makes you so sure about that?
- It's not difficult, you really don't need to be an Encephalophage Wiglet to know that you haven't got the faintest idea of how to get proper nutrition.
- Encephawhat?
- Encephalophage Wiglets.
- And... what are they?
- Oh, they are frail, cute and lovely multicolored little birds, who live on our planet chirping happily. They come in a weird shape.
- What do you mean... weird?
- How do you call that thing people with no hair put on their heads?
- You mean... a hat?
- No, no, it goes under the hat.
- Oh, wigs, not wiglets. They are made of fake hair.
- Call them what you like. Over here we call them Encephalophage Wiglets, they are made of real hair and they fly. Basically, they are wigs with wings.
- They are like the slippers?
- Slippers do not fly.
- No, I mean: are they alive like the slippers?
- I have never seen anything more alive. But I'll tell you something else: Encephalophage Wiglets look so frail and helpless you almost feel like holding them in your hands to protect them from the rest of the world. But... no!
- No?
- No: they get their nourishment in a rather bizarre manner.
- What do you mean?
- As their name reveals, they are encephalophage: they love eating brains.
- Look, I personally can't stand brains, but some humans do eat animals' brains: they cook them with...
- I am sorry to interrupt you, but I probably haven't made myself clear: Wiglets love to eat fresh brains.
- As a matter of fact, no, I'm afraid I didn't quite get that one.
- Let's put it this way: imagine you are going for walk by yourself, when this cute little bird crosses your visual field, fluttering and chirping joyfully; you say: "Oh, spring is here!", but you're wrong, because if that cute little bird happens to be a Wiglet, and if you could turn your head 360 degrees...You can't turn your head 360 degrees, can you?
- No, not really.
- There, I knew it. But if you could, you would see it behind your back hurling against your head at full speed and without making the faintest noise, then skilfully adjusting the color of its plumage to that of your hair in order to camouflage itself perfectly, stabbing that sharp beak in your skull and, finally, making itself at home and starting to suck your brain as if it were drinking from a can through a straw.
- My goodness, what a horrible death!
- Death? Who was talking of death?
- Well, I mean: if a freaking bastard of a bird stabs its beak into my skull and starts sucking my brain, I guess I would be the first to want to be at least dead.
- On the contrary, to be attacked by a Wiglet may be considered as a privilege.
- I really can't see how.
- Let me explain: as I was saying, Encephalophage Wiglets love eating brains so much that they don't know where to stop. Even when they are completely full, they are so greedy they keep on sucking and usually end up with indigestion, throwing up everything back.
- A nice privilege indeed.
- Of course. Come on, let's admit it: once in a while the brain needs a good stir. A little mixing up and there you are, smarter than before, more creative, more lively and, I would dare to say, even happier. This is what the Wiglet, in brief, does: it shakes ideas, memories, intuitions, notions together and, mixing them all up, they come in contact, creating new and, until that moment, unthinkable connections among those lazy synapses. This is why, on our planet, when somebody, out of the blue, has a brilliant idea, we say all together: " Cheers to the Wiglet!".
- Like in a toast?
- Right. But there's even more: sometimes the Wiglet may even throw up small parts of other people's brains, probably undigested, into the brain it has just finished sucking. So when the Wiglet stops throwing up, we may find in our heads the revolutionary ideas conceived by somebody else (that maybe weren't so brilliant before meeting ours, and before being completed by them). I even know people who, out of the blue, have started speaking languages they didn't know before. The very fact that I am speaking your language and that you can understand me, makes me think that, somehow, a Wiglet has succeeded in shaking my brain together with that of somebody living on the Earth.
- You mean that we have Wiglets also over here?
- I am almost sure, it's just that you have never noticed.
- It can't be true. I've never see one.
- I'm not surprised. Wiglets are ingenious: they study all the latest hairdos and learn how to reproduce them to perfection. Then they settle on your nape and they are almost invisible to the naked eye.
- I see, but when we look in the mirror, or when we comb our hair ...
- With that comb you just tickle them on the back. And how they love it!
- I still find all this hard to believe.
- I am going to ask you something: have you ever met somebody who, out of the blue, has changed completely, or looks livelier, or maybe has left home, quit his job and dumped his family to flee to Betelgeuse to open an ice-cream parlor overlooking the universe with a pretty 17-year old local girl?
- Well, I know somebody who did that, perhaps not ending up in Betelgeuse, but yes, I do.
- Very well: quite probably a Wiglet was involved there. As an example, I have no idea if this happens also over there too, because it does over here: sometimes women decide all of a sudden to change their lives, and do things like start collecting supermarket vouchers, or a photography course, or deliberately exchange bodily fluids with their Capoeira instructor. When they do that, they feel like they have changed on the inside, so they want to feel different also on the outside: that's why they tell us they've been to the hairdresser's.
- What do you mean "they tell us"?
- Because it is not true: they have simply met a Wiglet. And this, besides, explains the new hairdo.
- So you are claiming that women are liars...
- Absolutely not. They really think they have been to the haidresser's. Have you ever heard of mosquitoes?
- Of course I have, but I really cannot see why you are mentioning mosquitoes right now.
- I have all the right reasons to mention them. While they insert their sting in your skin, mosquitoes inject a substance with anticoagulant and anaesthetic properties, so that you won't even notice they have bitten you.
- I kind of knew that one.
- Right. Wiglets are provided with a sharp beak that is capable of doing the same thing, but the liquid it injects can do a lot more things: it stops blood, for instance, and can also anaesthetize the pierced area. But this happens with men. When the victim is a woman they inject a further chemical compound that hits a particular area of the brain whose task is to make a woman believe, in total honesty, that she has really gone to the hairdresser's.
- This, to tell the truth, explains a lot of things. Except for one.
- Tell me.
- I still don't understand why you said you don't need to be that Wig-thing to get it into my head.
- That's a common expression, a metaphor we often use, over here: it may mean that you are very predictable, or that you are rather confused.
- But what does it mean in my specific case?
- You claimed you wanted to have something to eat. I simply replied that if you really wanted to eat, you would have eaten.
- I would have eaten if I hadn't remained here talking with you forever.
- No, you did not eat because you said you were thinking about eating "something" , but still had not made your mind up.
- You know what?
- Of course I don't. I am not a Jovial: my species is unable to read the mind.
- I don't know if it's you in particular, or your race in general, but I have this feeling you are taking me too much to the letter.
- You know what they would say on Jupiter?
- No.
- "As long as it's not a zed".
English translation by Paola Corazza
© 2009 Gianluca Neri - All Rights Reserved