A Series of Unfortunate Events Box: The Complete Wreck by Lemony Snicket
After so many frantic encounters and tragic experiences, the children were not accustomed to leading such a calm life, and for the first few days they felt a bit restless without the treachery of Count Olaf and his sinister mysteries, and the integrity of V.F.D. and its noble deeds, but with every good night’s sleep in the breezy comfort of a tent, and every day’s work at easy tasks, and every sip of the sweet coconut cordial, the strife and treachery of the children’s lives felt farther and farther away. After a few days, another storm arrived, just as Ishmael had predicted, and as the sky blackened and the island was covered in wind and rain, the Baudelaires huddled with the other islanders in the facilitator’s tent, and they were grateful for their uneventful life on the colony, rather than the stormy existence they had endured since their parents had died.
“Janiceps,” Sunny said to her siblings the next morning, as the Baudelaires walked along the coastal shelf. According to custom, the islanders were all storm scavenging, and here and there on the flat horizon, poking at the detritus of the storm. By “Janiceps,” the youngest Baudelaire meant “I’m of two minds about living here,” an expression which means that she couldn’t decide if she liked the island colony or not.
“I know what you mean,” Klaus said, who was carrying Sunny on his shoulders. “Life isn’t very exciting here, but at least we’re not in any danger.”
“I suppose we should be grateful for that,” Violet said, “even though life in the colony seems quite strict.”
“Ishmael keeps saying he won’t force us to do anything,” Klaus said, “but everything feels a bit forced anyway.”
“At least they forced Olaf away,” Violet pointed out, “which is more than V.F.D. ever accomplished.”
“Diaspora,” Sunny said, which meant something like, “We live in such a distant place that the battle between V.F.D. and their enemies seems very far away.”
“The only V.F.D. around here,” Klaus said, leaning down to peer into a pool of water, “is our Very Flavorless Diet.”
Violet smiled. “Not so long ago,” she said, “we were desperate to reach the last safe place by Thursday. Now, everywhere we look is safe, and we have no idea what day it is.”
“I still miss home,” Sunny said.
“Me too,” Klaus said. “For some reason I keep missing the library at Lucky Smells Lumbermill.”
“Charles’s library?” Violet asked, with an amazed smile. “It was a beautiful room, but it only had three books. Why on earth do you miss that place?”
“Three books are better than none,” Klaus said. “The only thing I’ve read since we arrived here is my own commonplace book. I suggested to Ishmael that he could dictate a history of the colony to me, and that I’d write it down so the islanders would know about how this place came to be. Other colonists could write down their own stories, and eventually this island would have its own library. But Ishmael said that he wouldn’t force me, but he didn’t think it would be a good idea to write a book that would upset people with its descriptions of storms and castaways. I don’t want to rock the boat, but I miss my research.”
“I know what you mean,” Violet said. “I keep missing Madame Lulu’s fortune-telling tent.”
“With all those phony magic tricks?” Klaus said.
“Her inventions were pretty ridiculous,” Violet admitted, “but if I had those simple mechanical materials, I think I could make a simple water filtration system. If we could manufacture fresh water, the islanders wouldn’t have to drink coconut cordial all day long. But Friday said that the drinking of the cordial was inveterate.”
“Nospine?” Sunny asked.
“She meant people had been drinking it for so long that they wouldn’t want to stop,” Violet said. “I don’t want to rock the boat, but I miss working on inventions. What about you, Sunny? What do you miss?”
“Fountain,” Sunny said.
“The Fowl Fountain, at the Village of Fowl Devotees?” Klaus asked.
“No,” Sunny said, shaking her head. “In city.”
“The Fountain of Victorious Finance?” Violet asked. “Why on earth would you miss that?”
“First swim,” Sunny said, and her siblings gasped.
“You can’t remember that,” Klaus said.
“You were just a few weeks old,” Violet said.
“I remember,” Sunny said firmly, and the elder Baudelaires shook their heads in wonder. Sunny was talking about an afternoon long ago, during an unusually hot autumn in the city. The Baudelaire parents had some business to attend to, and brought along the children, promising to stop at the ice cream store on the way home. The family had arrived at the banking district, pausing to rest at the Fountain of Victorious Finance, and the Baudelaires’ mother had hurried into a building with tall, curved towers poking out in all directions, while their father waited outside with the children. The hot weather made Sunny very cranky, and she began to fuss. To quiet her, the Baudelaires’ father dipped her bare feet in the water, and Sunny had smiled so enthusiastically that he had begun to dunk Sunny’s body, clothes and all, into the fountain, until the youngest Baudelaire was screaming with laughter. As you may know, the laughter of babies is often very contagious, and before long not only were Violet and Klaus also jumping into the fountain, but the Baudelaires’ father, too, all of them laughing and laughing as Sunny grew more and more delighted. Soon the Baudelaires’ mother came out of the building, and looked in astonishment for a moment at her soaking and giggling family, before putting down her pocketbook, kicking off her shoes, and joining them in the refreshing water. They laughed all the way home, each footstep a wet squish, and sat out on their front steps to dry in the sun. It was a wonderful day, but very long ago—so long ago Violet and Klaus had almost forgotten it themselves. But as Sunny reminded them, they could almost hear her newborn laughter, and see the incredulous looks of the bankers who were passing by.
“It’s hard to believe,” Violet said, “that our parents could laugh like that, when they were already involved with V.F.D. and all its troubles.”
“The schism must have seemed a world away that day,” Klaus said.
“And now,” Sunny said, and her siblings nodded in agreement. With the morning sun blazing overhead, and the sea sparkling at the edge of the coastal shelf, their surroundings seemed as far from trouble and treachery as that afternoon in the Fountain of Victorious Finance. But trouble and treachery are rarely as far away as one thinks they are on the clearest of days. On that faraway afternoon in the banking district, for instance, trouble could be found in the corridors of the towered building, where the Baudelaires’ mother was handed a weather report and a naval map that would reveal, when she studied them by candlelight that evening, far greater trouble than she had imagined, and treachery could be found just past the fountain, where a woman disguised as a pretzel vendor took a photograph of the laughing family, and slipped her camera into the coat pocket of a financial expert who was hurrying to a restaurant, where the coat-check boy would remove the camera and hide it in an enormous parfait glass of fruit that a certain playwright would order for dessert, only to have a quick-thinking waitress pretend that the cream in the zabaglione sauce had gone sour and dump the entire dish into a garbage can in the alley, where I had been sitting for hours, pretending to look for a lost puppy who was actually scurrying into the back entrance of the towered building, removing her disguise, and folding it into her handbag, and this morning on the coastal shelf was no different. The Baudelaires took a few more steps in silence, squinting into the sun, and then Sunny knocked gently on her brother’s head and pointed out at the horizon. The three children looked carefully, and saw an object resting unevenly on the edge of the shelf, and this was trouble, even though it didn’t look like trouble at the time. It was hard to say what it looked like, only that it was large, and square, and ragged, and the children hurried closer to get a better view. Violet led the way, stepping carefully around a few crabs snapping along the shelf, and Klaus followed b
At first glance, the large, square, ragged object looked like a combination of everything the Baudelaires missed. It looked like a library, because the object seemed to be nothing more than stacks and stacks of books, piled neatly on top of one another in a huge cube. But it also looked like an invention, because wrapped around the cube of books, the way string is wrapped around a package, were thick straps that appeared to be made out of rubber, in varying shades of green, and on one side of the cube was affixed a large flap of battered wood. And it also looked like a fountain, as water was trickling out of it from all sides, leaking through the bloated pages of the books and splashing down to the sand of the coastal shelf. But although this was a very unusual sight, the children stared not at the cube but at something at the top of this strange contraption. It was a bare foot, hanging over the side of the cube as if there were someone sleeping on the top of all those books, and the Baudelaires could see, right on the ankle, a tattoo of an eye.
“Olaf?” Sunny asked, but her siblings shook their heads. They had seen Count Olaf’s foot more times than they would like to count, and this foot was much narrower and cleaner than the villain’s.
“Climb onto my back,” Violet said to her brother. “Maybe we can hoist Sunny to the top.”
Klaus nodded, climbed carefully onto his sister’s back, and then, very slowly, stood on Violet’s shoulders. The three Baudelaires stood in a trembling tower, and Sunny reached out her little hands and pulled herself up, as she had pulled herself out of the elevator shaft at 667 Dark Avenue not so long ago, and saw the woman who was lying unconscious on top of the stack of books. She was dressed in a dress of dark red velvet, which was streaked and soaked from the rain, and her hair lay sprawled behind her like a wide, tangled fan. The foot that was hanging over the side of the cube was bent a strange, wrong way, but she looked otherwise unharmed. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth was frowning, but her belly, full and round from her pregnancy, rose and fell with calm, deep breaths, and her hands, covered in long, white gloves, lay gently on her chest, as if she were comforting herself, or her child.
“Kit Snicket,” Sunny called down to her siblings, her voice hushed with amazement.
“Yes?” replied a voice that was high-pitched and grating, a word which here means “irritating, and sadly familiar.” From behind the cube of books, a figure stepped out to greet the children, and Sunny looked down and frowned as the tower of elder Baudelaires turned to face the person who was confronting them. This person was also wearing a talaric—a word which here means “just reaching the ankles”—dress that was streaked and soaked, although the dress was not just red but orange and yellow as well, the colors melting together as the person walked closer and closer to the children. This person was not wearing gloves, but a pile of seaweed had been arranged to resemble long hair, which cascaded hideously down this person’s back, and although this person’s belly was also full and round, it was full and round in an odd and unconvincing way. It would have been very unusual if the belly were genuine, because it was obvious from looking at the person’s face that the person was not a woman, and pregnancy occurs very rarely in males, although the male seahorse is a creature that becomes pregnant from time to time.
But this person, stepping closer and closer to the towered elder Baudelaires and gazing angrily up at the youngest, was no seahorse, of course. If the odd cube of books was trouble, then this man was treachery, and as is so often the case with treachery, his name was Count Olaf. Violet and Klaus stared at the villain, and Sunny stared at Kit, and then the three children looked out at the horizon, where other islanders who had spotted the strange object were heading toward them. Lastly, the Baudelaire orphans looked at one another, and wondered if a schism were so very far away after all, or if they had traveled a world away only to find all the trouble and treachery of the world staring them right in the face.
CHAPTER
SIX
At this point, you may find yourself recognizing all of the sad hallmarks of the Baudelaire orphans’ sad history. The word “hallmarks” refers to something’s distinguishing characteristics, such as the frothy foam and loud fizz that are the hallmarks of a root beer float, or the tearstained photographs and the loud fizz that are the hallmarks of a broken heart. Certainly the Baudelaires themselves, who as far as I know have not read their own sad history, but of course are its primary participants, had a queasy feeling in their stomachs as the islanders approached them, holding various items they had found while storm scavenging. It appeared that once again, after arriving in a strange new home, Count Olaf would fool everyone with his latest disguise, and the Baudelaires would once again be in grave danger. In fact, Count Olaf’s talaric disguise did not even cover the tattoo of an eye he wore on his ankle, as the islanders, living so far from the world, would not know about this notorious mark and so could be fooled even more easily. But as the colonists drew close to the cube of books where Kit Snicket lay unconscious, suddenly the Baudelaires’ history went contrary to expectations, a phrase which here means “The young girl they had first met on the coastal shelf recognized Count Olaf immediately.”
“That’s Olaf!” Friday cried, pointing an accusatory finger at the villain. “Why is he dressed as a pregnant woman?”
“I’m dressed as a pregnant woman because I am a pregnant woman,” Count Olaf replied, in his high-pitched, disguised voice. “My name is Kit Snicket, and I’ve been looking everywhere for these children.”
“You’re not Kit Snicket!” Mrs. Caliban cried.
“Kit Snicket is up on this pile of books,” Violet said indignantly, helping Sunny down from the top of the cube. “She’s a friend of ours, and she may be hurt, or ill. But this is Count Olaf, who is no friend of ours.”
“He’s no friend of ours, either,” Friday said, and there was a murmur of agreement from the islanders. “Just because you’ve put something inside your dress to look pregnant, and thrown a clump of seaweed on your hair to make a wig, doesn’t mean you won’t be recognized.” She turned to face the three children, who noticed for the first time that the islander had a suspicious bump under her robe, as if she, too, had hidden something under her clothing. “I hope he hasn’t been bothering you. I told him specifically to go away.”
Count Olaf glared at Friday, but then turned to try his treachery on the other islanders. “You primitive people won’t tell a pregnant woman to go away, will you?” he asked. “I’m in a very delicate condition.”
“You’re not in a very delicate condition,” said Larsen firmly. “You’re in a very transparent disguise. If Friday says you’re this Olaf person, then I’m sure you are, and you’re not welcome here, due to your unkindness.”
“I’ve never been unkind in my life,” Olaf said, running a bony hand through his seaweed. “I’m nothing but a fairly innocent maiden with my belly full of baby. It is the Baudelaires who have been unkind, along with this impostor sleeping on top of this damp library.”
“Library?” Fletcher said with a gasp. “We’ve never had a library on the island.”
“Ishmael said that a library was bound to lead to trouble,” said Brewster, “so we were lucky that a book has never ended up on our shores.”
“You see?” Olaf said, his orange and yellow dress rustling in the morning breeze. “That treacherous woman up there has dragged these books to your colony, just to be unkind to you poor primitive people. And the Baudelaires are friends with her! They’re the ones you should abandon here, and I should be welcomed to Olaf-Land and given gifts.”
“This island is not called Olaf-Land!” cried Friday. “And you’re the one we abandoned!”
“This is confusing!” cried Omeros. “We need a facilitator to sort this out!”
“Omeros is right,” said Calypso. “We shouldn’t decide anything until we’ve talked to Ishmael. Come on, let’s take all this detritus to Ishmael’s tent
The colonists nodded, and a few villagers walked together to the cube of books and began to push it along the shelf. It was difficult work, and the cube shuddered as it was dragged along the bumpy surface. The Baudelaires saw Kit’s foot bob violently up and down and feared that their friend would fall.
“Stop,” Klaus said. “It’s not safe to move someone who may be seriously injured, particularly if she’s pregnant.”
“Klaus is right,” said Dr. Kurtz. “I remember that from my days in veterinary school.”
“If Muhammad will not come to the mountain,” Rabbi Bligh said, using an expression that the islanders understood at once, “the mountain will come to Muhammad.”
“But how can Ishmael come here?” asked Erewhon. “He couldn’t walk all this way with his injured feet.”
“The sheep can drag him here,” said Sherman. “We can put his chair on the sleigh. Friday, you guard Olaf and the Baudelaires, while the rest of us will go fetch our facilitator.”
“And some more coconut cordial,” said Madame Nordoff. “I’m thirsty and my seashell is almost empty.”
There was a murmur of agreement from the islanders, and they began to make their way back toward the island, still carrying all of the items they had found while scavenging. In a few minutes, the colonists were nothing more than faint shapes on the misty horizon, and the Baudelaires were alone with Count Olaf and with Friday, who took a big sip from her seashell and then smiled at the children.
“Don’t worry, Baudelaires,” the girl said, holding one hand over the bulge in her robe. “We’ll sort this out. I promise you that this terrible man will be abandoned once and for all.”
“I’m not a man,” Olaf insisted in his disguised voice. “I’m a lady with a baby inside her.”