Scene 54

Professor Kleinenfloncker has sketched a problem. “So I ask you: truly, who built the eartworks?”

Myron says, “Aliens, of course.” Creepy old Alan laughs out loud, and schnapps flies out his nose.

“You are not funny,” says Professor K.

“The Indians built them,” offers Blinky. He gestures at the drawings. “Like, prehistoric Mohicans.” He winces.

“Take it easy, Blink,” says Myron.

“Zat is ze conventional explanation.” Professor K stresses the word ‘conventional’ like she thinks idiots believe this. “Ze Europeans asked ze natives who built ze mounds. Ze natives did not know, but said zey tought it vas zeir ancestors did.” She pauses dramatically, like she’s about to release major new information. “But ze natives. Zey are stupid.”

“Then who did build them?” asks Myron.

“Ze Jews,” says the Professor. “Ze lost tribe!”

“You’re crazy,” says Myron.

“No, no, ze lost Tribe of Eezakhhar.”

“How did they get here then?” demands Myron.

“Ze land bridge, how else! Zey valked from Siberia to Alaska.”

There’s a noise outside. Blinky’s eyes get big. “Somebody should be watching the door,” barks Myron, and strides toward it. Then the silhouetted figure of Little Turtle appears against the night sky. He passes into the light.

“How is the skinny man,” asks the Indian.

“I’m okay,” says Blinky. “Come on in.”

“You’re lucky,” Little Turtle says. “That was a big boom. A big fire.”

“Yeah, I know,” replies Blinky.

Little Turtle notices the drawings and the postcard.

Professor K looks over at Alan.

“These are sacred places,” says the Indian. “You know the ancestral sites. How.”

K rolls her eyes theatrically. Dumb Indian!

Blinky wonders out loud. “You’re not really an actor, are you?”

“No,” says Little Turtle. “I am not.” He says this while looking at the drawings. Now he looks up at Blinky. “I am a prisoner.”

“Of what,” says Myron.

“Of my own decisions.”

Everybody kind of shuffles around for a second. Like, what’s this guy’s deal? Not Blinky.

“What about the other guy?”

“He is also a prisoner.”

“He saved my life,” says Blinky.

Alan has inched into the light “What happens at these sites?” he asks.

“They are places of replenishment. Of healing,” he says. “The magic is strong in them.”

“Which,” asks Alan, seeming totally Peter Lorre and henchman-like, “is the most potent?”

“There,” says Little Turtle. He points to a diagram of a circle connected to an octagon shape. “Near Flint Ridge. On Raccoon Creek. A doorway to the upperworld.”

Alan looks like he’s gonna pee. He steps back out of view. There’s a weird squishy noise.

Myron’s flipping out. The professor walks over to the bookshelf.

Alan steps back to the table, wiping his nose.

The Professor pulls an old book off the shelf. It’s filled with surveyors’ drawings of Indian mounds. She opens it to a drawing of the earthwork that Little Turtle mentioned. It’s marked Octagon Works. Licking County, Ohio. “Ze healing is good here. Ze native is correct.” She turns to Myron. “You must take your friend zere. It vill help vit ze fire wounds.”

A helicopter passes by outside. It sounds angry.

“I vill give you vat you need, ze books, ze maps. But now you must rest for ze short time.” Professor K edges Myron toward a cot behind the desk. In her mannish way, she is almost tender with him. He does not resist.

“A little nap can’t hurt, can it.” As Professor K turns to Blinky, Myron adds, “Get some sleep, Blink.

“Wake us before dawn,” he instructs, as Little Turtle slips out, unobserved. The last image Myron sees before his eyes close is the curious figure of Alan, wiping his face with a rag.