INTRODUCTION

Wilson

Wilson
Wilson
Wilson

Wilson

Once upon a time there was a mountain that rose out of a vast

green forest.
And in the forest there were birds and lakes and rocks and trees
and

rivers. The forest was also inhabited by a small group of people
called
the lizards. The lizards were a simple people and they had lived

in the
forest undisturbed for thousands of years in utter peace and
tranquillity.

Once a year when spring came, and the first blossoms began to
show, the
lizards would gather at the base of the mountain, to give thanks

for all
that they had. They thanked the birds and they thanked the lakes
and they

thanked the rocks and the trees and the rivers; but most
importantly, they
thanked Icculus. Icculus lived at the top of the mountain, or at

least
everyone thought so, for no one had actually ever seen him. But
they knew

he existed, because they had the Helping Friendly Book. Icculus
had given
the Helping Friendly Book to the Lizards thousands of years

earlier as a
gift. It contained all of the knowledge inherent in the
universe, and had

enabled the Lizards to exist in harmony with nature for years.
And so they
lived; until one day a traveler arrived in Gamehendge. His name

was Wilson
and he quickly became intrigued by the Lizards way of life. He
asked if he

could stay on and live in the forest; and the Lizards, who had
never seen
an outsider, were happy to oblige. Wilson lived with the Lizards

for a few
years, studying the ways of the Helping Friendly Book, and all
was well.

Until one morning when they awoke and the book was gone. Wilson
explained
that he had hidden the book, knowing that the Lizards had become

dependent
on it for survival. He declared himself king and enslaved the
innocent

people of Gamehendge. He cut down the trees and built a city,
which he
called Prussia. And in the center of the city he built a castle,

and
locked in the highest tower of the castle lay the Helping
Friendly Book out

of the reach of the Lizards forever. But our story begins at a
different
time, not in Gamehendge, but on a suburban street in Long

Island, and our
hero is no king sitting in a castle, he is a retired colonel
shaving in his

bathroom.

Colonel Forbin looked square in the mirror and dragged the blade

across his
cold creamed skin. He saw the tired little folds of flesh that
lay in a

heap beneath his eyes. Fifty-two years of obedient
self-restraint, of
hiding his tension behind a serene veil of composure. For

fifty-two years
he had piled it all on the back burner, and for fifty-two years
it had
boiled, frothing over in a turbulent storm inside of him. It had
escaped

through his eyes, reacting with the cigarette smoke and the
fluorescent
lights and slowly accumulating into a sagging mass. He ran his
dripping
palm across the stubble on the nape of his neck and thought

again about the
door. He had discovered the door some months back on one of
his
ritualistic morning walks with his dog McGrupp. It had started
out as a

typical stroll with McGrupp bounding joyously ahead of the
preoccupied
colonel. As they reached the apex of the hill, he saw it and he
knew it
had always been there, and felt foolish for overlooking the door

for so
long. At first, he tried to ignore it, but he soon found that it
was
impossible, and slowly his newly acquired knowledge transformed
his dreary
life into a prison from which there was only one escape. And on

this
morning, Colonel Forbin stepped through the door.