CHAPTER THREE: BRILLIG

Albert soon discovered that the light came from a flashing sign on the back of a step van that was parked at a place where two narrow roads crossed. The blue light flashed BRILLIG B-R-I-L-L-I-G BRILLIG. The delicious smell of hot grease wafted from the van, making Albert even hungrier than he already was. His parents would be angry if he missed dinner, and worse yet wasn’t hungry when he returned, but at the moment Albert didn’t care.

He strode out of the forest and ran across the road, though he saw no traffic in either direction for miles. The side of the van had been raised to make an awning, and to reveal a counter and a cozy kitchen. Five stools were set up in front of the counter, and Albert climbed onto one of them.

A man turned around and smiled at him kindly. He was very tall, and he seemed in constant danger of bumping his head against the kitchen ceiling. He had wispy white hair and an enormous white mustache. The apron he wore looked as if it had gotten a lot of heavy use. “What’ll you have?” he asked.

At one end of the counter stood a chalk board with the usual offerings: hamburgers, hot dogs, French fries, and so on. “What’s a bandersnatch?” Albert asked.

“A burger with hot chili,” the man said. “It goes for the throat, just like a real bandersnatch. It’s my own invention.” He chuckled.

“I’ll have one of those,” Albert said.

“Right you are, bud.” The man turned around and slapped a hamburger patty on the hot griddle where it hissed like an angry snake. “Fries?”

“Why not? By the way, can I make a local call? My cell phone can’t get a signal.”

“What’s a cell phone?” the man asked over his shoulder.

Jackalopes, raths, talking flowers, and now this, Albert thought. He’d apparently walked a lot farther than he thought. “Do you know the way to the Valley of Enchantment?” he asked.

“Never heard of the place,” the man said. “That where you’re from?”

“Sort of,” Albert said. “Where is the nearest telephone?”

“Oxford,” the man said.

“Far?”

“Far enough, I guess. I came out here to get away from places like Oxford. You ever want to get away?”

“Sometimes,” Albert replied carefully. When he’d first stomped away from the Valley of Enchantment he was so angry that he never wanted to see his family again. But now he wasn’t so sure. The owner of Brillig might just be particularly ignorant, but if nobody out here ever heard of the Valley of Enchantment—the thought that he might be stuck out here frightened Albert more than anything his parents might do to him. He would finish eating and follow one of the roads. It had to lead somewhere.

The cook put a rattan basket in front of Albert. It held an enormous burger and a fistful of fries. Albert began to eat, and the man put a large drink down next to the basket. “Root beer. On the house. You look as if you need it.”

His mouth being full of burger, Albert nodded thanks. “I saw some strange animals in the forest,” Albert said after he’d swallowed most of it and washed it down. “A jackalope and a rath.”

“Yeah,” the man said. “The forest is full of ’em. You’re lucky you didn’t run into a jabberwock or a real bandersnatch. They’d do to you what you’re doing to that burger.”

“But none of those animals are real,” Albert protested. “They’re all from a poem in a book called Through the Looking-Glass.”

“Is that so?” the man said. “Try telling that to the folks who run into them.”

“Does that happen often?” Albert asked, “Folks running into animals like that? What about talking flowers?”

“It happens,” the man said and shrugged.

“The word ‘Brillig’ is from that poem too,” Albert said.

“Oh?”

“What language is it?”

“English, I guess,” the man said. “It means ‘time to eat.’ You know, broiling time.” He looked at Albert quizzically. “You are one strange kid,” he said.

“Strangeness seems to be going around,” Albert replied.

He finished eating, wiped his hands as best he could with a paper napkin, and pulled a five dollar bill from his pocket. He pushed the bill across the counter and the man stared at it. “That all you have?” he asked.

“Not enough?” Albert asked, trying to remember how much money he still had in his pocket.

“Could be, for all I know,” the man said. “I’ve never seen any money like it. You can pay me next time,” he said as he pushed the bill back at Albert.

“Thanks. Uh, which way is Oxford?”

The man pointed along one of the roads. “You better start now. You don’t want to get caught on the road after dark.”

“Jabberwocks?”

“Yep. And bandersnatches.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Albert said. He waved at the man and set off at a good pace.

Walking on the road was easy, and pleasant enough, though he zipped up his coat against the cold. The road wound through the forest as if it had been laid out by somebody more interested in scenery than in making good time. Birds, or animals the size of birds, flitted around and chirped. He expected to hear more outgrabbing, but didn’t, which was a relief.

After a while Albert noticed that the forest he was walking through was not made up of redwoods, but some other kind of fir tree. Some were short and had trunks with vertical purple stripes, and others were tall and had trunks with large purple polka dots. Glowing pink moss hung from all the branches.

He stopped when he came upon a bird standing at the side of the road as if waiting for a bus. It had very long twig-like legs and a beak like a banana. Instead of lying flat, its feathers stuck out all around, making it look like a living feather duster. Could it be a borogove, another creature from “Jabberwocky”? Something very creepy and strange was going on.

Albert and the bird watched each other for a moment, and then it took a tentative step onto the road as if it were going wading in cold water. Its knee bent the wrong way, though Albert thought it was certainly the right way for the borogove. Another borogove popped out of the forest and followed the first across the road, then a third and a fourth. Then more. After a while Albert lost count.

He had no idea how many borogoves were in line to cross the road (that sounded like a riddle), and he didn’t want to wait around to find out. “Excuse me,” Albert said, and carefully slid between two of them. None of the borogoves took the least notice. He waved at the birds and kept walking.

He heard a distant rumble. Thunder? Sure. Rain was all Albert needed to make his day a complete experience. The rumble grew louder but the sky didn’t darken. A few minutes later a pack of motorcycles and pick-up trucks roared toward him and he jumped to the side of the road to avoid being run over. The men and women in the procession were all grim-faced, and some of them carried weapons. But instead of going on, as Albert had hoped, the lead truck stopped and a man got out. Behind him, the engines of the trucks and motorcycles idled impatiently.

Albert had heard about motorcycle gangs and he knew he was going to die.