When the dinosaur came its scales did not glow and its breath was not fire. There were no tidal waves, nor did people run screaming through the streets.
It came instead silently, as the fog creeps unannounced from the sea, in the deep dreamy hours of night while the city slept. By morning it snored peacefully on the steps of city hall.
The mayor, himself a late sleeper, was awakened by phone. “Sir, there’s a dinosaur asleep on the steps of City Hall.”
“A dinosaur! In my administration!”
“Ahh…yes sir…ah…sorry sir.”
“Can it be handled without me?”
“Well…no one can get to work, sir…”
“Very well. I’ll be right there.”
So the mayor traveled the short streets in his long car, acreep like a lizard in the early golden light.
“Isn’t that the mayor’s car?” A woman poked her husband who turned the keys of their grocery as Peter turns the keys of heaven.
“The mayor?” The man glared into his pocket watch. “Don’t be absurd.”
By the time the mayor arrived a large crowd had assembled. Children played in the great coils of the monster’s tail, while those municipal workers who had used all their sick days were trying to climb over the creature in an effort to reach their desks.
And the beast snored on.
Someone suggested calling in “The army! The navy! The marines!” But the mayor pointed out that an occupying force would generate negative publicity, take liberties with the women, and generally prove an all-around nuisance. “Besides,” he sagely advised, “that could mean possible reductions in government funding come budget time.”
No, the mayor thought it best to declare a holiday and had a proclamation prepared honoring “Dinosaur Recognition Day.”
Despite the holiday the mayor called an emergency meeting of the City Council, agreeing to boost the aldermen’s salaries when they balked at having to work on
their day off. He also included a handsome bonus for himself in light of the cool manner with which he was handling the situation.
The meeting was held in a tavern owned by the mayor’s brother-in-law. After a lengthy and lively debate amidst rounds of toasting and good-natured fisticuffs, the Council decided its hands were tied and the best course of action was to let the dinosaur make the next move. After all, might it not leave the way it had come? Perhaps it was on its way to some bigger, more opportunity-filled metropolis and was merely resting before moving on. It was true, they agreed, the city really had nothing to offer a prehistoric animal.
Just as they were about to adjourn, however, a young alderman who had been elected on a law and order platform demanded the beast be arrested, charged with loitering, and tossed into the hoosegow.
This tactic met with some approval until it was pointed out that the statutes of the city were designed with the affairs of men in mind and nowhere was there any mention of dinosaurs. It was, therefore, a most delicate legal point whether these laws could, in good conscience, be applied to prehistoric life. Indeed, the
matter would have to be taken up by the Corporation Counsel and studied in detail by a panel of legal experts. Until such time there was nothing to be done.
So agreed, they decided to retire to the comfort of their homes, have good dinners, and hope things would rectify themselves by morning.
The mayor then issued a press release assuring the public the matter of the dinosaur was being considered and that everything within the city’s powers was being done to correct the situation.
Day nodded into night dreaming its way to dawn, and the beast slumbered on.
The mayor rose early, full ready to hear he had been in some mild coma brought on by an insignificant, though upsetting, household accident. Perhaps he had consumed some slightly tainted food before retiring which produced curious phantasms of a most disturbing and Mesozoic nature. Certainly this was the case. “Dinosaurs indeed!” Perhaps it was the boys over the fifth ward pulling his leg.
Just then the phone rang, as phones do, startling the mayor from his reverie. This in turn so disturbed his cat that it leapt onto the mayor’s sleeping wife whose scream resembled the sound of bombs whistling to earth. In rushed an army of aides, guards, and servants, all hoping to advance their lot by foiling some diabolic attempt on his honor’s person. And, though the mayor did indeed
look shot, he would live to realize that what is dream is dream and what is real is real, however much we might wish otherwise…The brute had not stirred.
Once more he traversed the streets and economic dividing lines of his city. And once more passed the heavenly grocer at the precise moment of opening. This time the shopkeeper saw with his own eyes the great blackness of the mayor’s car as it eclipsed the far side of the street. So stunned was the man that he checked his watch, dropped his keys, and scratched his head all at the same time.
The crowd around city hall had doubled. Vendors hawked dinosaur toys, dinosaur buttons, dinosaur tee-shirts. The odors of cooking turned the air into a rich stew, while strewn all about were citizens on blankets and in beach chairs, lounges and hammocks, sunning themselves in the day’s first warmth.
Everywhere the sounds of laughter mingled with the chatter and buzz of a hundred radios. Festival was in the air and the mayor, who could tell which way the wind blew inside the eye of a tornado, proclaimed another holiday. A good time was had by all and the mayor took the opportunity to shake hands and kiss babies till his arms and lips were sore.
He then called another meeting of the Council, which agreed to a man that being asked to work two holidays in a row was really too much to ask, but because of their dedication to the city, yadayadayada, double holiday pay, and triple comp time, they would perform above and beyond, etc., etc., etc.
Yet still the oblivious beast dreamed its pre-Pleistocene dreams.
Was the beast in fact real, they wondered? Wasn’t it possible this giant was merely a balloon or float from some forgotten carnival, escaped from its moorings and come to settle on the steps of the city seat? This suggestion sparked a discussion which stretched into hours. Many agreed the creature did look a trifle rubbery. One went so far as to claim noticing a strange protrusion near the belly, which – now that he came to think of it – greatly resembled an air valve. Surely this must be the case. They were silly to think otherwise. After all, dinosaurs in this day and age?
It was then suggested the beast be promptly deflated and debate ensued over the method. Some urged a hat pin. Others a safety pin. While still others made a case for instruments which were not pins at all. At last a young alderman, whose face beamed rosy innocence, made the point that there still was a remote possibility the creature was not polyethylene at all, but indeed flesh and blood. “As wardens of the public trust we must needs operate under
a worst case scenario. In such an eventuality, then is it not likely puncturing its hide might disturb its somnolence and awaken it to a surly disposition?”
This went to and fro, the Council forming two distinct factions: those who held it unreasonable to entertain the notion the beast was real, and those who felt discretion the better part of politics.
The discussion ebbed and flowed with the regularity (and pretty near the time frame) of the tides until a hitherto silent freshman alderman, quite suddenly blessed by the gift of tongues, arose, and with eyes of glass and knees of jelly, addressed his fellows. “Even if the dinosaur should prove to be full of air,” he exhaled loudly, “might not this air prove to be noxious?” There were several nods and much murmuring. “Or what,” he went on, “what if the puncture caused a tremendous explosion or jet-propulsive reaction causing harm and injury to some person, place or thing? What if it flew off to another municipality and injured someone there? Could the city afford such a law suit? And what of the embarrassing publicity?”
And so his point, not to mention his career, was made, and it was decided then and there the scope of the matter was quite a bit farther-reaching than first supposed. A unanimous vote sent the question to the Board of Earth and Physical Sciences. These were the men who could solve such detailed scientific inquiries, men who dealt with similar issues on a daily basis. Men who, unfortunately, could not be located due to research that took them to warmer climes.
So once more it seemed the wisest, indeed the only course of action, was to retreat to the comfort of their homes and take up the matter on the morrow, at which time there would, hopefully, be no matter to take up.
The mayor then had a second release issued informing the populace that “various steps” had been taken, and “certain matters” had been referred to the “proper agencies.” He personally assured the people, “The great machinery of the city has been put into motion and will roll on with its usual alacrity toward a remedy of the present state of affairs.”
Night once more secreted the sun beneath its cloak, absconding to the gates of dawn.
The mayor rose even earlier, convinced such mending of ways could only serve to ensure a more positive turn of events. Still, he kept one eye on the phone and one on the cat, and from time to time glanced over his shoulder at his sleeping wife. He was on edge this morning and he knew it. The early hours made him cranky and the bright sun hurt his eyes.
As he began to shave the phone rang. To avoid decapitation he flung the razor from his hand straight into his wife’s snoring mouth. This time her somewhat muffled scream this time resembled a buzz bomb. Again the vigilante entourage threw back the doors, fully prepared to apprehend the mayor’s better half. He could see things would not change.
The beast had not stirred a scale.
Again he traveled the bright streets in his dark car and again passed Peter’s twin, who, pointing smugly at the car and his watch, collected a large sum of money from a fellow gatekeeper.
Today the crowd filled the streets. A sea of heads rippled in the sunlight. Children were dressed in bright green dinosaur suits and a portable Dino-Soar ride hurled screaming patrons to the edge of nausea. The mayor, himself very fond of rides, again succumbed to the carnival spirit.
The beast slept on and true to its lizard nature, blended in.
Once more the mayor called the Council to sit. And they were glad to come, lured as much by the crowds who would point and shout, “Look, there are our councilmen! See how hard they work, and today a holiday,” as by the mayor agreeing to lengthen their terms of office.
On this day they discussed the physical needs of the creature. How much sleep did a monster of such capacity require? Wasn’t it possible that two or three days were nothing but a nap to an animal of such proportions? Might he not yet arise when this siesta was through and move on? Yes…If small creatures such as ourselves slept for eight hours, it was only reasonable to assume such a great beast require much more…It must grow very weary hauling about such a weight…Why the mayor, only slightly larger than the average man, sleeps far longer than that difference might imply.
But a councilman with teeth bright as sunlight suggested that when the creature did rise it might not leave, but instead use its great size to advantage, crushing or devouring the populace.
The Council chewed on this concept, one member pointing out that trees are much larger than people yet seldom make meals of us. “On the contrary, they often suffer tremendous abuse at our hands offering little or no complaint.”
Indeed the question was sticky as sap and the board would have argued it for hours had they not had the foresight to realize they could not settle it alone. They therefore voted to refer the matter to the Department of Weights and Measures, and as an added precaution, to send a consultant from the Parks Department to offer input regarding the behavior of trees.
A third release was issued in which the mayor let on that the question of the dinosaur was “being weighed” by a body of experts and a solution was forthcoming. The Council once more returned to the warmth of their hearths aglow with the satisfaction of a good day’s work.
And so it went. Days became nights and nights, days.
On and on the cycle of light and dark played and replayed with no more effort than a sleeper turning from one dream to the next.
And so dreamed the dinosaur. Its huge chest rising and falling to the beat of its gentle breath.
And so dreamed the city. Each day the mayor rose and traveled the familiar streets. Each day the grocer turned his holy keys. And each day the Council met to discuss the great dragon.
Soon, the crowds stopped coming and vendors moved on to more profitable locales. The Council thought it best not to re-enter city hall for fear of “disturbing things” and passed a resolution to that effect. Municipal workers were put on indefinite workmens’compensation and life went on as it had before.
In time a new mayor took office, swearing his vows at the local pub, now the unofficial city seat, and councilmen came and went as naturally as leaves with the seasons.
One day the city awoke from its nightly dreams and the beast was gone.
Months later, when the Council was again accustomed to meeting within the halls of the great domed building, and the typewriters ticked, and the red tape ran, they looked back on the era of the dinosaur and could not be certain it had actually been at all.
The Council discussed this for many months during which time memory continue to fade, even as dreams fade with the harsh light of day.
After much deliberation it was decided the events concerning the dinosaur might very well be fancy, yet might just as well be real. There was nothing to do but turn the matter over to the Department of Psychology for consideration.
And so, life went on as before. And life went on as before.