The Insidious Adventures of the Insipid Carl Cahalan: Part 2

By the time Carl Cahalan was banished to International Falls he was under the impression that he was in the twilight of his life. By his estimation he had lived many fulfilling years and felt that he was no longer much use to anyone or anything (which was convenient considering his distaste for labor). With his life experience and wisdom he decided he would best serve the public by telling stories from a rocking chair perched on the deck of his modest log home on the far end of International Falls’ modest Main Street. And of course he would be working on the Great American Novel.

This was disarming to the hard working humble folks of International Falls, who would come by periodically to offer Carl a job at one of the nearby logging camps. Carl, you see, had dark wild hair, tightly curled and shiny as a seal’s hide, unweathered skin, smooth as a…seal’s hide, and round, mischievous eyes, dark as a…well I’ll be damned if Carl didn’t look just like a seal (excluding of course general uprightness and necessary appendages.) Carl’s sealish appearance had the overall effect of making him look young. Very young.

Needless to say, the good folks of International Falls didn’t like the idea of a young man frittering his time away, not working, raising who knows what brand of hell, and so they did their darndest to put him to work. Regardless, Carl would politely decline any job offered, explaining that it would be unwise for a brittle old man to be running around, shimmying up and down trees like a damn fool, and that he felt perfectly comfortable with his feet on the ground and his ass in a rocker.

He certainly didn’t need the money. Carl had made his fortune years before during an oil prospecting expedition to the heart of Siberia (but we’ll get to that later). He lived a simple life, had very few material needs (aside from his refusal to wear socks more than once) and had more than enough money to last him till the end of his days, which by his estimation was imminently approaching.

Truth be told, Carl had no idea how old he was. Due to his unusual childhood (but we’ll get to that later) Carl had no records of when he was born, and never learned to read a calendar (or tell time, for that matter). We’ll just say that Carl was neither as old as he thought nor as young as everyone else did.

Carl’s only friend in International Falls was his neighbor Mira Oglestein, whom he regarded as one of the world’s great beauties. To the average man she was powerfully repulsive, but her puckered lips and scaly skin aroused Carl’s sealish instincts, and upon meeting her Carl decided he would soon make her his wife.

Mira, in return, could more tolerate Carl than persuade herself to grow a genuine affinity for him. She had been widowed years before, and had vowed to let no man take her husband’s place. All of her affections were reserved for her cat, which she named Sam (after her husband). No one in International Falls had the heart to tell Mira that Sam had also died years before and that a kindly pet shop owner had been replacing the old tabby each time it kicked the bucket. Really, part of her must have known (no cat lives to 40), but she always said that age is purely mental.

Mira Oglestein was the only citizen of International Falls who knew the true story of what happened to Carl in Fort Frances, Canada. She had been told the story by no will of her own, and always regarded the sordid tale as no business of hers. But Carl loved her, and his honor forced him to be truthful with his future wife. When asked about Carl’s exile Mira would always say that it boiled down to a difference of opinions. The reality of the tale was, in fact, much more scandalous.