The Census Taker and the Bath Sheet

By A.A.Aaron

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Summary:     It’s a humorous look at a typical day with Hannibal and Clarice.  Hannibal reveals more about the census taker, and about a childhood experience. A response to the Coral and Cream February Quest, and a Lecteresque romance.

Timeline:      Several years after the novel Hannibal; follows canon.

Rating:          PG-13

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A/N: Disclosure:  The characters Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling are the property of Thomas Harris and are used here without permission but in the spirit of admiration and respect.  No copyright infringement is intended, and neither the publisher nor the author makes any profit.

*
There is something deliciously decadent about lying in bed naked, face to face with your lover, having a stimulating discussion while enjoying the view.  At least, Dr. Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling found it so, after a strenuous session of lovemaking.

The topic of their discourse was the DVD of the Cole Porter musical Les Girls that Hannibal had presented to Clarice for Valentine’s Day.  Hannibal maintained that Rashomon was the original and better treatment of the theme that truth is in the eye of the beholder; Clarice maintained that Les Girls was one of her favorite musicals and that she disliked having to read subtitles when watching Rashomon.

“Off-hand, the only movie I can think of with a subtitle is the German film Das Boot,” Hannibal remarked.

Clarice groaned in appreciation.  “The most intelligent man I know and he makes the most godawful puns.  Doesn’t it embarrass you?”

Hannibal stroked her cheek gently, brushing back a few stray hairs.  “I honestly can’t remember ever being embarrassed about anything.”

“Mmmm…didn’t you find Multiple Miggs’ behavior embarrassing when we first met?”

Hannibal’s expression darkened.  “I was certainly agitated.  You know that I find any form of discourtesy unspeakably ugly.  But I would not describe my feelings as embarrassment.”

He paused for a few moments.  “However, now that my memory has been jogged a little, I do recall an occasion when I was embarrassed.  It’s really quite silly but I can tell you about it if you wish.”

Bracing herself for whatever Dr. Lecter would find embarrassing, she said, “Sure.  Go ahead.”

“This occurred when I was nine years old,” Hannibal began.  “I had recently arrived in London where I was staying with the Barretts, friends of my late parents.  Theirs was a modest flat but it seemed luxurious to me after the many months I had spent in a refugee camp.  It reminded me somehow of my family’s estate in Lithuania before the Nazis came.

“Oddly enough, the thing I remembered best about my earlier life was the large fluffy bath sheets we used to wrap ourselves in after bathing.  In the refugee camp, we had worn-out rags for that purpose; and even at the Barrett’s, the towel they had me use could barely cover my back.  I resolved to buy my own bath sheet.

“I had a little spending money.  My native languages were Lithuanian and Italian, but over the past couple weeks I had been studying English and considered myself quite fluent.  I could read it and could understand spoken English.  My grammar was still weak and I had an atrocious accent, but I felt prepared to communicate.  I set out with confidence for that great department store, Harrods, to purchase my bath sheet.

“At Harrods, I approached a floor walker.  In my heavy Lithuanian accent I asked him,

‘Pardon me, sir.  Could you tell me vere I can find bat shit?’

“He looked at me unbelievingly.  ‘What did you say?’

“ ‘Bat shit.  I vish to buy bat shit.’

“The floor walker seemed about to make some crude remark but contained himself.  He saw that I was sincere, and perhaps there was something in my gaze, even as a nine-year-old, that suggested that it would be unwise to be discourteous.  For whatever reason, he spoke civilly, ‘If I may ask, young man, what do you plan to do with this bat shit?’

“I replied, ‘After I take my shower I cover myself vit bat shit.’

“Eventually it was all straightened out, but I must admit that on that occasion I was embarrassed.

“Incidentally, Clarice, it is rather rude of you, not to mention undignified, to be rolling on the floor naked and laughing, while I’m relating my unfortunate experience.”

Clarice stood up, still giggling as she said, “You’re right.  I apologize for not treating your story with all the reverence it deserves.”

They dressed, and Hannibal entertained them by improvising at the harpsichord while Clarice busied herself at the computer.

Later that afternoon they danced on the terrace to the Tango, Tierrita; then sat and watched a magnificent sunset.

“We’re completely open with each other, aren’t we?” said Clarice.

“Umhuh.”

“Well, I’ve noticed a topic you seem to shy away from.  You’ve spoken with me freely about your past activities, but you never mentioned the census taker after our first meeting.

“A census taker tried to quantify me once.  I ate his liver with some fava beans and a big Amarone.”

“Ah, yes.  My trademark line.  The single statement for which I’m most remembered.”

Clarice remarked: “It’s been said, ‘My only fear is not to be remembered when I’m dead.’ ”

“That’s very good.  Who said it?”

“Some dead guy,” said Clarice.  She was silent for a minute; then continued:

“Is there something special about your encounter with the census taker?”

“Nothing, except that everything you and everyone else think you know about it isn’t true.”

“But everything we know about it comes from your short statement.  There was nothing in the FBI files to indicate the existence of this census taker.  Did you make him up?”

Hannibal sighed.  “That would have been a lie, and you know I never lie.  However, I reserve the right to indulge in a bit of misleading word-play.”

A glance at Clarice’s quizzical expression showed him that she had no idea where he was headed.  He said, “I suppose I had better tell you the whole story:”

Dr. Lecter began, “This took place in 1960, the year in which Nixon battled Kennedy for the White House, Chubby Checker introduced the Twist, and the United States held its decennial census. I had recently obtained my MD degree and was in the process of deciding on a specialty.  This was well before serial murder and cannibalism were part of my pastimes.

“A census taker came to my apartment and asked for my cooperation in filling out a special questionnaire.  I questioned him and determined that his request was personal and not official.  His name was Don Kiote.  Don agreed to exchange information with me on a quid pro quo basis.  He turned out not to be your run-of-the-mill census taker but a census taker with a dream.

“Taking census is not exactly a full-time occupation.  Don’s main job was as guidance counselor at a Baltimore high school.  His dream was to convert guidance counseling to a science…to quantify people so as to be able to determine mathematically the professions they would be most suited for.  He had already developed an algorithm to make this determination but required more data to calibrate the coefficients in his method.  That was his reason for becoming a census taker.  It gave him an opportunity to gather the data he needed.

“I was intrigued but skeptical.  I filled out his questionnaire and he began processing it by hand.  I suggested a lunch break and we headed to a near-by deli.  I ordered a corned beef sandwich and Don selected a chopped chicken liver sandwich.  I mentioned that I had never tasted chopped liver, and Don offered me a taste of his.  It was indescribably delicious.  Hearing my praise, Don suggested we trade sandwiches, and I agreed.  So, Don ate my corned beef and I ate his chopped liver, with the fava beans and wine.”

Clarice raised one eyebrow.  “So that’s your story of the census taker’s liver.”

“That is it.”

“Then why did you word your statement so as to make it sound like a horror story?”

Hannibal was uncharacteristically hesitant.  Then he spoke softly:

“You were the first woman I had seen in eight years, and a remarkably attractive one at that.  My social skills had atrophied.  My inclination was to shuffle my feet and mumble, ‘Aw, shucks’…or to show off by riding my bicycle with my feet on the handlebars.  Not having my bicycle handy, I chose to show off my olfactory talents, and to do my Evil Monster impression.  It occurred to me that the census taker story, cunningly edited, would fit nicely into my performance.  You appeared to be suitably impressed at the time.”

There was a few minutes of silence.  Then Clarice asked, “What happened afterward with the census taker?”

“We returned to my place where Don finished processing my questionnaire.  He then showed me the results of his analysis: my ideal profession would be psychiatrist.  This was followed closely by a bundle of second choices: surgeon, concert pianist, literature professor, perfumer, museum curator, chef, and a host of others.  I was impressed.”

Clarice interrupted: “Now just a minute, Buster.  Let’s back up a minute.  When we first met, you refused to fill out Crawford’s questionnaire.  I believe your words were, ‘Oh, Officer Starling, do you think you can dissect me with this blunt little tool?’

“Now you’re saying you cooperated with the census taker in a similar task?”

“I was much younger when I met the census taker,” said Hannibal, “and had not yet acknowledged that most psychology is puerile.  Furthermore, even just flipping through Crawford’s questionnaire I could see that the questions were far inferior to those in Don’s analysis.

“Getting back to Don’s analysis, I noticed that his method was valid only over limited ranges.  Don explained that his method was valid only over the ranges for which he had data to calibrate the coefficients; extrapolating beyond that range gave meaningless, and occasionally amusing, results.

“There isn’t much more to tell.  We exchanged phone numbers but never got around to calling.  I checked the literature periodically for his work, but apparently he never published.”

The sun had set, and the music now playing in the background was the tango Percal.

“Oops…almost forgot,” said Clarice, jumping to her feet.  She dashed inside and quickly reappeared carrying a heart-shaped package.  “Happy Valentine’s Day, darling.”

Hannibal unwrapped the package and opened the card inside.  It read:

Shop for your bath sheet on the Internet and never feel embarrassed again!

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Love,

CS

The other item in the package was the printout of a brochure from the King Company.  It included a price list and order form for its product, bat guano.

Hannibal remained up after Clarice had gone to bed.  He sat back in his recliner and replayed in his mind the episode of the census taker.  Hannibal recalled the accuracy with which his ideal profession, psychiatrist, had been selected by Don’s analysis.

He recalled also the amusing results Don had obtained if he extrapolated the analysis beyond the range for which data were available. Those results were: serial killer, cannibal.

Probably a lucky guess, thought Hannibal.

Fin

Copyright 2002, A.A.Aaron