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The Makeshift Prince

by Don Viets; Illustrated by Joshua Viets

181 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #04-0686; ISBN 1-4120-2858-2; US$25.00, C$29.00, EUR20.50, £14.50

Imagine that you were about to discover a secret that could change your life forever... then, traverse the great halls of power with The Makeshift Prince to find its revelation.

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About the Book      About the Author and Illustrator      Excerpts      Catalogue Information

About the Book

The Makeshift Prince is an adventure tale based on the archetype of Jonah and the Whale. In this story, the boy, Jonah, by reasons of illness, loses conscious awareness of the familiar world around him, and awakens to an alternate reality that presents him with a new set of friends, a new family of his own choosing, and a new way of looking at his own existence. In this "new world," Jonah acts as an agent of free will who finds himself in a world that is programmed by technology, so that its government and people act in accordance with the dictates of their predestined roles, until Jonah arrives and upsets the hierarchy animating their being.

Those who inhabit the realm of "reality" that Jonah happens into are duplicitous by nature. Their true nature is withheld from others, and even from themselves for the most part, while their roles become their prominent identities. Unbeknownst to all but a few, including the professor and his inner circle, it is these computer generated roles that motivated them, and mitigate against the expression of their true selves in favor of the role to which their conscience and their integrity have been subjugated.

Jonah learns from his adventure that it is not so much what one possesses in life, but rather what one knows, and who one relates to that is the true measure of worth and value. And in sharing this lesson with others, he is able to liberate them from the bondage of conformity, duplicity and meaninglessness. But can he ever return to the childhood that he left behind? And is there a benevolent intelligence beyond what he has discovered?

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About the Author and Illustrator

Don Viets, author of The Makeshift Prince, has a Bachelor of Arts in English Literature and a Master of Social Work degree from the University of Missouri-Columbia. This book, never before published, was written for his son, Joshua, in the mid-1970's, and won an award from the Southwest Writer's Conference in 1992. Mr. Viets lives in New Mexico, and he enjoys hiking, camping, and studying ancient Native American ruins and cultures of the Southwest.

Joshua Viets, illustrator of the novel, now finishing his Master of Fine Arts degree at the University of New Mexico has a lifelong familiarity with The Makeshift Prince, and works primarily in pen-and-ink sketching, watercolors, and acrylics.

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Excerpts

File Three

...I'm not afraid

Towering above the cluster of surrounding buildings and overlooking the green, manicured campus, an old, gothic clock stood watch with its four, illuminated faces beaming into each direction. Solemnly, it chimed the hour, as its long, steel arms pointed to the Roman numerals. The glowering harvest moon backlit the roiling clouds as the mellow voice of the old time-teller stirred the murky shadows, drifting and echoing.

A gentle breezed flickered and ruffled the small page and Jonah held tightly to it in his hand.

- Do not be afraid, friend, - said the ruler, encouragingly. - Put us inside your pockets and take us with you. -

The long, arching windows of the buildings stared fiercely at little Jonah as he walked along the cobblestone curbing. When the campus clock had finished chiming, a hollow uneasiness hung in the air interrupted only by the nervous twittering of a small rookery of gray sparrows chasing and flitting from limb to limb of a budding tree nearby.

- I am not afraid, - Jonah whispered, under his breath, as he tried to reassure himself. Then, stepping boldly along the walkway, he spoke audibly. - I will not be afraid. - His words trailed into a thin whistling tune, and then broke into what began as a wavering song.

I' m not afraid
And nothin' now can scare me
I' m not afraid
Nothin' evil can get near me
If - I' m not afraid.

I' m not afraid
As long as birds fly in the sky
I' m not afraid
I' ve a pocketful of friends nearby
And - I' m not afraid.

I' m not afraid
I' ve got a lion' s heart inside me
I' m not afraid
'Cause being' small will help to hide me
So - I' m not afraid.

Inside of Jonah' s pockets, tiny bursts of laughter and applause arose from the cheering of his friends: the ruler, the page, the pencil and the paper - all of whom he had brought with him, and oh yes, the old, Waltham pocket-watch, who by this hour was yawning.

File Four

...a queer world

- Good day, Professor. I trust that your project is coming along nicely? -

- Very well, Shropshire. Very, very well, I must say, - beamed the learned man through a row of perfectly straight, white dentures. So perfect, indeed, was he in mannerism and speech, that when he would pronounce the name of his favorite fare, spaghetti, he would separate both "t"s and they would be heard as separate and individual units of sound.

- Are you quite at liberty to discuss any further developments of the project, Sir? - inquired the tall, lean gentleman, whose shoulders were draped about with a gray overcoat.

- The Duchess has advised me not to unveil it-not quite yet, - he hissed, biting the "t"s in his words. - Nor am I authorized to discuss any details relating to its function. -

- We are really quite anxious to know of your progress. I trust that you will keep us waiting no longer than will be absolutely necessary? -

- I must ask you to excuse me now, - interrupted the Professor, in a manner calculated to curb further inquiries. Straightening a stack of papers which lay strewn over his desk, the professor added abruptly: - I really can be of little assistance to you now in the matter. Good day, sir. -

Jonah and his friends had been watching the professor and his associate through a large, paneled window from the corridor. This space served to divide the gallery from the inner suite of offices. Jonah peered cautiously over the chair railing, observing the Professor going about his business, as would befit a gentleman of no small aplomb. He studied the wavy, black hair that had been carefully sculpted to appear tousled, but not a hair had been displaced throughout the day from the position it had been arranged in earlier. Dark eyes were set deep just below a generous brow, and a steady, artificial smile paced the lower portion of the man's face when he talked. An even, jaundiced tan conspired to conceal the crows-feet at the corners of the shifting, bead-like eyes. And though he was well beyond mid-life, he dressed stylishly casual, wearing an open-collared shirt with top buttons gaping. A patch of color-fast chest-hair tangled with a gold chain strung with brass bits. Stone beads, interlaced with ivory chips to simulate bone teeth made to look like "primitive" artifacts, had been strung on a leather cord, and hung about the broad, bullish neck to give the appearance of youth, without the substance of it.

From where Jonah crouched, the Professor gave the impression of being a fine specimen, preserved behind glass.

- Savvy, - the Professor grinned, displaying that impeccable, smug demeanor. He lit his pipe, tamping the tobacco with his index finger, which lithely curved around the bowl to allow its tip to poke over the rim. The professor knit his eyebrows like caterpillars recoiling, as he drafted on the stem, while holding a lit match to the meerschaum. As he puffed, a thick haze of blueish-grey smoke billowed in short, cumulative puffs until he was surrounded by a dense fog.

- Savvy. -

Jonah rubbed his eyes as he stood at the window, half watching his own reflection in the glass, beyond which he could view the Professor and his cohort. He stared in disbelief and blanched as the image of the Professor transformed before his very eyes into what appeared frighteningly enough to become like a fire-breathing dragon! The young lad held his breath as the ruler stirred in his hip pocket, jostling about to get his attention.

- Pick me up - he whispered, so that only Jonah could hear. His attention still focused in disbelief on the sight before him, Jonah reached to take the ruler from his pocket. He felt about absent-mindedly and in the relative darkness until the straight edge worked his way into Jonah's grasp. The boy's gaze remained fixed on the Professor's office, fearing the phantom's unfurling in his mind. Then, bringing the ruler close to his ear, Jonah listened.

- Do not make any sound - the ruler advised, - and remember, you are not supposed to be afraid of anything. -

Jonah nodded his head in fainthearted agreement, as the ruler stayed close to his ear.

- I must have forgotten to tell you. Things change around here. And we never know what to expect a person to be from one moment to the next. But they are seldom what at first they seem to be. -

- How dreadful! - remarked Jonah. - How do you know who you can trust? -

- Oh. You will get used to it after a while - replied the ruler. - We learn to live with it. -

-What a queer world,- mumbled Jonah. -I think I will never understand it at all. Objects that move about and talk, and double-minded people who change from one moment to the next. And, dear me, what else?-

- Please do not be afraid, - said the ruler, trying to comfort the little boy, who had by now begun to sniffle.

The ruler was the first to have seen the irregular movements on the other side of the glass.

- Oh, oh. Quick! - he urged. - Walk down the corridor a few paces; the Professor will be coming out of his office soon, and he must not see you yet. -

Jonah tucked the ruler under his arm and walked stealthily along the dimly lit tiled floor, his eyes casting furtive glances. The image of the fire-breathing-dragon burned into his brain, but he forced himself to keep a slow and even pace, even when he heard the office door sliding open behind him, as the two men emerged from the cocoon behind the glass panels. The Professor and the man with him in the gray overcoat approached Jonah from behind, and he could hear their voices bearing down as he walked.

His thoughts were laced with fear. Fear that he would be discovered. Apprehended. That he might be forever lost and alone in this strange world. Fear so palpable that he neither understood nor remembered anything of the conversation he overheard taking place behind him. Just as the two men overtook him, Jonah closed his eyes very tightly, expecting a hand to fall firmly upon his shoulder. But instead, no one seemed to notice him at all. The two men passed him by and went onward along the darkening, hollow corridor, leaving behind only the scent of cherry pipe-tobacco, lingering in the air for Jonah to muse over. And, just as the smoke hung in the stillness of the corridor, the Professor's office hung in Jonah's mind. What could the mysterious "project" be? The one so carefully guarded, even from those in the Professor's inner circle? And why the secrecy?

- I do not like this place, - sighed Jonah, to his small band of friends. - Is there some way that we can get out of here? -

- You can not turn back now, - protested the ruler. - You promised to help us. -

- Very well, but... -

- No, no, no, no - the ruler insisted. - Take courage. We must follow the Professor and see where it is that his trail shall take us. -

Jonah wanted to turn back. - I do not understand your interest in the Professor, Sir ruler. -

- Oh. And have you not heard it said that where there is smoke, there must be fire? -

- As well - replied the boy, - as that those who play with fire, are like to get burned. -

- He has not noticed you- the ruler returned, directing Jonah's attention straight ahead. - There he goes around that corner. Hurry. You must catch up with him. -

Jonah looked from one end of the corridor to another, and when he was satisfied that no one had been watching him, he darted into the direction he had seen the Professor disappear. Faster and faster, and faster still, he ran. The hallway tilted downward as he raced, and soon he felt as though he were running down a steep hill for his feet could no longer keep pace with the rest of his body as he flew forward.

- Help! - he stammered, feeling his feet leave the floor. - Someone help me...I'm falling.... -

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Catalogue Information

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