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My name is Lemony Snicket, and it is my solemn duty to tell the tale of the last time I saw the late Count Olaf. Late in this context does not mean after the expected, proper or usual time (like the firetrucks that could not arrive in time to save the Baudelaire Mansion when it mysteriously burned to the ground), but rather to be deceased and no longer of this world (much like Bertrand and Beatrice Baudelaire, who will now forever be late because those firetrucks were too late). The events leading to and involving the last time I saw the late Count Olaf were complicated. I will admit that I do not fully understand the situation that I found myself in. But, for all of the vile, cruel and evil things the late Count Olaf did, he was still my friend. And I loved him I have many personal and legal reasons why I must document everything that happened on that fateful day.
I saw the late Count Olaf again after I met Kit Baudelaire, but before I started writing the final chapter on the Baudelaire orphans. I remember waking up tied to a chair. This alone would not be particularly surprising, as I have often found myself in this situation before. Whether it be on the search for a rather specific sugar bowl or running away from a rather upset policeman in a way similar to how I would run away from the grief of learning of the death of a remarkable woman, I often find myself waking up tied to chairs. I’ve been told that this is not a common experience, but it has happened often enough for me to no longer question it.
No, the reason that I found myself confused as I woke up tied to a chair was the fact that Count Olaf was tied to a chair next to me, very much not late in any sense of the word.
“Oh great,” Count Olaf rolled his eyes with derision, a word that means scorn or contempt, once he noticed my presence. He seemed to be talking to someone hiding in the shadows in front of us. “You brought Lemony? He’s probably defining words before he even processes what’s going on.”
“Count Olaf?” I chose to ignore the clear jab at my quirks so that I could ‘process what’s going on’ as the failed thespian so eloquently put it, “I thought you were dead?”
“And who told you that, sweetheart?”
“Kit did.”
“Your sister? She made it out of that accursed island?”
I paused for a second. When an old friend turned enemy has mysteriously risen from the dead, there are a lot of things you’d want to tell them. You could tell them all about the life you’ve lived without them, the places you’ve been and the crimes you’ve committed. You could reminisce on the days gone by, talk about life before the Schism and when you still believed in happy endings. You could even talk about what could’ve been, how you wish that you never stopped being friends, and that you wish you were there during their final moments. But telling your old friend that your sister, their love, was dead, a state of being that, once it comes true, supposedly never stops? It’s the kind of thing that most people would avoid bringing up if given such a rare opportunity. Nevertheless, I owed the Count the truth, after all this time, didn’t I?
““She-she wasn’t the one who told me you were dead. Kit Baudelaire did. Kit Snicket, OUR Kit. Well-”
Count Olaf, always as impatient as he was crooked, interrupted me.
“There’s another Baudelaire?”
“Kit’s daughter. The other Baudelaire’s brought her with them when they left the island.”
“OH the baby! Wait, why did Kit name her after herself? And why did she give her the same surname as those pesky orphans? What kind of-”
“Will zee audience please stop with ze bickering and ze arguing and pay ze attention!”
The No-Longer-Late-But-Definitely-Once-Was Count and I stopped our bickering to turn in front of us. A spotlight had appeared to shine a light on a stage that, atop of it, held a smaller stage, one fit for puppets, and a man with an accent as fake as the ones Olaf used during his many schemes to obtain the Baudelaire orphans. I can only presume that this was the same man that Olaf had been talking to before I had fully processed my present situation.
“Velcome, velcome Yemony,” exclaimed the mysterious man as our chairs got pushed toward him by some invisible force, much like gravity but in a horizontal direction. “I am zo zo ‘appy that you could join us for ze show.”
Count Olaf groaned, “That accent is worse than the one you put on when we talked to Esme. Could you please stop with your silly games long enough to explain to him what’s going on?”
“Awww,” the mysterious man jeered back, “Ze silly man with ze funny unibrow does not like it when those who are better at ze theatre than him play fun games? That is so the sad.”
Count Olaf rolled his eyes. “You’ve kept me here for who knows how long listening to you tell the people I’ve known throughout my life stories about my past that I’d rather forget in increasingly pathetic accents. Yeah, I’m a bit fed up with your GAMES, Toymaker.”
“Toymaker?” I gave both the Count and this mysterious man looks of confusion, “He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who makes toys. A puppet master, sure. Maybe even a stagehand. But a Toymaker?”
The smile on the mysterious man’s face dropped at hearing my retort. He looked at me with contempt as he spoke, dropping the stereotypical and awful German accent for a rather convincing British one.
“Listen closely, Lemony. I don’t take too kindly for beings as small as you taking issue with my name. I brought you here to help me play a game with mein dear Count Olaf, but if I feel that you aren’t giving the game the respect it deserves, then I will happily penalize you both. Do I make myself clear?”
The tone of the entire room shifted when the Toymaker said this. I could see in the corner of my eye, Count Olaf looked… worried for me? Deciding that this was not a hill that I wanted to die on, a figure of speech which here had a bit more truth to it than usual, I opted to nod, accepting the Toymaker’s terms. He smiled and shifted back to that horrible attempt at a German accent.
“Very good, Mr. Yemony!” He snapped his finger again and my seat was pushed back next to Olaf. “Today I have a very special game for you and Mr. Olaf! Come and see, come and see!”
He stood atop his stage as the chairs that Olaf and I were trapped on moved closer.
“Ze show is just beginning!”
As the chairs got acclimated, a word which here means adapted to their new places, the Toymaker walked behind the smaller stage that was atop his own stage.
Taking on a voice akin to an American show host, the Toymaker continued.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls welcome to the Game of Life in Miniature! In this game, I, your lovely host, the Toymaker, get to show Mr. Lemony and Count Olaf three moments in their lives that happened after they separated! Then, they get to answer the all important question: can this dauntless duo reconcile?”
“And my answer with Lemony will be the same as my answer when you summoned Esme and my troupe, Toy man” said the Count Olaf as he yawned, “They all betrayed me. especially this one. What makes you think I'd ever want to be friends with Lemony again? After everything that happened?”
The Toymaker sighed, “I really hope ze Doctor and Donna Noble do not interrupt as much as you, Mr. Olaf.”
“Who are they?”
“Doesn't matter. My
point
is that you might be surprised this time. Now, are you both ready to play?”
Olaf gestured a go-ahead as I nodded an affirmative. I had no idea why the Toymaker brought the two of us together to play his game, but it was clear to me that Olaf had been playing against him for a while. If they've been stuck like this for a while, then surely there had to be something they were playing for.
“Wonderful, wonderful!” cheered the Toymaker as he prepared the smaller stage.
“Let us begin at ze beginning,” said Olaf as he resumed the horrible German accent.
On the stage, a puppet of Count Olaf stood next to a puppet of myself and a few other members of the VFD.
“Once upon a time, Count Olaf had ze best of friends. And zhey vent with him to celebrate his father getting ze promotion!”
The puppets on the stage were all put aside so that room could be made for a puppet of Olaf’s father.
“But Olaf’s father was killed, BY A WOMAN IN A DRAGONFLY DRESS”
The Toymaker took a pair of scissors and cut the strings off the puppet of Olaf’s father. The puppet fell unceremoniously to the floor. Unable to stop myself, I stood up.
“His death was an accident!”
“Well THAT'S ALRIGHT THEN,” the Toymaker retorted in an American accent.
“Wait, time out,” interjected Count Olaf. “I thought Lemony killed my father?”
The Toymaker laughed. “Usually I hate it when you interrupt, Mr. Olaf. But you really didn't know? Oh that's hilarious!”
Olaf looked at me with a pained expression.
“Lemony, please tell me it isn't true,” he pleaded.
“Why does it matter? The death was an accident, Olaf.”
“Because if you didn’t kill him. That means you’ve spent your whole life running from the law… for nothing?”
“I did it to protect the woman I loved. Someone you ended up killing anyway!”
“Beatrice? I didn’t kill her. And even if I did I wouldn’t have killed her for what happened with my father. I hunted you down because I
know
how careful you are, Lemony. When you were the one who killed my father there was no way it could’ve been an accident. Beatrice was reckless, you aren’t.”
“Could've, should've, would've.” is an expression that, very simply, is short for “could have, should have and would have.” It is usually said in response to someone making excuses for why they did a specific action. Typically, it is made in reference to newly obtained knowledge that, if known at the time of the action, the decisions made would’ve likely led to a new action entirely. For example, if any of the guardians of the Baudelaires knew that the person near them that was clearly Count Olaf in a disguise WAS Count Olaf, they COULD’VE stopped Count Olaf’s dastardly schemes, they SHOULD’VE listened to Klaus, Violet and Sunny’s concerns and they WOULD’VE continued to live as one happy family. Of course, there is one final part of the expression that is almost always excluded: didn’t. The guardians of the Baudelaires DIDN’T stop Count Olaf before it was too late, and the didn’t was what matters.
Likewise, I could’ve, would’ve, should’ve when it came to Count Olaf’s father’s demise. I COULD’VE immediately told Olaf that Beatrice threw the dart, not me. I SHOULD’VE stayed to clear things up so that Olaf could forgive quickly and not go down a dark path. I WOULD’VE done everything I could to keep all of my friend together so that we could make it through that horrible time.
But I didn’t. And the didn’t is what matters.
Still, something was off from what Count Olaf had said. “I didn’t kill her. And even if I did”? As I understood it, Count Olaf was responsible for the fire that kickstarted the entire series of unfortunate events that befell the Baudelaires. That fire is what killed Beatrice. So…
“… if you didn’t burn down the Baudelaire Mansion, then-”
“Up up up NOT yet Mr. Lemony,” said the Toymaker shortly before he hijacked the conversation. “I do hate it when we spoil my lovely show. Now, let’s move on shall we?”
On the smaller stage, the puppet Olaf once again stood, this time with two, new puppets. Both Olaf and I couldn’t help but gulp in fear. Even if they were just puppets, the resemblance was uncanny.
“One day, Count Olaf met two terrifying compatriots, a man with a beard but no hair and a woman with hair and no beard. And they raised Count Olaf into the man he is today!”
Two new puppets appeared: Bertrand and Beatrice Baudelaire.
“One day, Count Olaf’s
new
mommy and daddy wanted him to prove himself. So they told him to burn down the house of his old friends!”
With that, the Toymaker took his scissors and once again cut the strings of the puppets, this time being the Baudelaire couple. It was Olaf’s turn to stand up in outrage.
“Except I didn’t burn down their house! Beatrice was my friend. And I couldn’t do it back then. I was too attached.”
Seeing what I was clearly about to ask, Count Olaf continued.
“Mommy and Daddy burned down their house. They said it was the only way I could become strong like them. I was punished severely for not obeying them.”
“WELL THAT’S ALRIGHT THEN!” the Toymaker retorted, rolling his eyes.
The phrase “hit like a truck” usually has a rather negative connotation, which makes plenty of sense given that this is typically a rather painful experience, as I myself learned the hard way after a particularly grueling summer in California. Of course, “hit like a truck” does not always literally mean being hit by a truck. Sometimes, it can just mean “something that creates a powerful impact”. While this context is usually only provided to literal things such as punches or, again, actual trucks, it is worth noting that this phrase can also be used to describe revelations or feelings.
As such, the revelation that Beatrice and Bertrand Baudelaire were killed by the Man with a Beard but No Hair and the Woman with Hair but No Beard hit me like a truck. Most people, myself included, would, rather reasonably, assume that Count Olaf, the person who made the lives of the Baudelaire children a nightmare, was the one responsible for that horrible accident. But it seems that this was not the case at all. Granted, the Count still made the lives of those children horrible, and he has committed many other deeds that can be deemed “horrific” and “irredeemable” but you must understand that Beatrice is, was, the person I loved. That is a particular grievance that I held against Count Olaf for many years. For it to be removed so quickly, with little ceremony. Well, it certainly did hit like a truck.
“I see that Lemony has started daydreaming again, so let’s move on to the final scene, shall we?” The Toymaker said. He dropped the German accent, this time choosing a voice very similar to Olaf’s.
The Toymaker brought out three more puppets, Violet, Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire.
“I don’t need to tell you what happened next, do I, Lemony? I know you’ve written all about the entire series of unfortunate events that affected the Baudelaire orphans. But how much do you know about Count Olaf’s death?”
Of course, I knew only what Kit Baudelaire had told me, which was that Olaf had been killed by a harpoon gun before she was born. As the Toymaker prepared his puppets, Count Olaf was uncharacteristically quiet. Perhaps his own death was something that the self-proclaimed actor felt deserved some kind of reverence, or perhaps he was grappling with the fact that his mortality, for all intents and purposes, should be over.
Without Count Olaf’s constant interjections, the Toymaker delivered what could only be described as a “gesamtkunstwerk”, a word that here means a complete and total work of art. It is a phrase that should only be used on very specific occasions, such as an operatic masterpiece, or a nine-minute song naming every creature playable in a popular children’s game complete with an interpretive dance section. In this instance, it refers to a 3-hour puppet show that summarized everything that happened to the Baudelaires, my sister and Count Olaf during their time on that island. I would later on try to capture that energy in my own recounting of the events later, but like any gesamtkunstwerk, it simply could not be replicated. As the Toymaker’s gesamtkunstwerk came to an end, he reenacted Olaf’s death, doing one last act of kindness, something I never thought I’d see him do again.
As the Toymaker cut Olaf’s strings, he repeated his last words, mimicking his voice perfectly:
“Man hands on misery to man, it deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can, and don't have any kids yourself."
As the puppet fell to the floor, I looked at Olaf, my old… friend. The one I cared for for so long, before the Schism. Before everything went wrong.
“You remembered Philip Larkin?” I asked softly.
“How could I forget? You never shut up about that poem,” was the Count’s bitter reply.
The two of us watched in silence as the play resumed. We saw the Baudelaires successfully deliver Kit’s child into the world and weeped when Kit died. As the puppet versions of the orphans whom Olaf spent so many years chasing after sailed into the Great Unknown, the two of us couldn't help but cry. It was the kind of crying that I hope you don’t experience, a crying for all of the terrible things that have happened, not just to you but to everyone you know and to everyone you don’t know and even the people you don’t want to know… It is the kind of crying I can only really put into words when discussing The End.
The Toymaker got down from the stage and wrapped his arms around us, the way an older friend would embrace his companions, or a snake would trap its prey.
“Well now that we've finished my wonderful performance, what do our two guests of honor have to say?” The Toymaker smiled sinisterly, “I must remind you, when playing my games you must always follow the rules, and in this case, that means you must tell the truth. Now I know that can be very hard for both of you so let's begin with a very simple question. What did you think of the show?”
“The first two scenes were lackluster, a word which here means very boring and quite dull,” I began. However, before I could continue lambasting, a word which means criticize harshly, I found myself being unable to speak nothing but the truth, “The final segment on the other hand was one of the best things I've ever seen. A real gesamtkunstwerk. And- Why can't I stop?”
Olaf sighed, “Yeah, he does that. The Toymaker doesn't like it when we don't play along.”
He turned to the Toymaker, “My answer is the same as Lemony’s. First part was lame. The ending was pretty good.”
The Toymaker made a noise of satisfaction while jotting notes on a notebook that seemingly appeared out of nowhere.
“Excellent responses all around! We'll make sure to improve this all during our future shows. That brings us to our second question: What was the most surprising thing that you learned today?”
Olaf took the liberty of answering first this time. “I didn't realize that Beatrice was the one who killed my father. It… it changes a lot.”
Taking a moment to think, I provided him with my answer. “I'm glad that Olaf wasn't the one who killed my beloved. But I think the part that surprised me the most was the end. To think that he remembered the poems I read to him all those years ago…”
The Toymaker murmured happily, clearly satisfied with these answers.
“I'm so glad that you two are FINALLY being truthful. That means we can finally answer one final question, the one we’ve ALL been waiting for,” he turns to the distance, as if talking to a camera that was not there.
“The final question: now that you know the full truth, the lies between you two are finally gone, will you, Olaf Gautier, forgive and reconcile with Lemony Snicket?”
Olaf seemed surprised that his last name, something that no one used to refer to him these days, was being used.
“You already know my answer to this, Toymaker.”
“Yes, and you know that I want to hear you say it. Now hurry along.”
Olaf sighed, but began nevertheless, “Just like all of the others you’ve put in front of me, I’m not thrilled about everything Lemony did to me. He hurt me, just like how Esme hurt me and my troupe hurt me. But just like them, I fully see that I hurt them worse. I relent and all of that jazz. Happy?”
The Toymaker’s smile widened. “Overjoyed, my dear Count. Now, Lemony Snicket. Will you forgive and reconcile with Olaf Gautier.”
“I will,” I say without a moment’s hesitation.
“Now hold on a second,” Olaf interrupted.
“Olaf, please. Let me do this. People like me and you, we should say things to one another, and I’m going to say them now. You are a vile and wicked man. You have murdered my brother, my sister’s partner and countless other volunteers. You’ve ruined the lives of countless more. Your theatrical performances are dreadful and your grammar is atrocious, a word that here means that your appearance is the only thing I can think of that is worse. By all accounts I shouldn’t care at all about a crook like you.”
Olaf looked confused, but before he could ask I continued. “But despite of all of that, you were still one of the people I cared about most in the world growing up. Your descent into villainy was my fault and you were later groomed into a life of deceit and cruelty. And, in your dying moments, you committed an act of kindness. All logic says that one good deed does not overcome the lifetimes that you brought pain to, but I want to believe that you can get better. I need to believe that you’re capable of change. More than anyone else, Olaf, I want to believe that you are worthy of redemption. So I forgive you, and reconcile with you, and hope that one day, I can help you work to earn everyone else’s forgiveness.”
A still silence hung over the air.
“YESSSSS,” cheered the Toymaker. “Ah haha FINALLY!”
“Oh Lemony,” Count Olaf whispered, “You damned Romantic.”
Confused, I spoke, “What happened? Why is the Toymaker so jovial?”
“Did you really think that me giving Olaf free therapy with the people from his past was the game? You’re thicker than I thought!” taunted the Toymaker. “No, no, no, the game was thus: If I couldn’t find just one person willing to forgive Count Olaf for all of his crimes, then I would let him live again.”
“Olaf bet against himself?”
“Of COURSE I did Lemony!” Olaf retorted, “Anyone reasonable would realize that I was a villain at heart and hate me for my past. It made perfect logical sense. I just hadn’t taken into account the possibility that he’d bring you. I had hoped that for once you betraying me would work in my favor, but you always were the better one of us, I suppose.”
“Olaf… I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You’re only human.”
“Ahem,” The Toymaker butted in, clearly tired of how often we interrupted his monologues. “Since I won the game, I get to have my prize, which means…”
He did a twirl and suddenly an older Count Olaf, without the unibrow and with twice the head of hair, stood where he was.
“I get to use HIS likeness to commit dastardly deeds, with some aesthetic upgrades, of course.”
Count Olaf gritted his teeth. “It isn’t enough that you stole my face, you had to try and improve perfection?”
“Perfection? The only thing perfect about you, Olaf, is that you were the perfect person for me to test out some of my new games on. Next time I bring out the puppet show, it’ll be against far more competent individuals.”
The Toymaker laughed as the stage and everything around us started to rumble, fall apart.
“I must be off now! So long you Very Feeble Dunces!”
He vanished, leaving Olaf and I alone as the darkness started caving in.
“Did you mean it?” Olaf asked.
“Olaf-”
“Did. You. Mean. It.”
“... I did.”
“... Then thank you Lemony… For being the only one who could forgive me.”
-------------------------------
I woke up. Alone in the hotel room that I had booked the night before. There was nothing with me but my luggage and a creeping sense of melancholy, a word that here means that I felt guilty for being the reason Olaf lost his likeness to the strange Toymaker, and a sense of sorrow that even Olaf could not forgive himself for what he had done.
It’s now been many weeks since I had last seen Olaf. All reason says that that experience was nothing more than a dream. In fact, I recently went to the island that Kit Baudelaire told me about to confirm that Olaf really was buried, killed due to a harpoon gun rather than an encounter with some alien or supernatural being. Still, I can’t help but remember my encounter with the Toymaker as anything less than a real experience. Whether it happened or not, I suppose it doesn’t really matter in the end.
The late Count Olaf was a vile man. But, before he did any of that, he was my friend, someone I cared about more than anyone else in the world. Maybe he deserves to be seen in a more positive light, or maybe that is the irrational optimist in me hoping that somehow, someway, I can find evidence that my old companion was someone worthy of redemption. Regardless of what I may or may not find in any future research, the late Count Olaf remains dead, a state that once true never stops being true. And that is where the story ends.