Once upon a time, there was a little dormouse. His name was Estevan. As a dormouse, it was his duty to sleep as much as possible. The dormice liked to get up at 10 or so, then settle in for an 11 o'clock nap. They generally rose at 1, and had a bit of cake for lunch. After lunch, it was time for the afternoon nap, from which they rose at 4, in time for tea. Then they dozed until 6, supped at 7, and finally went to bed again at 8.

However, Estevan had an unfortunate disability for a dormouse: he was nap impaired. He lay upon his nest, which he had made extra-comfy with little tufts of fur and dryer lint, and tried to nap, but all to no avail. The other dormice looked upon him with pity, when they were awake enough to notice. They gave him advice.

"Try curling up with your tail under your nose, instead of over."

"Try drinking warm milk, instead of tea."

"Try covering your eyes with dryer lint, to block the light."

"Try light exerc....zzz."

And so on.

Estevan tried everything they could think of, but at each fresh naptime, he found himself as wide awake as ever. He had no new dreams to share over lunch and tea. He simply could not and did not participate in the true dormouse experience! It made him sad.

One sleepless afternoon, Estevan stumbled outside for another fruitless walk around the garden. It is not easy for a dormouse -- even a nap-impaired dormouse -- to engage in protracted activity, but he was feeling rather desperate. So he walked quite a bit farther than he ever had before. He guessed that the last naptime had passed and his friends had already moved on to the next. He went on walking.

(The experience was rather reminiscent of Leonard Bast's walk in Howard's End, except by daylight and without the getting hungry.)

Suddenly, he found that he had walked right out of the garden. A large building loomed ahead. This was a novel and intimidating turn of events. What to do? The house was awfully impressive.

"Ah, fuck it!" said Estevan, and walked briskly (for a dormouse) to the front door.

Someone leaned out of an upstairs window. "I say!" said the person, who seemed to be trapped in an Edwardian novel of her own. "Who's there?"

"A dormouse," said Estevan.

"How very interesting!" said the person. "I'll come straight down and let you in."

She turned out to be not an Edwardian girl, but an eccentric middle-aged professor of linguistics. She was very solicitous. They sat down for a cup of tea and some cookies that were more interesting than they were tasty.

"How nice of you to come and visit," she said, and one felt that she really meant it. "I imagine you'll be wanting a nap?"

Estevan sighed, deeply. He explained everything. By the end he was quite depressed again. "So, you see," he finished, "it's all completely hopeless."

The eccentric middle-aged professor poured him another cup of tea. "Quite the contrary!" she said, and sounded so very sure of herself that he began to feel a spark of hope. "You have the rare and special opportunity to be a dormouse with a career. I suggest scholarship."

"Really," said Estevan, who found this all too improbable.

"Oh yes," said the professor, galvanized by inspiration. She escorted Estevan to her library, and set him up with a massive quantity of early English literature.

At first it was overwhelming, and, frankly, quite dry. But after he had read a great deal, and published a few articles, he began to feel that she had been right. Academics were not so very much unlike dormice, with their blinky eyes, rumpled fur, and lack of exposure to the sun. And best of all, he found that everywhere he went -- during conference papers, office hours, student presentations, celebrated lectures, departmental meetings, and visits to faraway archives -- he did want a nap, after all.

The End.