(Part Twenty-one)(Concerning a story of a story in Donkeyland) In Two Pieces There is a story I know, but not quite well, I have no real theme for it, the story from my neighborhood is near forgotten, and it's been now 44-years since I've recalled it back to my mind, and the first time for print.
The story concerns one boy, in a house on Cayuga Street.
If I could have remembered the story I would have told it long ago of course.
I think the story came back to me a few times, in whispers.
I would pace in the house, mentally thinking-over and over about this story as a youth.
Tongue-tied to say it out loud and when I grew up, it occasionally rattled in my head, against my teeth-but never had it ever returned to me in full blossom.
There were two boys in this house on Cayuga Street-no, three.
Two were twins, the other the brother to the twins was the older brother.
And one of the twins, never quite knew why he was who he was.
The second twin was not consumed with doubt, and never had a hard time sleeping.
So perhaps at this point of the story, I should call the twins, the doubting one, and the undoubting one.
The doubting one was always waiting for the undoubting one to take charge, rubbing his fingers together, cracking his knuckles, just waiting-waiting, endlessly waiting.
In the attic bedroom, the brother, older brother than the twins, was more like a foundation for the twins, I mean whatever darkness the doubting twin had (since the undoubting twin was silent), the brother, was always a half lighted window for him.
This is the premise of the story, and all that I am, or ever will be is part of this story, if not all or half.
I will always ferment in this, knowing that the other twin did at sometime come up and out and above all the elements of the first twin, as he was waiting that day.
I remember the boys, the undoubting one, and silent, forever silent I thought he'd remain, as if lost out at sea, and trying to get back and save his brother-twin.
And when the three brothers got together, there was no sound, of the undoubting twin.
Then one day, the undoubting twin became like a man with a torch, his eyes became contrivable, he ran out of what you might call a cage, or jumped out of his box, or call it, his skin.
His mother, and his older brother, and even his brother-twin, the doubting Thomas, they were infected-graciously so, by the appearance of the twin, I mean, he was always there, but wasn't really-he kept pulling himself out of the picture.
How quiet the neighborhood was when he left, never to fully return, when both twins left, and there the doubting twin was waiting, and they now both went together, kind of silently.
This is what I remember of the story-how everyone in the neighborhood waited for the twins to come back, but they never did.
Oh, they both craved to write about their exploits in the neighborhood, and perhaps that is the story; or a good part of the beginning of the story.
The doubting twin wanted to create, or recreate himself, with his twin, you know, become one; and to be quite frank, when they came in sight of each other now, they were one.
Their hearts never parted again-only to remember those days when the doubting one, and the shy one, kept their distance.
Now they both smiled at each other.
There was a few times, one wanted to rebuke the other, but when the doubting one saw in his brother's eyes, that he was the imperial one, how could he.
And there was a time when the doubting one ran and whined and did all those things one shouldn't do, and although the undoubting one tried to follow him in his ways, he simply couldn't endure it, and to be truthful, got tired of it, and at times never wanted to wake again.
Exactly how the story goes, and how it ends, I don't know that part of the story, it seems to slip my mind, perhaps the partial death of one, gave more life to the other.
Beyond a doubt, both were waiting for that to happen.
It always has puzzled me.
I have thought many times on this story, and I still cannot understand it.
And most of the time, it really doesn't occur to me, if indeed I could understand all of it, I could tell you and the world at large the full story.
I would no longer have to think about it.
To get to the point, I am not sure why I was even given this story, why am I the one to have to tell it? Because if I had all the details, and knew the end, as well as the beginning I'd have a great story to tell you, but as of now, I have no way to tell it-completely.
But Why I slept well last night, but I think my mind wrestled with this other part of the story, still not the whole part, but nonetheless, another part.
So I got up early this morning to let you know about it, before I forgot it.
And I say this believe me, with the instinct of an honest and God-fearing Minnesotan.
One who found his way across this vast globe, this race-track and the hardships of life; only by this perhaps can one know for sure, beyond a doubt, if you are right, when you are right or wrong.
The boy, the one we call Doubt, or I call Doubt, and his twin whom really should be called Doubtless, are one, raised in that same neighborhood called Donkeyland.
He was always doing little favors and writing things, down, like poetry and so forth, learning all he could, not sure why, but it made a lot of peoples' mouths water to try and figure this out.
Well, I must tell you about what happened, what he did, and let you in on what exactly I'm talking about.
I will not tell you the troubles he had all the way to adulthood, but now he is there, and he is in Germany, and he's not there as a tourist, he's not buying souvenirs, or postcards, or even taking pictures.
He's walking down a hallway, looks to be in a large building, folks with their bags and cloths all laying about, some with Army fatigues on, uniforms, children, everyone waiting, just waiting for housing, a place to live.
Most are squarer with kids-so the picture looks.
I don't know why this occurred to me last night, perhaps it is a side theme, or the theme, or part of the plot to the story, and you'll have to figure that out for yourselves, I'm just telling it, as I see it.
Doubt, which now should be called by his twin's name, Doubtless, has really never been faithless.
He is a nice man, and generous, and he knows they are all waiting for housing, a place to live, hundreds of folks.
He's actually gotten pretty old now and he walks slowly among the many, the folks really pay him little to no attention, I don't expect he cares, he never says anything to them, not yet anyways.
He's thinking, and stops by a lady, she has children, and there are other folks around her, "Give me five dollars," he says, "and I'll find you housing.
" And she looks at him mysteriously, and he says "That's all right," and starts to walk away, and she quickly pulls out a five-dollar bill, hands it to him.
And he takes it, and stares at her as if he knows something she doesn't know-yet.
And that's what I'm writing this second part of the story about.
She's puzzled.
He's okay with her decision to give him the five-dollars, but there's evidently something he sees in her, or saw in her, and he smiles at her, and she must had said something like this in her mind: I don't see what he can do for me...
and grabs the five-dollars back out of his hands.
He was so sorry she did that, he almost wanted to cry, looking at the children and all.
Then he goes to the other side of the walkway, and asks another female with children, and she bluntly says "No!" As if to say: you're not going to play one on me.
Well, he didn't get smug about it, and he didn't die over her action, he figured as much, but was hoping he could help.
Then he made up his mind he'd try one more time, and he came upon a few men, soldiers with there families, all laying down waiting, this one particular soldier, leaning against a wall, we can call him, Wally, for short.
But Doubtless, although he looked at him, it was quick, and now he was looking at some other fellows, as if to say, but he didn't say it out loud: no sense to ask him.
But when again he looked he must have said: trust your instinct; it's always right on the mark.
And he turned back to this fellow, Wally, as we've now agreed his name is.
"How long have you folks been waiting here?" Doubtless asks.
"Let me see," said Wally, and he leaned over to ask another family, evidently he had not been there too long, not half as long as the others.
And before Wally could say anything, Doubtless asks him, "I can find you a place to live, will you give me five-dollars?" Without a second thought, the man pulls out five-dollars and hands it to Doubtless.
And so the deal is made.
It brings a lump up into Doubtless' throat.
"How do you know I'll not simply take your five-dollars and be gone?" said Doubtless.
Chidingly, or not, Wally says, "It's in my blood, I can tell a winner.
" "How?" says Doubtless, "My tongue, it always has a certain taste to it (he forgot to mention fate and faith, but Doubtless knew he had that already, and he knew, that Wally knew, because it all has to do with training, a thoroughbred knows another thoroughbred).
What had happened was that Wally got his apartment that afternoon, and Doubtless, well, he got a fast-food, free lunch-and they both were thankful.