“The Healthy Earth Alliance,” said G.
That was a good one, said R.
Again, the hellish laughter, this time accompanied by the sound of the two of them rather mechanically slapping their knees.
Awash in your generous funding, K.J., said G., now and then one of our think tanks might spawn a new think tank.
Even as he spoke, a tiny man, in the exact image of G., plopped out of the rear of G., then sat disoriented on the floor, rubbing its eyes.
Jeez, look at that, said R. You spawned that little guy right out.
Didn’t even hurt, said G. Much.
The tiny G. began to grow, and the more he grew, the more identical he became to the original G., until the two were perfectly indistinguishable and even the rate at which their businesssuits kept giving way to the lab coats and vice versa became synchronous, giving off, each time, a faintwhoosh.
Friends, said the formerly tiny, now full-sized G.
Of your charge, said a tiny man identical to R., just then dropping out of R.’s rear.
Look, now I’m doing it, said R.
Work colleagues, said the R. replica. From way back.
Replicas of the replicas began dropping from the rears of the initial replicas and these secondary replicas grew full-sized and began dropping out tertiary replicas, who also grew, until the room was so packed with full-sized versions of the original G. and R., all talking at once, that several of the replicas were nudged out through the wall and, while still in the process of introducing themselves, tumbled down into the yard below.
Quiet, gentlemen, please! shouted the original R. (or at least I believed him to be the original, based on the fact that he was the R. standing closest to my charge’s head).
The room fell silent but for a few last-minute suit-to-lab-coat transitionalwhooshes.
We, your dear friends, have left that barren stage called Life, said the original R. And frankly, K.J., from the smell in here and how weirdly stiff you appear, it seems that you too will soon be joining our club, amigo.
The club of the sudden odor of roses, said the original G.
The club of theclunk-clunk-clunkas one is dropped into the good old death-hole from which one never bounces cheerfully out, said R.
The black crepe club, said G. The swelling-feet-in-forever-shoes club; the I’ve-got-just-a-ton-of-dirt-weighing-down-on-me club; the club of those gradually becoming forgotten by those still alive above; the club of those whose every left-behindphotograph betrays, by way of the comically ancient outfit one is wearing, one’s total obsolescence.
In response to this ghastly litany, all of them, originals and copies alike, began nervously shifting around, emitting strange moans of dread.
But on the bright side, said G.
We want you to know, dear friend, R. said, that we’re here for you. Stand strong against your enemies, even in these, your final hours.
Yield not an inch, said G.
Don’t give the bastards the pleasure, said R. You are poised to make a clean escape.
Whatever “lies” they claim you told or “harm” they claim you did, said G. Fuck those naysayers! You’re about to get away unscathed, pal.
You, like us, were never proven wrong or publicly disgraced or forced to apologize, said R. And, like us, lived well even until the end, king of your domain, eating regally, traveling widely, praised by many, and never did you recant, cower, waffle, or feel a need to reposition and/or prostrate yourself.
K.J., pal, dear boy:salud!said G. You really helped us promulgate.
Our views, said R.
Helped us win the day, said G.
And now look, said R. We have won the fight.
