Kafkas uncle, p.12
Kafka's Uncle, page 12
“Are you going to run the story about Johnny?”
Dan shook his head. “Dr. Palmerson said he didn’t want to be associated with the story and Shane Martin said he already knew how people would react and what they would say if they saw his name with the story, and he simply refused to have anything to do with it.” He looked amused. “I think people really want to believe in Dusk’s Mirror—but are afraid to come right out and say so—most likely fear of being laughed at—or maybe they’re afraid that if they believe in it—as they have believed everything else in their life—it’ll turn out to be a nasty joke.”
“So,” Jennifer said, “most of the people in town believe in Dusk’s Mirror through the children.” She nodded. “Visceral belief. Just like the joy that Christmas has for youngsters is also shared by the parents as they remember their Christmases and so relive it through their children.”
Dan leaned back in his swivel chair, puffed on his pipe, put his arms behind his head. After a few moments he said, “Yeah.”
“Could Dusk’s Mirror be God? Takes care of the meek and gentle, punishes the sinners?”
“Well,” said Dan and he breathed out, “kind of looks that way—I mean,” he said hastily, “I see how you can say that.”
“People want to believe in God and are afraid they might be wrong.”
Dan thought for a minute. He took his pipe from his mouth and held it. “I don’t know. I think people want to believe in something—even if it’s some strange, questionable fog. Maybe people want to re—experience what they had when they were children: a sense of security, comfort in the world, that somehow, something made sense, that there was hope—always hope—that no matter how lost you got, you could always find the path, that no matter how dark it got, there’d be a magic light to guide you out, that no matter how cold it got, nature had her kind elements that would seek you out, warm you and comfort you, that no matter how fucking—” he stopped, “sorry, no matter how bad or terrible life got, there was still magic, that no matter how unjust the world was, bad guys got their due.”
Jennifer sighed. “Yeah,” she said, resting her chin on her upraised hands. “It’s so easy for me to say that Dusk’s Mirror is exactly that—a mirror of the people here—their wish that something exist for their children that is gone from their own—adult—lives.”
“Luck, magic, God, the Easter Bunny, justice, call it what you will.”
“One problem,” said Jennifer.
“Yeah, I know,” said Dan, “good theory, but how in the hell does it work?” He turned the bowl of his pipe over and harshly banged it in the ash tray.
Jennifer looked out the window. “Who’s to say it’s even the right theory?” She got up. “Thank you.” She shrugged. “I haven’t got the faintest idea what it all means.”
Dan got up. “Neither does anyone else.” He walked her to the door. “Probably be seeing you later. It’s hard to lose sight of each other here,” he laughed.
“Thanks again,” said Jennifer.
The heat was a moist hand pressing, pressing down; the sky blue and hot. She looked at her watch. It was noon. Three hours, migod, she thought, three hours. And what do I know now? A theory. And what if it’s wrong? Even if it isn’t, what good is a theory if you can’t see how it works in real life? And how do you go about even proving such a theory?
She went over to the café, got some lunch and then went to the library.
Susan was helping two older women. Jennifer wandered about the books and, hearing voices, looked around the magazine section to the children’s books: there was Melissa with John and four other children—all about five or so. And she was reading to them and the children sat with rapt expressions as Melissa read Alice in Wonderland.
Jennifer smiled and went to the counter.
“Well,” said Susan, “you got it sorted out?”
Jennifer explained what she had found. Susan listened and at the end said, “Well, you certainly have been busy and you’ve been on the right track. And that puts both of us in about the same place, which is the question—is it possible for three hundred people, if they dream and wish hard enough, to create a creature?” Susan smiled. “Just about anything is possible—but that idea is a bit too—tenuous.”
“So, what do you think it is?” asked Jennifer.
“I don’t know. And perhaps we’re making the same mistake everybody makes: looking for the Final Cause. Perhaps trying to figure out how the beast has come about is like asking how the earth has come about or how has life come about. You can describe the process by which it happens—but as to why in the first place that such things occur—perhaps it is simply unknowable.”
“And so we accept the Dusk’s Mirror as the mystery that it is.”
Susan nodded. “That, and so doing accept that life and everything about us is essentially mystery—” she pursed her lips. “And maybe that’s not a bad thing. Of course, if you are into controlling things, that which is unknowable—and perhaps can’t be known—could be a real stumbling block to you. If you don’t know something, you can’t control it.”
“Control,” said Jennifer. “To willfully assert direction. Control, control, control. Why do we try so hard to control?”
“Come now,” said Susan, “you probably know the answer as well as I do.”
Jennifer thought and after a moment said, “A sense of personal power, to have impact, to make sense of chaos—because—because—” Jennifer sighed, “because to exist means we have no choice in existing or not existing and we have no choice whether or not we die. We try to control so hard because we realize how little control we have—so the more we try to control, the more impact we think we have—”
Susan smiled. “And the more you fight for control—”
Jennifer nodded. “The more life becomes a contest of personal will against chaos—rather than living life as a gift of—” she hesitated, “a gift of magic?”
Susan shrugged. “Perhaps it’s good enough. Seems good enough for children.”
At that point, a young mother came into the library with a little boy and a little girl, about five or six. Susan smiled. “Melissa is right in the back, there.”
“Go on, children,” the mother said.
Eagerly, the children ran back to the children’s section of the library.
“They just loved Hans Christian Andersen,” the woman said. “Have the stories by the Brothers Grimm been brought back yet?”
“No,” said Susan, “it’s very popular. . . “
Jennifer drifted back into the library; incredible, she thought, such concern for the imaginations of children; bet you anything in the world that parents enjoy the stories as much as the children do. And in the children’s section, Melissa sat, with John and six other children who appeared to be ages five and six. She read to them from a book of children’s verses:
“Jack and Jill went up the hill
To fetch a pail of water;
Jack fell down and broke his crown
And Jill went tumbling after.”
Memories came back to Jennifer. Who had told her nursery rhymes? A dim memory; she listened to Melissa and heard the voice of her grandmother, remembered back to when she was five, sitting on her grandmother’s knee:
“I love little Pussy, her coat is so warm,
And if I don’t hurt her, she’ll do me no harm:
So I’ll not pull her tail nor drive her away,
But Pussy and I together will play.”
“Little Miss Muffet
Sat on her tuffet
Eating her curds and whey.
Along came a spider
Who sat down beside her
And frightened Miss Muffet away.”
Jennifer watched and listened and felt a sense of sadness creep over her. Her grandmother had died when Jennifer was nine and that ended the fairy tales. Thank you, Mother, she thought, thank you for your contempt of Mother Goose, thank you for your pressure for me to grow up and be bright and a lady so I could please you and please the family and make you look good. Thank you so much. Abruptly she was bitter and almost on the verge of tears. Had it not been for my grandmother, I might never have tasted, even sampled, the wonderful feast that these children enjoy and are encouraged to enjoy. Whatever Dusk’s Mirror is, what it has done is given people here an appreciation of imagination.
“A centipede was happy quite
Until a frog in fun
Said, “Pray, which leg comes after which?”
This roused her mind to such a pitch,
She lay distracted in the ditch
Considering how to run.”
The children laughed.
“Girls and boys, come out to play
The moon doth shine as bright as day.
Come with a whoop, come with a call
Come with a good—will or not at all.
Up the ladder and down the wall,
A halfpenny roll will serve us all.
You’ll find milk, and I’ll find flour,
And we’ll have a pudding in half an hour.”
“Old Mother Hubbard
Went to the cupboard
To get her poor dog a bone;
But when she got there,
The cupboard was bare,
And so the poor dog had none.”
Several of the youngsters looked sympathetic and said, “Ooohhh.”
A memory flashed through Jennifer’s mind of Richard; how he frankly lusted after her and was always trying to get her into bed. The only thing she really remembered that was clever of him was the night they were sitting in the tavern in Denver:
“You want to hear a nasty nursery rhyme?” he asked.
Before she could answer, he began:
“Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard
To get her poor dog a bone.
But when she bent over,
Rover took over
And gave her a bone of his own.”
She smiled and felt a little guilty at the bastardization of something innocent, and also realized that was the fate of such “innocent” children’s verse when it reached adult minds. She realized, with a certain sense of cynicism, that not all children’s verse started out exactly innocent.
She abruptly realized that Melissa was now telling the story of Jack and the Beanstalk.
“Looks like you are enjoying yourself,” said Susan.
Jennifer nodded. “I am. My grandmother read me stories for a couple of years—she lived with us for a while before she passed away. My parents were never really keen on her reading them to me—” she frowned. “Too many other important things, you realize.”
Susan nodded. “Do I detect a little bitterness?”
“A bit,” said Jennifer.
“I grew up on myths, fairy tales, legends,” said Susan. “One reason I became a librarian, I got hooked on literature young and never wanted to get unhooked.”
“Hello, Susan, Jen’fer.”
Both women turned; Dawn stood nearby.
“I brought the books back from Miss Loman. She said thank you.”
“Thank you,” said Susan.
Jennifer nodded and smiled.
“I got a question,” said Dawn; she took Susan’s hand as the three of them walked back to the main desk. “Are those men really gonna try to kill Dusk’s Mirror?”
“Well,” Susan said, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I don’t think those men are going to get too far and I don’t think they can hurt Dusk’s Mirror.”
Jennifer noticed that, while the child appeared relieved, she didn’t entirely relax. Something’s going on, thought Jennifer.
“When are they going in?” asked Dawn.
Susan and Jennifer looked at each other. “I think the day after tomorrow,” said Jennifer. “I’m not real sure. Why?”
“I just hope Dusk’s Mirror has enough time to hide. It’s my friend. I don’t want it hurt.”
Susan drew the child close to her. “The creature has been around for a long, long time, honey; it can take care of itself.”
“It’ll be okay?” asked Dawn.
Susan nodded. “Now, I have some things I have to do,” she said. “Why don’t you and Jennifer go out to play?” She smiled.
Jennifer and Dawn went outside, into the warm sun, the slow afternoon.
What does one say to a child, thought Jennifer. They walked for a few minutes in silence. Finally, Jennifer spoke. “I guess I’m a little uncomfortable,” she said, “I want to talk to you but I guess I don’t quite know what to say.”
Dawn glanced up, smiled shyly. “S’okay.”
An older gentleman passed them; he glanced down. “Well, hello, Dawn. Seen Dusk’s Mirror today?”
“No, Mr. Walters.”
“Let me know when you do.”
“Okay.”
“Would you like an ice cream cone?” asked Jennifer. “I could go for one myself.”
“Okay.”
They walked into the Dusk’s Mirror Café and, getting two very large chocolate ice cream cones, sat on a bench down the sidewalk, in front of the grocery store.
An older couple came out—a couple in their sixties. The woman smiled at Dawn and nodded at Jennifer. “Hello, Dawn,” said the woman. “Is Dusk’s Mirror doing well?”
Dawn grinned. “I think so. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it.”
“Well, said the gentleman, “when you do see him, let me know: I’d like to meet him myself.”
“Okay, Mr. Tallby.”
Jennifer was intrigued. “People certainly associate you with Dusk’s Mirror,” she said.
“Uh—huh,” she replied. “He saved me.”
Wow, thought Jennifer, what an impact that must have had. Of course, something like that would have a great impact—everything from what—appreciation/suspicion of the unknown, more appreciation of one’s children? A reassurance that something benevolent, a force greater than ourselves lives right next door, that maybe something, no matter how eerie or strange, exists and is helpful?
“Have you seen the creature—Dusk’s Mirror—only once, Dawn?”
Dawn nodded. She licked her ice cream cone.
“What was it like?”
“Long time ago,” said Dawn between licks. “Was warm, bright, sort of yellowish.” She thought for a minute. “I dunno. Just—nice—like being around Susan or Dan.”
“And you haven’t seen it since?”
“Uh—uh.” Lick. Lick.
“Have you looked for it?”
“Uh—huh—but I’ve never gotten lost looking for it and I never been in the swamp too deep.” She looked guilty. “I mean, when I go in, I go with Mary Walters, my good friend, or Julie and Mark Sullers—we kids aren’t supposed to go in alone—we can visit Johnny and Melissa or Mr. Shane—” She stopped and licked the ice cream that was getting ready to spill over the edge of the cone.
“What do you think Dusk’s Mirror is?”
Dawn shrugged. “A friend.”
“If I were to ask you to show me your friend, could you take me to him?”
“Uh—uh. You haveta get lost first—or be like Johnny—or me and really be sick or be in bad trouble.”
They fell silent. Jennifer thought, the child’s almost a Zen master: in order to be found you have to be lost; in order to know health, you have to be sick, in order to know life, you must first know of death.
“What time is it?” asked Dawn.
“Four o’clock.”
“I haveta go and help with dinner.” She stood. “Thanks for the ice cream cone, Jennifer. Hope you get a chance to see Dusk’s Mirror, too.”
“So do I, Dawn; so do I.”
“Bye—bye,” she said.
“Good—bye. See you later.”
Not quite knowing what to think, Jennifer watched Dawn angle across the street, heading homeward. She licked her ice cream cone and thought, Am I putting too much into it? She’s not Dusk’s resident Zen master, is she? Or maybe she’s the Taoist Priestess and Dusk’s Mirror is the Tao, the children the Yang, and the town’s rascals the Yin? She laughed to herself. Mustn’t get carried away. She finished the cone and saw Dan wandering over.
“Hear the latest news?”
“No,” she said. “What?”
“The Fearless Fivesome went into the swamp at noon to shoot stuff and mount Dusk’s Mirror so that another mystery will be solved and the universe will be safe—for them. Inspiring.” He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses on his shirt. “Woof,” he said, “I’m gonna have to get some new glasses. These are getting bad—it’s not my eyes, you understand. It’s the glasses. Remember to always put the blame elsewhere. First law of survival.” He put his glasses back on. “Any more discoveries?”
Jennifer shook her head. “None. Sorry.”
“Tsk,” said Dan. “Seems to be a lack of publishable discoveries.”
“I thought they—you know—weren’t going into the swamp until later in the week?”
“Mayor got back early and decided to go ahead with his project now.”
“Why didn’t you go with them or send someone to cover the story?”
Dan shook his head. “No one in their right mind would trust them, much less want their company. Wake up in the middle of the night and find your wallet gone. And them, too.” He smiled. “Don’t worry; no matter what they say about Dusk’s Mirror, no one will believe them anyway. They’re just going in the swamp a few days to shoot at shadows, get bitten by mosquitoes and get sweaty and dirty. They’re going to come out saying and believing exactly as they did going in. Don’t expect change.”
“From what I’ve heard, that’s the last thing I’d expect of them.”
“Well,” he said, “I’ve got to get home. Drop in for coffee and a talk anytime.”
“Thanks,” said Jennifer.
Dan waved and hurried across the street. Jennifer went into the grocery, did some shopping, returned home; Susan wasn’t around. She got something to eat and then lay on the bed. Too much, she thought. I can’t even begin to put all this together.
