I don’t want to write it—I don’t.  I will not entertain the price of a whore.  None of this should be written down this you tell me what I came from.  I think it should all burn Marcus said.

No Gabby said.  You tell it.  Tell it the way I’ve told you for then you’ll know what it means to be a professional.  The price of it.  What’s sold to make it something.  To make their lives something—the story of the father David the story of his children.  You’ll know the driving madness in what he David could never have in what he thought he sold but didn’t.  Because you see now—you see don’t you?  You understand. Revenge?  Revenge for being born? In all the words it can’t be communicated.  Maybe even in your generation you’ll find you won’t need words and it will be like all this was in another language the story of it like being told to a foreigner.  In fact imagine it as such.  When you go away from here when you leave this trailer park where you sat with your grandmother hearing this story go tell it go write it down like you have to convey it in another language.  Let your eyes tell it.  Create a sign language with your hands and your body.  Find symbols something to point to so that they you tell this story to can look and see the inestimable landmarks left by the earth left by a tree that once was…  Because what burns can never be destroyed.  The fire quenches it not.  Water is the death of earth and air is the death of water this on which the fire feeds all of it reversible and as one and you see and understand that now.  So shorten it.  Shorten the story to your own needs.  Always run the short way—run the race that I have shared with you the short way the distance between two points like two trains in a mathematical equation invariable as to their separation as this is natural.  And so find what’s natural in what I’ve told you—what changes.  Maybe then you will know why you want to burn it—why Benjy burned it—that tree house where we once played as children.  Why as you want to he burned his father’s journal his father’s words on that time thinking those words could never return could never come back to him.  Like in some religious fervor repenting.  Attempting to hide not a proud artifice but what is shameful what is done in the dark what you don’t want brought to light—an inadequacy a lack…  But you see now you know now and understand these first things.  How all words return to their owner.  And the interval is small.  Just like it’s but a small interval a short distance between birth and death between a train coming and going a train to catch what is infinite what’s left out of it.  And I’ve left so much out for in all that’s been said you still know very little about my Aunt Bethany and the husband she once had David Threnody.  How he fell in love with another man’s wife and what brought us to this the story I now have told you about what you came from.  You know little about their children the twin Benjy and his sister Dulcinea my brother Aaron.  And you’ve heard nothing yet of Solomon…  Time is like a river made up of these events which happen and as soon as they happen are carried away and another event takes its place.  So remember.  Remember now a time and place I’ve told you about and tell it.  Tell it in your own words.  Go tell it as a play a stage for actors the method to their roles.  Go to meet your train that will take you home to your father my son.  Take you home to what you came from.  For in the end that is all that’s left you…

… so now I’m pretty sure not what to make of it.  This last chapter.  What I found in a bible.  A memoir of a boy named Marcus the grandson of Bethany Lebeau’s niece.  He wrote it in the hospital—the Alton psychiatric ward—where he hung himself in the shower room this in 2007 just a year before I heard those first recordings of David Threnody.  I’m not sure what to make of it, but then since I don’t have David’s journals from that time it’s mostly what I have to go by.  Through the story of Gabrielle, Bethany’s niece, I have the only indication of what Ben and Dulcinea Threnody’s childhood was like and what happened in 1966 that led to Solomon being born.  And as to those words maybe I should go back.  I should try to fill in what’s been decidedly left out.  I should go back and tell it as Gabrielle indicated it should be told.  I should tell it like as to a play with a stage and actors on it.  And so what follows is such a play—a screenplay again a mind movie the third and last of a trilogy—what began in Biloxi in Mississippi with David and a flower with captured roots.  The characters the actors you already know.  Their debt what all men pay…

25

The future’s uncertain and the end is always near…

–The Doors

EXT. SABINE NATIONAL FOREST TEXAS—TWILIGHT

Focus as if prostrate flat on your back looking up into the rays of sunlight falling through the branches of a tree, a Texas Mountain Laurel.  You hear the song of katydids…

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