The Twilight of the Bums by Raymond Federman, George Chambers Page B
Authors: Raymond Federman, George Chambers
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the park tossing a frisbee (underemployment being a serious feature of life among the elderly).
So here is the whole city packed tight by a ferocious rain, a rain from God Itself, and, therefore, as everyone surely knows, to be short-lived.
The rain is so intense, of such ferocity, of such impersonal magnitude (like the idea of God for many of us), that even the most pained or sorrowed members of this sudden group feel free and uninhibited, even playful.
One of the bums is entertaining a bunch of wet kids. He has drawn faces on the knuckles of both hands, and he is playing a little cloak-and-dagger drama with them, which the kids are enjoying immensely, screeching with delight as they watch the knuckle-faces jump up and down confronting each other in a duel to the death, one being the face of the villain, the other that of the hero.
Added to this is the pleasure of the narration, which the bum is uttering in French, in the pure classic French of the Comédie Française, with just the right amount of eloquence and pomposity. Taking on a baritone voice the narrator declaims: Attention, attention, les enfants, regardez bien, le gentil Petit Poucet va maintenant faire disparaître le méchant Diable . And suddenly the bumâs fingers collapse and make the face of the villain disappear. Et voila, muscade, disparu , proclaims the bum. Then changing his voice into that of a soprano, while the Petit Poucet dances proudly before the children, he recites those famous lines spoken by Rodrigue in LE CID of Corneille: Je suis jeune, il est vrai, mais aux âmes bien nées, la valeur nâattend pas le nombre des années .
No one seems to know this language, but it doesnât matter. In fact, it seems to add to the pleasure as more and more of the fold of the sudden city refocuses toward the bumâs knuckles which have made the face of the villain reappear for the second act of this tragedy. (No one knows God too well either, which satisfies all parties, it seems).
The other bum (obviously the one who is not performing) has audienced (what an ugly word) himself to the show, feeling only a slight twinge of envy that it isnât his fingers entertaining the whole city under the big flat umbrella.
Now the knuckles are fighting again, the action is approaching its denouement, the kids are shouting, some mimicking the glorious French language, and then there is one more blast from the water barrel of heaven and just as suddenly a hot sun reappears in the sky, and the whole sudden gathering takes flight, rising as on wings, and flying, flying, away and away, the story left there perfectly unfinished, the way God Itself leaves things, sometimes â¦
DARK SHADOWS
No reason why news of the end of the body should be received with anything but acceptance, but for the two bums the news hit hard, especially since they were just at the beginning of their new life in the desert.
The dark hair lovely complexion lady physician in the white coat snapped the x-rays onto the display, and in a gesture that both bums read with private alarm, took off her white coat (although this alarm was confused by the consequent revelation of her body, her generous breasts in a soft semi-transparent brassière, her unspeakable hips). But her act was clearly related to the news, which was not good. She picked up the pointer with the soft rubberish tip, moving from one area of complication to another.
The upshot was the two bums were granted the usual final six months. They looked at each other, then at the lady doctor. They were both thinking the same thought: the two-men-one-girl-thought. The triangle thought. What the hell! Six months is a lifetime if one knows how to take advantage of the unexpected.
AND ONE MORE DOZEN OF OUR BUMSâ REFLECTIONS ON FRIENDSHIP
1.     A friend will never tell you that your fly is unzipped.
2.     Anything divisible is the enemy of
So here is the whole city packed tight by a ferocious rain, a rain from God Itself, and, therefore, as everyone surely knows, to be short-lived.
The rain is so intense, of such ferocity, of such impersonal magnitude (like the idea of God for many of us), that even the most pained or sorrowed members of this sudden group feel free and uninhibited, even playful.
One of the bums is entertaining a bunch of wet kids. He has drawn faces on the knuckles of both hands, and he is playing a little cloak-and-dagger drama with them, which the kids are enjoying immensely, screeching with delight as they watch the knuckle-faces jump up and down confronting each other in a duel to the death, one being the face of the villain, the other that of the hero.
Added to this is the pleasure of the narration, which the bum is uttering in French, in the pure classic French of the Comédie Française, with just the right amount of eloquence and pomposity. Taking on a baritone voice the narrator declaims: Attention, attention, les enfants, regardez bien, le gentil Petit Poucet va maintenant faire disparaître le méchant Diable . And suddenly the bumâs fingers collapse and make the face of the villain disappear. Et voila, muscade, disparu , proclaims the bum. Then changing his voice into that of a soprano, while the Petit Poucet dances proudly before the children, he recites those famous lines spoken by Rodrigue in LE CID of Corneille: Je suis jeune, il est vrai, mais aux âmes bien nées, la valeur nâattend pas le nombre des années .
No one seems to know this language, but it doesnât matter. In fact, it seems to add to the pleasure as more and more of the fold of the sudden city refocuses toward the bumâs knuckles which have made the face of the villain reappear for the second act of this tragedy. (No one knows God too well either, which satisfies all parties, it seems).
The other bum (obviously the one who is not performing) has audienced (what an ugly word) himself to the show, feeling only a slight twinge of envy that it isnât his fingers entertaining the whole city under the big flat umbrella.
Now the knuckles are fighting again, the action is approaching its denouement, the kids are shouting, some mimicking the glorious French language, and then there is one more blast from the water barrel of heaven and just as suddenly a hot sun reappears in the sky, and the whole sudden gathering takes flight, rising as on wings, and flying, flying, away and away, the story left there perfectly unfinished, the way God Itself leaves things, sometimes â¦
DARK SHADOWS
No reason why news of the end of the body should be received with anything but acceptance, but for the two bums the news hit hard, especially since they were just at the beginning of their new life in the desert.
The dark hair lovely complexion lady physician in the white coat snapped the x-rays onto the display, and in a gesture that both bums read with private alarm, took off her white coat (although this alarm was confused by the consequent revelation of her body, her generous breasts in a soft semi-transparent brassière, her unspeakable hips). But her act was clearly related to the news, which was not good. She picked up the pointer with the soft rubberish tip, moving from one area of complication to another.
The upshot was the two bums were granted the usual final six months. They looked at each other, then at the lady doctor. They were both thinking the same thought: the two-men-one-girl-thought. The triangle thought. What the hell! Six months is a lifetime if one knows how to take advantage of the unexpected.
AND ONE MORE DOZEN OF OUR BUMSâ REFLECTIONS ON FRIENDSHIP
1.     A friend will never tell you that your fly is unzipped.
2.     Anything divisible is the enemy of
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