Free The Twilight of the Bums by Raymond Federman, George Chambers Page B

world.
    Bum Two bursts into laughter, I can’t believe this, you would be willing to give up sex, or even sex fantasies, just to be Pope? You’re kidding.
    You have a point there, says Bum One, forget the Pope.
    I have already, says Bum Two still laughing.
    What about you, what would you like to be? asks Bum One.
    A king, I would like to be a king, replies Bum Two. An emperor even, a conqueror like Alexander the Great. Yes, I would like to be as powerful, as omnipotent, as Alexander the Great who conquered all of Capristan and there married the beautiful Roxanne and accumulated so much gold and precious stones that when he decided to return to his homeland because he was homesick and wanted to see his mama, he could only carry with him 0.5% of that rich stuff. Yes, I would like to conquer an empire.
    I’ll go with you! exclaims Bum One, and maybe along the way I too can conquer a little kingdom for myself. Come on, let’s get started immediately. On to Capristan!
    Dear Readers, we are sorry not to be able to report at this time the progress of our two bums. Since they set out for their great adventure, more than three months ago, we have not received any communications from them. But rest assured that as soon as we hear from them, we will report to you as faithfully as we can all the details of their great adventure. Meanwhile, if you don’t mind, continue to do whatever you do when you are not listening to us.

A STORY ABOUT A STORY WITHIN A STORY

    One day (here we go again dear readers) Bum Two (whomever) was telling Bum One a story
my life began
and for some unusual reason the latter
among empty skins
was actually listening … a very unusual thing indeed, actually listening to the story
and dusty hats
that Two was narrating. Actively listening rather than interrupting, laughing, kibitzing, stopping, turning away
while sucking pieces of stolen sugar
eating a cold waffle, and in general co-creating intersubjectively the community language experience
outside the moon
of the narrativity. It was, to be sure,
tiptoed across the roof
, not much of a story. Indeed, and in fact, if you asked Bum One about it now … a mere few hours after the telling
to denounce the beginning of my excessiveness
, he would in all likelihood not be able to recover a shred of it, nary a syllable would have survived the telling … although
but I slipped on the twelfth step
, to be sure, he may in this disremembering be exhibiting rather more of a short-term aphasia
and fell
, an age-appropriate disability, than creating an interpretation of the text. (Hey, this is muddy stuff
and all the doors
, eh readers, bet you wish you had a tissue, and some soap.) We mean here,
opened dumb eyes
, meaning no disrespect to Bum Two, that the story was lost on Bum One not because of its innocuousness and banality, but because
to stare at my nakedness
the old guy’s motherboard is cracked. (What?)
    Anyway (you see here how the elderly love to get lost in anything,
as I ran beneath the indifferent sky
, in a city, in a mall and, as here, in a text), Bum Two went on
clutching a filthy package of fear
with his story, a story, which we can now reveal had one distinct and curious feature … we’ll say it plain:
    It began in the narrator’s adopted language, but soon enough,
dans mes mains
was flowing in the mother tongue of the narrator, a language which he hasn’t spoken all that much these last 45 years, although it should be noted that in the course of his narration Bum Two often switched back
a yellow star
to his adopted language and at times even spoke both languages
tomba du sky and frappa my breast
simultaneously.
    The story itself, as we say, was perhaps eminently forgettable, a tale of survival, of defeat and victory, a tale of heroism and villainy
et tous les yeux turned away in shame
, a tale of noble wanderings, of sadly proportioned departures and returns, mixed with grand scenes of powerful recognition