pi'Ng^ & Du'C
The two most different twins,,, the Majdelene have ever known.
First Chapter
No one wants it, but sometimes,,, war comes, anyway.
“I don’t know if my gift is from the Lord,,, or, just His inspiration inside of me, coming out?” The man was saying on the living room TV.
“I will add that at times, it is a deep sadness that drives me.” The man on TV continued.
“I know that there are many people, even children, who “walk” through portions of their lives feeling almost as if they do not exist to the rest of the world. Like all these other people, I just want to know if I’m worth something. It’s almost as if the more I try, the less I seem to matter at times.”
Sunlight filtered in between the slats of the pale yellow, custom-made, venetian blinds. But only through the right window as the left window’s sunny view was cut off by the extended corner of the outside wall of the apartment. Soon, and just long enough to bother the 6 O’clock news with glaring brightness, the sun would move across the living room before disappearing in a corner for the night.
Still, as the man continued his monologue on the TV, a figure began to move through the room that was lit by just a touch of the sun sneaking in to the right.
She has deep, dark, brown tresses to her shoulder that gives a hint of a proud woman who isn’t quite ready to turn her back on the pretty young girl inside,,, she was on the outside almost thirty years before.
Her hips were full and that should tell you that this woman was a mother. Her “house dress”, you know, the one mom always wore around the house when cooking or cleaning and such, had a red, blue, yellow and orange spring, warm morning, flower print. Some might say a floral print,,, but this dress, on this Mom,,, was more like flowers than floral.
Her deep, dark brown eyes, that seemed to almost perfectly match her tresses, pretty much told the story of a woman who loved her family to her soul and yet, “Messing with me, youngin’, might not be such a brilliant idea. I got more say-so around here than just master of the cookie jar!”
She walked over to the TV set and turned it off.
“Ma-mom! Are you cr-cr-crazy, or so-so-something? I was wa-wa-wa-watching that.”
Mom gave her youngest son, and youngest child for that matter, the “You done crossed the line, real good this time!” look. Which, is about three hundred feet deeper buried in your bedroom on restriction look than messing with the “master of the cookie jar” look.
Instead of going point past nuclear,,, as mom’s will do, sometimes,,, Mom looked her child deep in the eyes, searching for the lost, or wayward child, she just knew was hiding somewhere inside this hideous, space-goopy-too much TV-hostile from another world alien, who was masquerading as her youngest product of love.
“What’s been bugging you? Are you worried about your assignment?”
“N-n-n-no. It’s j-j-just the man on TV seemed l-l-l-l-like h-he kn-kn-kn-kn-ew me.”
Mom looked at her youngest,,, every time, since he saw his father shot, the boy found it hard to speak when he was upset in most any way.
Mom’s love can’t wipe away every tear in life,,, now, can it?
“Son, he’s just some writer on TV, what does he know?”
“Ma-ma-mom, have you ev-ever re-read any o-o-o-o-of hi-his ba-ba-books?”
“Don’t be silly, he writes children’s stories. I read literature.” She said with a warm smile because her “youngest” grew up with her passion for the written word.
“Ma-ma-mom, you read ra-ra-ra-romance novels, th-the ki-kind th-that has a pic-pic-picture of Sophia La-La-Lauren on the cover.”
Mom smiled her still absolutely beautiful smile, and you can ask Mr. Lopez, owner of the corner market, just how absolutely beautiful her smile still is.
“Sophia is Italian. I, if you have not noticed lately, am Puerro-to Rre-can.” Smiling,,, as a mom will sometimes, exaggeratedly rolling her “R’s” in true Spanish and Hispanic enunciation.
“Sa-saw Lopey, today. He says hi. You o-o-oughta let him ca-ca-come by for de-de-dinner before I ga-go. B-b-be nice to na-na-know a go-go-good man is around to ka-ka-ka-keep an i-eye on my mom while I’m over th-there.”
“More than his eyes, I can assure you. Besides,,, I’m not ready for another man in my life,,, just yet. And, it is still Mr. Lopez to you, young man, show your elders respect.”
The “master of the cookie jar” look, again.
“Maa-maa-mom,,,” The son started to say. You didn’t have to look in his eyes to see the huge wall of sorrow about to sweep the room,,, and hopefully, or at least temporarily cleanse a young man’s heart from pains too deep to imagine.
“Da-da-dad ,,, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-has be-be-been de-dead fa-fa-for over ta-ta-ywelve ya-ya-ya-years . Ie-ie-ie-ie-is,,, ti-time ta-ta-to love a-a-again.”
Many believe that New York City has such an “energy” to it from the millions of people that call NYC home, from so many lands where such freedoms never existed, that it never stops being a city.
Not once.
Not for a moment.
Late that afternoon, while nineteen year old Army Pfc. Matthew L. Rickman gave his mother permission to “live” again,,, New York City stood still,,, for more than just a moment,,, as mother and youngest cried rivers of long pent up grief.
That very moment, when mother and youngest finally started to heal,, it is said that every one, at least every one awake,,, saw the sun shine warmly over New York City,,, that late autumn afternoon.
No more would the haunting memories of a seven-year old boy ravage his thoughts, his heart and his memories. Finally, one still young and beautiful woman, if only in the eyes of her youngest product of love and one, Mr. Lopez, the neighborhood corner grocery owner, could see past what she knew cut a now healing wound in her most precious son,,, the memory of watching his father get gunned down as the two walked, hand in hand down the sidewalk, a Mob mistaken identity,,, the Mob even paid for the funeral out of respect and apology,,, on a more than unusually cold November day,,, blowing in it’s ill fate.
pi^Ng picked up his cup and took a long, cool drink of his favorite beverage, sweet tea with no sweet. pi^Ng was honey intolerant.
“ `eerrpp!” pi^Ng squeaked out. “Oh! My! Mother would be less than pleased.” he thought, as a smile, yes, especially for pi^Ng, a naughty smile, accompanied the surprisingly blunt expression of satisfactionaly well fed.
“To burp, or not to burp? Yes, that is the question.” pi^Ng, a very avid reader, much more so than his twin, Du’C, surmised in a Shakespearean way.
“Oh, to dance where great minds once cut a rug”. Was added.
Many Majdelene looked at pi^Ng as one of the brightest of Majdelene children as he grew. Many,,, looked at pi^Ng’s twin, Du’C , as just as bright,,, only,,, well,,, Du’C, as human’s fondly say, “dances to one’s own drummer.”
As he took a second, although shorter quenching, his thoughts drifted to his twin.
“How different we can be,” thought pi^Ng about his almost identical twin, Du’C. “Yes, one minute older than I,,,, but, why should that make us so different?”
Squirreling upon his three legged stool, pi^Ng sat to relax.
And,,, contemplate.
To ease his mind, to clear his thoughts, pi^Ng took a slow,,, deep breathe. Exhaling just as slowly,,, pi^Ng entered co^Re.
No more squirreling.
Inward went his thoughts.
An apology to Him,,, for some different Majdelene ways,,, was traditionally the first of matters of the Majdelene way when entering co^Re.
Inward. Through eon’s of space. As an eye blinked,,, co^Re established.
In that “blink of an eye”, as one relaxed refreshingly deeply,,, pi^Ng touched his twin.
No words found in language can describe how a twin touches their twin.
Honestly, let what is, be what it is. In the Majdelene way, if there is no worry to something,,, don’t worry about it.
I re’Cn people will try,,, always to explain,,, what isn’t to worry about.
Twin can touch twin at will. True,,, Majdelene more so. Some would think that by their physical appearance that Majdelene would be more in tune to natural ways because they appear,,, different,,, physically.
Majdelene would so warmly smile,,, when they would say, “Why thank you for noticing that we are different. We, are we,,, because we are,,, Majdelene.”
Thoughts, not words. Feeling, not words. Consciousness, yes. As almost in the same room,,, but, with kinda a curtain thing happening.
Something,,, to we humans,,, for the most part,,, at the very least,,, choose not to do. OK! Can’t. (For the most part.)
The willowy, honey scented Majdelene woman, has to date, been the most sc’Re’n with me. Maybe,,, it is because of my blue eyes? Whatcha think?
OK! In English,,, has shared so much of my Majdelene knowledge prior too my,,,
pi^Ng sensed Du’C was aware, yet,,, distracted? It was a fairly long touch,,, better, mirror image.
Touching,,, Du’C seemed,,, as if being very aware of some place. Strange, Majdelene have very good aware of their surroundings at all times.
A Majdelene way.
pi^Ng sensed that Du’C was being,,, vigilant. pi^Ng also was feeling a not so very uncommon “communication” or, jo’T, at the same time.
co’Re soon, but not now.
pi^Ng sensed that Du’C was very vigilant, as if there was cause to worry but, not yet.
Next Chapter
Du’C sat upon the top of the OD green filing cabinet in the CQ room. Du’C’s first “nest” was on the squad room rec room table. That is, until Lt. Allen Beach, from someplace always sunny, California, ordered company clerk, Sargent (E-5) Jerome W. Wilson, to remove “that raggedy excuse of a teddy bear because it is un-MILITARY”.
Buck Sargent Jerome W. Wilson was known as “Jerry-J” for his love of music, classical music. His Harlem, New York friends named him that as a friendly gesture even though he was about the only young man in Harlem who loved and knew by heart, Mozart, Vivaldi, Beethoven, when most other youngsters listened to hip-hop and such. Some say,,, Jerry-J co’Re classical music and it was with this same heart that Jerry-J told Lt. Beach, that “By regulations, of an on going investigation, any and all seized property would be an open file until there was an official determination as too cause, said confiscated military material, pocessioins, goods, food stuffs, or any non-militarily hardware, military equipment, material, goods or food stuffs, any item seized will be held by seizing officer in a secure location until final determination.”
That said, Buck-Sargent Jerry-J waited.
Wasn’t long before Lt. Beach said, “Whatever!” and went out the door and to his quarters.
Needless to say,,, Jerry-J won the day by saving that dusty, old, raggedy looking teddy bear from being thrown out.
True,,, it no longer belonged to the 3rd Squad it would seem,,, that dusty, old, raggedy looking teddy bear now belonged, affectionately,,, to entire Company C.
“How unlike home,” Du’C thought “nothing but sand, not like home.”
Not a co’re,,, but a vividly warm remembrance of green,,, of trees,,, of moma’s kitchen,,, warmth of a different kind,,, the aroma’s.
Just then, a mortar landed not fifty feet from the CQ where Du’C sat upon the OD green filing cabinet where Buck-Sargent Jerry-J had put back when..
Jerry-J and the nine other members of Company C currently in the building ran through the CQ door in the direction of the sand bagged bunker well before the second mortar hit.
Sirens roared,,, one, then a second, a third, then a fourth mortar landed indiscrimetly,,, further away this time. Still, Company C’s CQ rocked from exploding vibrations and dust, not sand, mixed in the air with aroma’s of war: gun powder, burning diesel fuel, fear, praying and a building adrenaline.
Sensing that the last of the mortars had fallen for now, Du’C began to move stiffened joints from being perched atop the OD green filing cabinet for a little longer than accustomed.
Before, it was different in the squad’s part of the barrack as Du’C was often, and lovingly, picked up by many of the squad members,,, and, a few not known. Some days were more like exercise as he was lifted up, then carried around.
Du’C enjoyed the moving around part. A sense of belonging with this tight knit group.
“Good Luck,” was the most common human words that Du’C could decipher, not being schooled much in human ways and language as twin pi’Ng^ was so prone.
Du’C was once was in the arms of a very big human male soldier, as this giant of a human man cried liked a baby whilst holding Du’C so tight that Du’C was sore for three days after. This giant of a human man was crying because he had just come back from patrol with his best friends Dog Tags and chain griped in his massive hand as to say, “As long as I hold these dog tags, he is still here,,, with me.” Oh how this soldier let out his pain.
Happiness was found in the arms of these humans when wanting to clutch something warm and soft in this place of war.
A letter arrived one day and a human soldier cried with happiness,,, a picture of his first child. Du’C got to see the baby’s picture a great deal as the baby’s picture was nestled in Du’C’s arms for all to see for quite a spell.
Then there was the human that spoke poorly and another human, a female, who seemed to be either a nurse of some kind, or the biggest “mother hen” Du’C had ever met, as the female human was constantly fixing or re-bandaging minor wounds.
Du’C made a mental note to polish up on human language skills. Many a new word drifted past without knowledge,,, “Zippo’,,, “Med-tic”,,, “Sa-sas-sarg”,,, “cool”,,, “*!@#” ,,, “My brother N*****”,,, “stand down”,,, “ice, any **** ice?” Only, Du’C new most of what was heard were young men and women doing and talking what was necessary to survive in a war zone, but not so much what was in the true hearts of these young humans dreaming of their return home.
Du’C liked the excitement of being real close to the men and women who were doing the actual fighting. Du’C felt alive, like never before. This “alive” feeling was filled with the emotion of being needed so much by brave men and women who were fighting to help others be free.
Du’C knew that there were other feelings with those that lived in this land. Yes, freedom was ripe,,, dignity was sought after,,, safety, security viewed as few back in the land of the occupier could,,, “need” turning to “angst” in a land of little patience due to differing minds, hearts and ways.
Du’C was massively confused about the reasoning behind these human attempts at fighting for peace. True, Du’C understood the difference between good and evil,,, but, just how did the ending of so many innocent lives vindicate a belief in God? Honor?
“Justification? Of, what?” Du’C momentarily pondered. Both, those that want to help, and those that once asked,,, “My! I will never understand humans,” Du’C sighed.
Du’C waited a few more moments before moving. Being found out now would not be such a good thing.
Du’C used the drawer handles as rungs in a ladder. Reaching the floor then scurrying to the table tucked up against the short wall under the front window,,, seemed prudent.
Sitting on the edge of the metal table, Du’C felt confident that no one would discover the new residing place and sense one out of place.
Du’C, chin in left hand with left elbow upon knee, said out loud, “Makes for thinking a whole lot easier, having knees.”
Du’C was much younger when Sir Ru’Di had his Great Adventure and brought, amongst other things, knees back to the Majdelene.
“Why do humans call me such different names?” Du’C, once again relaxed, said out loud, “I guess each soldier calls me by a name they feel comfortable with, but “Goofy” is not nice. I think?”
BAM! The front door of the CQ flew open in a metal door slamming into metal door jam noise,,, a brand new batch of sand and dust reeking of gunpowder and burning diesel fuel made it’s unwanted presence known.
Startled, Du’C froze in place. Still in the thinking position.
“Who’s in here? Speak up! Someone had better have a more than adequate reason for not being in a blast bunker. Speak up, I said!” Sargent Major Octavius James McClandon stood ramrod straight in the doorway. Six foot, 6 inches tall, 242 pounds of the “hardest of the hard as nails” United States Marine career soldier, Irish as Irish can be, red hair being shaved to the scalp U.S Marine style, bellowed his presence known.
Du’C was silent.
“Speak up, I said!” Sargent Major McClandon roared a second time as he strode his mighty self into the CQ Orderly Room.
Du’C opened, ever so slightly, his right eye lid, just enough to catch a glimpse of the biggest soldier,,, even bigger than the massive one who lost his friend in a fire fight with terrorist and squeezed the breath out of Du’C while he “balled” his eyes out and courage back in,,, that must be in the entire world.
Closing his eyelid,,, opening it a second time,,, The image of Sargent Major Octavius James McClandon was a blur as the Sargent Major quickly strode through the room.
Yet,,, the Sargent Major barely moved,,, as if every movement he made was so in tune to his surroundings, as if to suggest that the Sargent Major had a bit of Majdelene in him. Quick as a fox on the hunt for lunch,,, as peacefully confidant as a well feed lion at dawn.
As Du’C was known to do,,, index finger and thumb traced an imaginary diminishing, inverted triangle down the chin.
Du’C’s eyes focussed on one re-barbed muscled arm of “Poppa Daddy”, as Sergeant Major Octavius James McClandon was affectionately and fearfully known as,,, behind his ever present, seeing behind his head, back was known.
“Mother” was tattooed in black ink,,, on that massively muscled arm. A red heart ringed “Mother” with a long stemmed rose piercing the heart tattoo. The words, “Laugh If You Dare!” boldly printed underneath in India black tattoo ink.
Du’C was aware and absolutely still.
Poppa Daddy peered into every nook and cranny with the briefest of brief and combat honed eyes. Every minuet detail was absorbed. Anything unusual,,, and I mean anything unusual,,, was instantaneously processed in a mind that was razor sharp from the decades of military training and combat tested senses.
Not one speck of concern was ignored in that highly adept mind.
Everything was in order. Neat, where it should be. According to SOP.
Satisfied that whatever sound pricked his inner ear moments before had not emanated from this barracks, Poppa Daddy made a perfect about face, and in three paces, once again, stood ramrod straight in the front door.
“Just a moment,,, Just one d*** moment! What’s this? An overgrown teddy bear sitting by an Orderly Room’s window? I Think Not!” Sargent Major “Poppa Daddy”, McClandon released his right-handed grip on the CQ Orderly Room’s doorknob and in the briefest of briefest moments,,, snatched Du’C up with his massive left hand.
The Sargent Major held Du’C close to his face so long accustomed to the fragrance of explosives,,, their lingering odors, both before and after their harmful tendencies,,, Sargent Major McClandon’s nose whispered a relief.
“This desert sun has gotten to me.” Hands so big! Muscle so tight! Soldier so tested by war!
“Hummph!” was not heard by this man as he transformed his callused and forceful grip into the gentle and loving hands of a Grandfather holding his blessed grandchild for the first time.
Du’C could breathe again,,, yet, without notice by a human.
Such is a Majdelene way.
“A civilian toy in an Orderly Room window? Must be someone’s birthday and this is a battery operated gift? Hhmmm,,, cute. Fuzzy. How do you make it talk? Com’ on, now,,, do something.”
Sargent Major Poppa Daddy’s freckled left arm cradled Du’C as he carried
Du’C back to the top of the OD green filing cabinet and without a single thought, the 6’6”, 242 pounds of battle toughened, steel muscled Sargent Major gently sat Du’C back down atop the cabinet,,, where Du’C usually sat.
Looking back at Du’C’s old residing place upon the table under the right front CQ’s room’s window, he said, “Does no good to wait pining out a window, little one. I see by the nametag on your blouse that your name is,,, hhmmm,,, Duc? Dook? Duck,,, Duck,,, yes, your name must be,,, Duck! And, just where are your trousers, fuzzy one?”
Sargent Major Octavius James McClandon continued, “Best you find one troop to help than look out windows, little fuzzy one.”
Sargent Poppa Daddy’s freckled right arm reached for the front door of Company C’s orderly room as his smiling face looked back to Du’C, “Not a word of this to anyone, mind you.”
“Fuzzy?” Du’C said softly as soon as the Sargent Major closed the door behind himself.
Three more mortar rounds landed very nearby a scant moment later and Du’C bowed and prayed for the Sargent Major’s safety,,, as well as the safety for the rest of Company C.