And so it was with God.
“I’ve got it!!” he said.
“I’ll take these two pesky parts of Talent---1) Desire 2) Ability-- and grind each of them into a single magic dust that I will sprinkle over everyone at once. This will be very quick, it will only take up the space of a big bucket and it will save a lot of money.”
So he did.
And mysteriously the two parts of Talent---1) Desire and 2)Ability—that had given even God so much trouble were ground together in big bucket of dust.
But even then, Desire and Ability did not exactly become one, because—lo and behold!—the Talent Dust turned out to be two different colors. Ability turned into a rich teal green and Desire was a shimmering magenta.
“How pretty,” God thought.
Soon all the people who ever would be in the world were gathered in front of God, who stood on a ladder so he could see everyone, and also so he could throw the Talent Dust over all their heads.
“I’m going to throw Talent Dust over your heads-heads-heads,” God announced into the squeaky microphone, “and to help me-me-me I’ve enlisted the services of my friends Breeze and Wind-wind-wind.”
A great murmur of anticipation rose up from the crowd. “Here goes-goes-goes,” God said into the microphone as he threw a handful of the teal and magenta Talent Dust over the heads of the crowd .Breeze and Wind did their jobs too, taking the dust a little way and far. God did this many times, each time saying into the microphone, “Here goes-goes-goes.”
Soon it became apparent that the dust fell unevenly.
Some people got an equal combination of the teal and magenta dust, which gave them both Ability and Desire in equal proportions.
Some were standing under only the sprinkles of teal and got Ability, without Desire.
Some people were either too far away or too close and got no Talent Dust at all.
And a rather large group was covered only with magenta dust, leaving them with the undiluted Desire to create, but no Ability at all.
“There!” said God into the microphone, “we’re finished----now go your way-way-way!”
God got off the ladder and went back to his neglected work of juggling the elusive formula for Happiness.
But from then on when people came into the world they brought with them the sprinkles of Talent Dust which had or had not reached them when God threw it. But of course no one could see this right away.
And as time went on it became clear that the happiest people on earth were those who got no dust at all.
Or both the magenta and teal dust in equal amounts.
In the first case, those whom the dust missed completely had no Desire to do anything whatsoever that required Talent and so never needed any of the Ability they would never have. This spared them from a very unpleasant life.
In the second instance, those who had both Talent and Ability in equal measure did wonderful things for the world and we all still know of them to this day and they have made all our lives a little better, which is probably what God intended for everyone before he did such a bad job of getting that dust spread evenly around. Now when I say these people sprinkled with both the Ability and Desire parts of the Talent Dust were happy, I don’t necessarily mean that you could know they were happy by looking at them.
Sometimes they seemed miserable.
Often the world treated them very badly because it did not always know they were doing good things for the world. And sometimes they might even doubt it themselves. But deep inside there was always a special little fire that never went out and always lit their way, however dimly, in their darkest times. And this fire was the cause of their strange happiness because it let them see why they were alive, when many other people couldn’t figure it out even if they thought about it.
Now those who got sprinkled with only the teal Ability dust, but not the magenta of Desire, were not so bad off, either. It was a waste for the world, of course, that the Ability these people had would never be used for good, or beauty, or understanding. But they had no Desire for any of that. No skin off their noses, as they say.
But the poorest, unluckiest, most wretched creatures in the entire universe were surely those who had received only the magenta dust on their heads.They were stuck forever with the Desire to create but none of the Ability. They knew they Must Do, but were Unable To.
How unspeakably sad these people were. Their desire, their passion, their lust to forge something of value would often force them to spend lifetimes working, slaving, sacrificing. And yet each thing they created was ordinary.
These people all spent a great deal of energy on things that made no difference in the world. If they created something, it had no meaning. If they didn’t create it, that had no meaning either.
Sometimes they would create something the world thought it loved, but would then immediately forget.
They knew all this meant there was something very wrong with their lives, but they couldn’t figure out what. They thought if they just tried harder, it would all work out. They thought it was their fault. None of them seemed to know their fate had been sealed Before Time: that it was simply a toss of the Talent Dust that made them the way they were.
And no matter what they did, they always felt their own failure. They suffered from failure even if they found love. Even if they had children. Even if they made money. They suffered from failure even if they were happy.
None of the other people caught in the dust distribution system—and that was everybody else in the world—suffered for these reasons. It was only those with Burning Desire and No Talent that had paradox, and therefore pain, built into the very definition of who they were. In a world overflowing with the sad and unlucky, these people made up a tribe of unfortunates of their own particular kind. They were strange and annoying, even to themselves and each other.
One of the most annoying, and certainly unhappiest, person was Arthur. He had an especially acute sense of what talent was. When he saw it his body would shake and tears would fill his eyes. Fortunately for him, he didn’t see it that often.
“That’s it!” Arthur would say to his friend Morris, who had gotten No Dust At All.
“That’s what I must do! See? It can be done! And I must do it!”
“Uh, huh,” Morris would say. Morris never understood the choices Arthur made with his life. It seemed to Morris that Arthur was only interested in leaving space and waiting.
“I always have to stay ready,” he told Morris.
“For what?” Morris would ask.
If Arthur and Morris were at a museum, Arthur would tell Morris “I can do that.”
If they were at the theater, Arthur would tell Morris “I can do that.”
If they were at a science fair, Arthur would tell Morris, “I can do that.”
If they were at a political rally and heard that even one person could change the world, Arthur would tell Morris, “I can do that.”
Arthur never did any of these things. But he always stayed ready. “I was meant to lead a remarkable life,” he told Morris.
In that case, Morris wondered, why did Arthur do only unremarkable things?
But Arthur was so serious—actually somber, in fact --about all this, that no one, least of all his friend Morris, had the heart to tell him that he had obviously gotten only trace amounts of Ability dust mixed in with the unusually large portion of the Desire he was cursed with.
It seemed to everyone who knew him that the dust of Desire and No Ability was making a fool out of Arthur. Yet…it also made him heroic in a strange way. It’s the brave who insist on going forward with lost dreams.
So Arthur, pour soul, kept on going.
He would do a little something and think he had a great gift, especially when compared to people who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do anything. But deluding himself like this did not help. Because each time he tried to create some little thing, it would be the beginning of misery...of a nightmare in which he was trying to go somewhere a
nd his destination kept moving further and further away, and the more he urged himself “a little more, a little more,” the more he would get heavier and heavier and pulled down, deeper and deeper, until he had to settle to stay where he was.
Then he would tell Morris, as he always told Morris, “Oh, this didn’t turn out the way I wanted, but next time it will…”
It never did.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
When Drew finally came down for breakfast--lunchtime for everyone else--the house was deliciously quiet. So quiet that he was startled when Regina called softly from the screened in porch.
“Good afternoon.”
He found her looking cool, smooth, and provocatively bare.
“Where are they?” Drew asked cautiously.
As agreed, he would be leaving soon and Regina wasn’t sure how she felt about this, although it seemed like a good idea when they first made their plans. She had not shared very much with Drew about the threats on her life since the first time he had encouraged her to dismiss them. He assumed she had and that there were no more. She never mentioned any in all the time that had gone by.
His being free of this information gave Regina a much-needed clear, clean space to be. It wasn’t about any of that when they were together. It was about the comfort and excitement of his young shoulders, the wide chest she could get lost in: it was about his sturdy long legs that moved stallion-like. It was about her face hurting with desire when she looked at him and he didn’t know it.
“Doris took the boat out,” she answered.
“And Roscoe?”
“He’s probably watching from the dock.”
“Yeah. No doubt she shoved off just as he was running for it.”
“Now, Drew....stop it. Actually, Roscoe is terrified of the water.”
“Then what are they doing in a place like this?…It’s water, water, everywhere…”
“Doris is a fish. She’ll do anything in it, on it, or for it.”
“Sure gets her way, that lady,” Drew said, as he headed out to the kitchen to get coffee.
Regina followed him. “Believe me,” she said, “by now they both have it worked out to suit themselves.”
“I don’t think it suits Roscoe,” Drew pointed out.
Regina was tired of this conversation.
So she told Drew: “It suits Roscoe most of all. He gets all the attention from everyone else. He purposely provokes her in front of other people, so she’ll lash out at him---he can count on that; we can all count on that........and then he becomes the poor kid everybody says “awwwwwww” to, and brings him comic books and candy. That’s the part he enjoys for fun. But in addition, he thrives on her know-it-all ways. He’s glad someone speaks up for them; he certainly can’t. And he often says ‘When Doris stops fighting with you, you know she doesn’t care about you anymore.”
“Well, then it beats me what Doris gets out of all this.”
“She’s more trapped than he is.” Regina was thinking of what Doris had told her , and of something she herself once read:
“We are bound to those who love us. In a certain way they exert their will after all. Even if we dislike them...hate them...we are still bound to them, because out of the whole world we can point them out.
We can say: ‘Them. They love us.’.....”
Suddenly, the screen door on the porch slammed and Roscoe came into the kitchen in a kind of trance. He stood there in his bare feet as water dripped all over the floor from his soaking wet jeans. He lifted his arm straight out and pointed to the Sound. He tried to scream but nothing came out of his mouth.
Instead, they heard police sirens heading towards the water.
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
i.
“Morning, hon. How’re you today?” Uncle Roscoe asked Regina. He had come out to the porch from the door of the house. He looked very cheerful in his clean tan slacks and white summer shirt. He was obviously going somewhere because he kept checking for his keys and trying to subdue an air of jauntiness.
Regina did not turn to him. “Fine,” she said.
“I’m glad we are both getting back to our lives.” Roscoe said, pretending not to notice Regina’s aloofness. He thought she had been excessively moody lately, but of course, under the circumstances he understood. “I could not have gone on these last … weeks..... without you,” he told her.
“I’m glad I could help,” Regina said matter-of-factly, “After all, that’s what relatives
are for.”
“Right.” Roscoe paused a bit nervously. “Marius is coming up today to take you home?” he finally said. “It’s great he could get away... nice to see you two are still friends...I always liked the two of you together.”
Regina shot him a look. “Well, we try to spend a little time now and then, try hard to stay friends. There was a lot between us. So it’s natural that some of it remains” She glared at Roscoe: “Don’t you think?”
“Anyway,” he told her, “don’t worry about your car....as soon as they fix it... ---and by the way you can rely on this guy, he’s a great mechanic. He’d make a small fortune in New York, but he hates the place. When he has it ready, I’ll drive it down to the city for you…..”
“I really appreciate that.” Regina meant it.
Roscoe said, “You know, you could wait for it yourself. You don’t have to go. I liked having you here. And I think you may have needed it too..”
“Thank you for letting me know I can stay.”
Roscoe nodded his head and began awkwardly to leave. “Well. See you in the city” he said. “Say ‘hello’ to Marius for me. Tell him I’m sorry I couldn’t ….”
“OK. I will”
***
“I miss loving you,” Regina said aloud as she waited alone on the porch for Marius.
She found it hard that friendship was just another word for love that failed.
ii
Marius was nervous. Neither of them was sure how to act anymore. Being together was like old times, but it wasn’t. They worried where the line was, how much emotional amnesia they should allow themselves, how much comfort they should enjoy without fear of paying for it later, once they were no longer captives in the cocoon of the car’s front seat and their bubble of familiarity evaporated at the first parking spot. They worried that there might be a deadly silence. Or that their conversation would be full of mutual accusations, even if they didn’t mean it to be, that he would say “our day is past,” and she would think “Past!? It must have been the shortest day of the year. Just while I was trying to figure out how I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, the damn day was gone.” Worried that their desires, wishes, and regrets for each other would go to war with their friendly estrangement.
“I’ve been thinking about the Erie Canal,” Marius said.
“Excuse me?”
“What an undertaking for its time: bringing the Atlantic Ocean crashing against the shores of the Midwest on the backs of mules. It bullied geography. It put Europe smack in the middle of the American land mass. Can you imagine it! And the work! Digging a dry river through hundreds of miles of land, and then filling it with water. For them it was like going to the moon. At the time it must have seemed like a glorious permanent solution to the intractable problem of sending and bringing people and goods right where they were needed. In planning this thing, no one ever dreamed there would be such a thing as automobiles, never mind 18-wheelers whizzing down an interstate highway system with 40 foot containers of cargo, leaving the monumental achievement of the Canal to the tourists and….”
“Hm..mmm.”
Marius laughed. “Ok. I know when to quit.” He reached over and patted her hand in affectionate apology. “But just think of it,” he continued anyway,” All this highway we are on! Doesn’t it sometimes seem strange to you—unreal, I mean—to be in this little capsule of a car hurtling along some designated ribbon of concrete…”
“I drive in Manhattan,” Regina said, “I d
on’t get a chance to hurtle.” She turned her attention out the window.
Marius cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have been there, sorry you had to be alone---for the funeral. And in the house....It must have been terrible.”
“I was with Roscoe.”
“It was generous of you to stay on with him for awhile. How’s he doing?”
“Too good,” Regina said.
“What do you mean....? You mean, he’s covering his real feelings...?”
“I mean he’s not covering! I mean, he’s recovered!”
“Well.....good.”
“Not good! No...I mean....I don’t know...it just seemed so easy for him.”
“I don’t understand,” Marius said.
“Well, you know.....I thought I should be the one to clear out Doris’s things...I felt it...would be too hard on him, but, well....he wanted to do it, so I let him. I watched carefully to make sure it was ok....that he was ok....and he was. He was very efficient, in fact. When we got to all those little rocks she used to keep--the ones she would bring back from their trips and use as paperweights and such....well, he just started throwing them out. Didn’t even stop to look at them...or sort them to see if maybe he could use....”
Marius stopped her, “Maybe he didn’t want to remember .....”
“No. That wasn’t it. He called them ‘ junk.’ Said they all looked alike anyway so how could you tell where they came from. He said they had been a pain in the ass carrying them around in suitcases where ever they went...”
“Don’t you think...maybe you’re making too much out of Roscoe’s not loving a bunch of rocks....?” Marius asked.
Regina felt helpless. “It’s not the rocks....it’s...yes, I miss Doris for my sake, but more than that, I miss her having her own life for herself: her own habits, pleasures, foibles….look, a woman dies and the little things she loved no longer mean anything. When a person is alive, all the things they hold dear are in three dimension. But when they die, these things seem to go flat, as if the life is taken out of them too. It is as though these too have had their day and their time is gone.
Her special things become special to no one. Not even her mate, who says, ‘junk!’
And the job of loving herself in her own particular way through her own small things will not be taken on by anyone else.
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