Donatello

The Thustras were your normal inner burb people. That mysterious group of post war America whose biggest aim in life was to own their own home far away from the city (well six or seven miles was pretty far) and far away from Negroes and Jewish folk.

The homes were built, almost over night with the help of mortgages approved by the feds and monies from the various GI bills and the deeds were duly encrypted with restrictive covenants and everybody lived happily ever after.

Well not really of course, but that is another story which may be partially covered in this great epic.

Anyway, back to the Thustras. Elmer, the patriarch, came from good European parentage. His paternal grandparents arrived at Ellis Island from a small town SE of Holmberg or somewhere in the old Yugoslavia or some such place. Gerry really was not sure except Grandpa always liked a beer and a bump and every time Gramps would slug down the bump he would yell: YAVEAST!!

Grandma was quite demure and never said much in front of strangers. Little Gerry only met her a couple of times as a youngster but he was sure she knew something about Tarot Cards and carried these bones in a box at all times.

Elmer's father was a carriage driver where he drove his customers with the help of two old mares, through the local park near the BIG CITY.  Elmer's mom was a short fat lady who always yelled at Gerry for something.

OH HOW GERRY DETESTED THE HOLIDAYS. Such strange creatures would arrive at dinner sometimes and he was told that he was somehow RELATED TO MOST OF THEM.

Gerry's mom was Calustra. Yes, that is right, Calustra Thustra. But since Gerry only had to call her mom it was okay with him. Her parents had more of a divergence in origin.

Calustra's mom came from some small enclave near Milan, Italy. How grandma got here, Gerry had not the slightest idea.  But Nana, as she liked to be called, was always kind to Gerry. When no one was around, Nana would tell Gerry:

You can be whatever you want to be Gerald, but do not be a cinema man.

You see, Gerry came to discover that Nana did not really appreciate Dad. But that is another story.

Elmer got back to the States following his stint in the Army as a cook during WWII. He had been stationed in England most of the time.  It seems that he somehow got into the 'procurement' business over there, which is where he procured the down payment for his home in suburbia.

Elmer went to college on the GI bill and received three and a half years of good education, majoring in films. Never bothered to get the degree but the lust for the field of study never left him. By 1959, when Gerry reached his ninth birthday, Elmer owned the titty cinema on the outskirts of the city.   (This was one reason that Nana did not care much for Elmer)

Oh and Nazareth was the name of the burb.

Well Gerry got through the sixth grade at Nathan Hale Elementary School and he had had enough.

So when 'sign up' day happened at Nazareth's West Junior High School, Gerry 'opted out'. He just never showed up. Papers were lost. The Thustras were never much up for PTA and such. I mean Elmer was just scraping along at the cinema. Oh sure, Elmer would always have his camera available for those important shots of certain City Fathers showing up for popcorn at his theater, but the 'tips' he received from this side photography business were enough just to bring home extra groceries to feed the 9 youngins. Mom was so busy washing clothes and keeping Kevin from killing David, that....well no one really followed up on Gerry.

Gerry would wile away the hours wandering through the public library and catching any new happenings at the world's only in-door mall, Southside Dale it was called.  Built in 1957, it really represented all that was new about post war America.  Clothes shops all over the place. Book stores and knick-knack shops adorned the sides of this great edifice.  Food was for sale everywhere. Pieces of pizza, hoagie sandwiches, hot dogs........whatever one craved that day, at that moment.

Gerry always remembered to leave home at 8:00 AM and to get back home by four PM.

................................................

July 5th, 2001 at Southside Dale Shopping Center, Nazareth, Minnesota.

The greatest single shopping center on the globe had suffered from entropy some forty years after its creation. It was now divided into three parts. The Middle Dale was a Wal-Mart. The West Wing was a Sam's Club. The East Wing was more or less vacant with the exception of a strange meeting that took place once a day at one PM. Thursday through Tuesday that is.

Hundreds would flock at the East Wing just after noon and camp on rugs provided by Sam's Club in order to hear the thoughts of the day from Gerry Thustra.

At exactly One P.M. Gerry appeared to the throng, made up of ladies sick of shopping, youngsters sick of school and Postal Workers who happened to work strange shifts. At least I hope they had strange shifts; I mean otherwise who was delivering the GODDAMN MAIL. (Blesses himself)

GOD IS DEAD pronounced the Shoppers' Shaman (as he was referred to in the local press). Gerry's voice boooooooooooomed in this mostly empty warehouse. Made one wonder why the microphone was ever invented in the first place.

God is dead and so are all of our aspirations, consolations, trepidations, acclamations, and constipations.

We need god no longer. Just as we need to heed the government any longer. Give nothing unto Caesar because there is no Caesar. Give nothing unto god, because there is no god.

THUS SPAKE GERRY THUSTRA!!!

Well, the throng was puzzled as it always was this time of day. What does this mean? Do we not pay taxes anymore?  Do we not come to the East Wing any longer?

Gerry always began like this. Shaking everyone in their boots. After lunch for many the blood has rushed from the cranium to the belly leaving those who have supped with ennui.  Adrenaline was what was called for in this instance.

We are alone. All of us. If you, over there, the lady in the plastic coat that shines in the darkness of my soul, were to see me grasp my chest and fall to the ground of a fatal heart attack...you could do nothing. Oh a paramedic might attempt to revive me while another good citizen called 911...But those are mortal duties that must be accomplished or you would be seen as not doing your social obligations.

 

No we are alone in that none of us in the end can prevent our own death or the death of others on our planet. We leave our mother's womb and we are alone for the full tour, as it were.  It is enough that we do not kill someone else while on this 'tour of duty'.

 

I will now relate to you the parable of the one-legged cabby.

Thomas was from somewhere in the Middle East. We are not sure if that was his 'given' name or not. It was late at night and just toward the end of his shift, but Thomas had not had his complement of fares that day. Coming around the Police Station a few miles from the airport where he had hoped to find a ride less traveler, he espied a large figure in a deep dark trench coat haling him for a ride. Well, it looks good enough for me Thomas thought.

Thomas duly stopped and signaled that the fellow could jump in his cab. Will you take me to NORTHCO?

That depends upon what Northco is and where it is sir. I have had this route for all of three years and I have a good mind and remember my fares and destinations. It is what I do. But what is Northco.

Check your GPS idiot.

Blushing, Thomas typed in the letters on his keyboard and there, at the edge of town and just within his route was NORTHCO.

Sorry about that sir. Yes, we shall take the shortest route for the traffic is thin this time of night.

It was a full twenty miles away and Thomas duly called it in knowing that the fare would make his shift profitable. Everything was kosher.

But as they proceeded down highway 62, something strange occurred to Thomas. He was sure that he had just crossed Hwy 494 going WEST on 62. There was no Highway 62 West of 494. That was the end of 62...or it was supposed to be. He checked his computer. Yes indeed he was on the right road.  The screen indicated that his cab was going in the right direction on the right road to the right destination. When the hell did this all change?

Then he remembered that he had never heard of NORTHCO before. He certainly had never traveled there before. And to make matters worse, it was particularly dark that night. A deep cover of clouds hid the stars along with the slim crescent moon that was predicted for the night. And it was misty, the kind of mist that is almost a downpour. Where the windshield wipers must be on continuously and where it became necessary to open a window when making a turn.

It was like he had never been in this city before. 36 months as a cab driver can give a man a full picture of a metropolitan area. But this?

Although he usually refrained from speaking to fares unless first addressed, Thomas cleared his throat and asked innocently:

What exactly does NORTHCO do sir, if I may be so bold as to ask?

There was no response from the fare. Thomas stole a quick glance into his rear-view mirror at the fare. He shook his head. He could not see the fare's face. Only the outline of a huge man in the back seat of his cab.

Well, the road is right, the destination is right...the computer says so.

Three years and Thomas never felt like this. He certainly was confused but the instruments told him to not be so. He could discern the divider in the highway; he was on the right side.  He could certainly discern the glowing white stripes separating the Western bound traffic.

And speaking of traffic, this Sunday Night had none. Not none, to speak of. There was no traffic at all.

Thomas felt the perspiration on his pate and his underarms were reeking. He never smelt this bad, even at 'closing time'.  He could feel his breath weaken. It is like those times when you have to consciously breath; afraid that if you quit thinking about your breath, you would die.

He checked the clock and it read 12:30 AM. It was Monday. And at this speed..........

STEP ON IT GODDAMN IT.   Yelled the passenger.  The first words out of his mouth since he gave the driver the destination.

Does any of this look familiar to you sir? I mean have you ever been to NORTHCO before?

STEP ON IT I SAY!!!

Thomas put his foot down on the accelerator taking his transport to 70 MPH. He almost hoped a cop would stop him. He began to care little about his license, his driving record or even the damn cab...all of which embodied his livelihood. Then to 75 MPH.

He could see the stripes on the road moving faster and faster. It was now 12:45 A.M. Nothing looked familiar. How could he have never been on this road before this? I mean his main drag was the airport for chrissakes which meant any destination was possible.

Now Thomas could hear his own heart. He could not remember ever HEARING his heart before. He glanced down at the clock, it read 2:30 A.M.

This is not possible. WHERE THE HELL AM I?

Of a sudden, Thomas looked up and there was a sign on the road:

WELCOME TO SOUTH DAKOTA.

Take the next right onto Highway 82. We are almost there. This was the declaration from the mute fare.

Thomas proceeded to make the right turn and proceeded north and within two miles he saw the sign:

THIS WAY TO NORTHCO.

As he pulled into the long driveway in front of the building, the fear left him. It felt like he had had a long sleep and a good shower.  It never occurred to him that he would be driving three hours to get home. Thomas did not care.

The fare asked:

How much?

The voice shook him for some reason. Er....two hundred dollars.

The fare reached into his pocket and pulled out four bills, handing them to Thomas.

KEEP THE CHANGE.

Everything kind of went blank for Thomas just after receiving the funds.

He awoke, suddenly in his cab, parked in the company garage. He looked down at the clock and it read 8:00 A.M. He looked up. It had been his router who had awoken him by tapping at his driver side window. Thomas looked down at the four bills still in his hands.

THUS SPAKE GERRY THUSTRA!!!

Stay tuned for part two.  What is the message?

(Some friends have informed me that they are having trouble commenting on my blog. The submit button does not work properly on my blog or some such. I cross posted this at my blog site where comments always are welcome: 

http://forestroot125.blogspot.com/