Slow But Certain

The family surrounds us. There is nothing to be done. Not a wholly true statement. But how could I do what needed to be done? It could have been done so long ago and might have even been successful. We might have lived. What would we have missed? Our life together.

There were 21 children, not all survived, but we held them all for a time. We would have missed that. How had we lived? That was a question that we were never asked outright. But there were always looks. Our farm was prosperous and we were lucky in that. Our two eldest first children returned home from the war without harm. The war took some of our land and some of our luck.

Once, only once, did one of the neighbors' sons hint about what everyone wanted to know. He was much the worse for drink and was not fully in control of himself. No one would believe him if he repeated the story we told him. I had always enjoyed our time in the freak tent, so I was more than happy to apply myself to the telling. My brother was less inclined. As the smaller, I lived in his shadow - that will be very humorous in a moment or two.

I feel the lethargy growing. Is that a good way to say that? Should lethargy be such an active thing as to be able to feel it growing?

"How do ya'll do it?" He had been drinking for quite some time by the time we came along. We didn't stop in at the tavern often. Drink affects us differently. But this particular evening had been one of those rare evenings. It had been hot in the tobacco shed. We had even had to take off our custom-stitched shirt - something we would only do in the privacy of the bedroom.

"I knows ya'll can do it, cuz ther's a herd of ya. More than my family, but we're natural beings." The poor farm boy had drunkenly snickered. "How?"

"We are respectable men. Why do you ask such rude questions?"

Well that was my brother. I was about to tell the poor child more than he would have ever wanted to know, and it would all be true. And my brother was acting more puritanical than the Episcopalian minister.

"We both have at her." I whispered it in a heavier accent than I had used in 30 years. If I could have increased the slant of my epicanthic fold I would have.

"E! How can you say these things?" Oh my brother was very angry. So I made sure to make it very racy.

"You know Salah Annie, my noble woman, she likie to have blother in her flom behindie at same time I in my noble woman from the frontie. We get both noble women this way. Only way to make so many half-bleed babies. Addie, his noble woman, likie to have nips pinched by a Nippon. She squeal like coolie. I pinchie hard. She buck wang goodlie." I knew that I had better quit or my brother would never forgive me.

"Run off little farm boy." My brother could, on occasion, raise his voice with great authority.

I was surprised that my brother spoke to me so soon after my lascivious story.

"We are not from Nippon. We are from Siam." He said in a measured voice as we set off for our wagon and the long ride back to the farm.

"Pretend to be offended with someone other than me, brother. You know every word I spoke was the truth. And if you can not admit it, at least the flesh between your legs can. He knows that we will be in bed this night with the lovely and lively Adelaide, who does enjoy strength applied to her tender breasts."

"Brother, do be quiet. We have miles to go and I do desire my, what did you call her, my noble woman. You are worse than Drew the Barker at the nonsense you make up with your sharp mind and wicked tongue."

"Yes, Brother. Let us be off and get off soon."

My goodness that was 20 years ago. That poor farm boy had tried to tell his story, and what a great story it would have been, had any one believed him for a single moment. Two weeks later the boy, his father and the Episcopalian minister had come out to the farm. The boy was forced to apologize for "things what I've said", but he was never allowed to say what those things were. Prior to the double wedding of the Bunker men to the Yates sisters, the very lovely Yates girls had spent an unhealthy amount of time too near the freak carnivals. I know that my Sarah Anne would have loved to laugh right out loud.

When we all lived together, and slept in the same bed at night, it was quite the joy to watch both wives ride both husbands. I would have one hand on my wife and one hand on my sister-in-law. My brother would do the same thing, then pretend that it was not a most pleasurable way to copulate. Yes, he would say "copulate" as if he didn't mean "fuck".

Eventually the noble women squabbled about some silly nonsensical thing. Brother looked at sister-in-law too much rather than at wife. Didn't matter which brother and didn't matter which sister-in-law. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn't. I know that I enjoyed watching all four very weighty breasts bounce up and down in their pleasure and for ours.

I remember the good times and have forgotten most of the bad. Perhaps that is the secret of the true faith. The doctor is back. He has been talking excitedly with Sarah Anne but there is nothing to be done. I can feel my brother's coldness. As much as I love him and as much as I have shared my every breath and moment with him, my heart is not strong enough to do the work of two. My heart cannot summon his blood back into me. My good doctor seems to be taking great delight in telling me that my brother's blood cannot be given oxygen to keep me alive. He also seems to enjoy telling me that my heart is doing nothing but pumping my blood into my dead brother.

As much as I love my brother I see now that he will be the death of me, just as surely as the pneumonia was the death of him. Propping him on pillows has been tried, but all that does is make his dead blood seep into my live body. My heart and lungs cannot do the work of two.

As my body cools as it tries to heat the blood and body of my brother, I become afraid. I know that I am going to die. Even severing the connection that we have shared for 65 years will not stop that death now.

I am going now into that cold place where my brother Chang has gone before me. He is the taller of us and I have always been in his shadow.

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Chang Bunker died of pneumonia on January 17, 1874. His brother Eng followed after three hours. Thus the Siamese twins died together. A liberal application of Creative License must be pardoned.