Bert and Ernie Go Skydiving: a Tribute to Salman Rushdie

 Bert and Ernie Go Skydiving:

a Tribute to Salman Rushdie

The only “weather” in the stratosphere is that the temperature is always below freezing (because there is nothing solid to capture the Sun’s rays), and the wind is always moving even on a calm day. So the only question of seasons is whether ice particles will melt and slow down as they descend, like a damaged single-engine plane labeled “Corporation for Public Broadcasting” that has disgorged its two passengers, dropping like a pair of atomic puns over the English Channel. The shorter one is cartwheeling in his striped sweater like Leonardo’s universal man and caterwauling over the meaning of life, death and existence while the taller one plummets straight down with his arms folded, his pointed head leading the way like a reentry cone and a look of sheer annoyance on his face.

“Shut UP, Ernie! I’ve had to listen to this for thirty-seven years, can’t you give me some peace in my final moments?” his tinny voice finally came out.

“But Bert, don’t you think the universe owes us something at a time like this?” the first one inquired in a Kermit-like Michigan accent. “What if I were to die in the next few moments? And what does that mean? This is the last hurrah and the heavens are our audience, and you’re not even going to acknowledge the question but just perish in silence?”

“I don’t agree or disagree with you I just don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Every man in his final moments has demands of his maker and himself. There’s got to be something unrequited because there are things every man doesn’t know! I want to choose my last words fondly, and you need someone to tell you this? You don’t have a single question of your own? You’re going to die stubborn so you can say ‘I did it my way’ like Ol’ Blue Eyes? You don’t have any thoughts on life you’re just going to squander the privilege and prove what everyone says about you is true you banana-headed ninny?”

Bert’s single eyebrow raised to the ceiling of his forehead as he turned and stared at him in disbelief.

“What the hell do you mean what everyone says about me?” he demanded. In a flash he was reminded of how Big Bird first set out to break into public television, and that poof Fozzie Bear said “Ah!” as if he knew the dark underpinnings of that foray.

“Ernie if you have something to say to me you’d better say it.”

“Why?” he twiddled his thumbs. “Do you remember when we explored that Egyptian pyramid and you didn’t believe me that the statues were moving?”

“What does that have to do with anything? You saw them and I didn’t, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have an opinion on anything that matters. You could say anything you wish, but you neither agree nor disagree with any humanity and that makes you something incomprehensible, like the cheese that stands alone. I… I hated you in that moment.”

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know, Ernie.”

“Yes but it wouldn’t be genuine.” he turned away from him. “I’ll demonstrate by giving you a compliment! You’re not the kind of person who lives off the praise of other people. The only way to thank you is to let you do your thing like a precision-guided instrument, and watch the recipients of your wisdom use it to their own betterment.”

“Okay…”

“Except you can’t even acknowledge that because it would be too normal! You know the new crime dramas that come out every year where the detective is always a misunderstood genius who has to learn the value of feelings, except that he secretly sees other people as a needless annoyance? And here’s you falling with your arms not crossed but folded because the word ‘crossed’ isn’t dull enough for someone who gets pleasure from folding things! Hxhxhxhxhx!!!”

Bert’s felt mouth dropped open for a moment. There was no way to win, he’d be damned if he answered and damned if he kept it to himself. He looked down at the swiftly-approaching mist of the ocean.

“Have you read The Satanic Verses?” his friend asked suddenly.

“Say what?! I can’t believe you just asked me that.”

“It’s not really satanic, but the whole nation of Islam tried to murder him multiple times for writing it.”

“I ask you again what does that have to do with anything?”

“Well how would you explain to someone that musk comes from a deer? Considering what it’s used for doesn’t its source seem obscure to you? What if you could get the same thing by irritating someone to death and collecting it from their adrenal glands?”

“That’s exactly what you’re doing. You’re saying if a… an unpleasant byproduct of society has some socially acceptable use, why not go after it openly?”

“Yes, it’s like your first time with a woman. Society has this glorified dating game that’s so innocent and presentable but it all amounts to a couple ounces of bodily fluids! Sperm, Bert! Sperm!”

“Stop saying my name with the word sperm. So you’re saying it might as well be reversed? I thought you were supposed to have social skills, isn’t that the excuse behind this whole tirade? As long as you’re cool it doesn’t matter if you can’t take care of yourself?”

“How would you know? Do you know what Sesame Street was like before 1968? The reason I was hired for all those bathtub skits is kids weren’t bathing!”

“Okay, I can respect that. But don’t paint someone into a corner where there’s no right answer. I’m only human Ernie, I might need your forgiveness.”

“You’re… asking me to forgive you after all those stunts I pulled?” his answer gave him pause.

“Yes, because you’re the best friend I ever had.” Bert turned to look at him. “And… I love you.”

Ernie ignored the impending gravity of their situation and looked back at him.

“Someone loves me?” the realization came over him like a tsunami.