Testimony

The body lay in its casket, wide eyes empty as it stared blankly up at the sky. Bob Dylan entered the graveyard quietly, crossing through the maze of graves with careful patience, trying not to step on any of the graves. The last thing he wanted was any more bad luck. The world was already unlucky enough. He halted in front of the casket and sighed. 

“Who is he?” O’Brien asked, appearing from behind a nearby mausoleum. His suit was slightly rumpled, but Dylan didn’t mention it. Dylan looked down at the body and tried to recall the expressionless face. Nothing came to mind. 

“I can’t recall,” Dylan said. “Who invited you?” he asked the other man. O’Brien shrugged and looked down at the body with a furrowed brow. 

“No one invited us. We just…” Guildenstern appeared out of the groves of trees nearby, his clothes strangely out of place. Dylan and O’Brien regarded him with a look of mixed interest. They all returned their gaze to the body. “...is it fate?” 

“That he’s dead?” O’Brien asked.

“That we’re here,” Dylan clarified. Guildenstern nodded, signifying that’s what he had meant. O’Brien sighed. 

“No. Nothing happens for a reason. We’re all just stumbling in the dark, clueless, lost and blind until…” O’Brien started. He trailed off as they all returned their gaze to the body. 

“Do you know him?” Guildenstern asked. “We must know him,” he continued after the other two shook their heads. “Otherwise...otherwise we wouldn’t be here. Obviously. We must know him,” he said, getting increasingly louder. “There must be a purpose!” he yelled. The birds and the trees cawed and flew away from them and the trees of the forest, a mass of black in the blue sky. The three returned to silence. “There must be a purpose,” Guildenstern repeated quietly in a whisper. 

“Why he died?” O’Brien asked. Guildenstern stared at him blankly. 

“Why we’re here,” Dylan clarified. Both of the others nodded. 

“How could we not remember?” Guildenstern asked despairingly, more to himself than to the other two. The other two didn’t even look up from the body. 

“Sometimes, I think I remember too much of the truth,” Dylan said, also to himself. His eyes looked far away, remembering something long ago in the past. Something painful and beautiful and hopelessly haunting. 

“Sometimes, I think I remember too little of it,” O’Brien answered, eyes cast downward as he fought off whatever hopelessly haunting thing that was following Dylan. Guildenstern looked between the two of them helplessly. 

“Sometimes I don’t think I remember anything at all,” Guildenstern said tearfully. They all continued to stare at the body. 

“How did he die?” O’Brien asked. Both other men shrugged. Guildenstern approached the coffin and reached over, touching the lifeless body. The body did not react. Guildenstern seemed troubled by this and backed away. 

“Society killed him. How can a man such as this survive in a world such as this? His heart gave out, following the brutal beating of his soul by the waves of violence and torment,” Dylan said. O’Brien stared at him blankly. Guildenstern nodded sympathetically. 

“He was stabbed. In the back. By someone he was told was a friend,” Guildenstern paused. “For all we know, he may not be dead.” O’Brien scoffed. 

“Of course he’s dead. Unless…” O’Brien paused and then restarted. “Well, he’s dead. For now,” O’Brien said. 

“For now?” Dylan asked O’Brien and Guildenstern. Both nodded. “Hmm.” 

“Once we leave, the body could just...leave. Get up. Walk away. Maybe he’s just pretending to be dead,” Guildenstern said. 

“Or, once we leave, we’ll remember these events all wrong. Maybe we’ll remember him as alive, or maybe we’ll remember him as dead. Meanwhile, he’s obviously dead. Unless, of course, our memory is serving us wrong. How do we know he’s isn’t alive?” O’Brien asked. Dylan sighed. They all stared at the body. 

“What can you remember?” Guildenstern asked. 

“About him?” O’Brien asked. 

“About anything,” Dylan clarified. O’Brien shrugged. Dylan sighed again. 

“What do we do?” Guildenstern asked. 

“We should say a prayer. And then...leave I guess,” O’Brien offered. 

“Remember the dead and testify to their pain,” Dylan said. Guildenstern looked at them both. 

“The dead don’t feel pain. They don’t feel anything. They’re dead!” Guildenstern exclaimed, growing more and more frustrated. O’Brien stared at the body unblinking. 

“Unless he’s not dead,” O’Brien explained patiently. This seemed to assuage Guildenstern’s panic. He nodded calmly. 

“Are you sure you don’t recognize him?” Guildenstern asked. 

“I’m starting to think I do,” O’Brien said. “I knew him once, the version of me I’ve confined to the pages. The version I had to kill so I could go on. And he was so young,” O’Brien finished sadly. Guildenstern, for once, nodded with understanding. 

“Just a faceless voice from the fog is the only thing that survived. And blue eyes,” Dylan said quietly, more to himself than the others. They both nodded sympathetically. 

“At least you exist outside the words. The words...they are me. Not bones and flesh, just letters and symbols. Just...ink on paper…” Guildenstern said. They all were silent for a long second. “He looks like me.”

“And me,” Dylan said. 

“And me,” O’Brien seconded. They all stared at the body with sadness in their eyes. 

“So I guess this is it. Nothing left to do,” Guildenstern said. 

“Nothing left to see,” O’Brien murmured. 

“Nothing left to say,” Dylan whispered. 

“I guess I should go,” Guildenstern said. He took a step toward the grove of trees but then vanished into thin air. Dylan and O’Brien glanced at the spot and then each other, and then shrugged returning their gaze to the body.

“Farewell. Perhaps in another life...but no. It’s too late for that,” O’Brien said to the body. The body did not respond. He nodded to Dylan and then left the cemetery through the front gate. Dylan stayed where he was. He looked at the body and sighed. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry no one listened. They heard the words, but they didn’t listen to their meaning. They watched, but they didn’t see. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” Dylan sighed and walked toward the gate, his hands in his pockets, watching his feet. “Maybe there was a reason. Maybe we just lost it. Maybe we forgot the words…”