It’s been hot, sure enough, but I never expected that the heat and humidity and relentless sunshine would ever get the better of Shizuoka Duo. But indeed it knocked them for a loop.

I was just sitting here, sipping on some lemonade, when the doorbell rang. There Shizuoka Duo was, at the door, looking almost deranged. They were speaking at the same time, so it was hard to get the whole story straight, but apparently they’d taken early afternoon naps at the same time and dreamed, together, the very same dream, something about a couple of beavers out by the edge of a pond, arguing over the state of the universe. One of the beavers said she’d seen the sun sneer and that if she weren’t recognized as head honcho that some really bad things were going to happen to their pond. The other beaver claimed he’d seen the moon shift mid-orbit and head in a new direction and that if he weren’t allowed to make rules for life down inside the dam, then all cosmic hell was going to break loose. The other beavers (millions, Duo 1 said . . . trillions, Duo 2 said) were at a total loss. It was the end of the world, they were sure. The beavers were sure. Shizuoka Duo was sure.  A lot of the beavers started screeching, “Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!”

Shizuoka Duo said they had, in a matter of minutes, written it all down, the essence of it, anyway, and were ready to record. Here’s what was written on the coffee-stained paper they forced into my hand.

They’re throwing us puzzling curves / Spitting out weaseling words 

Serving up poisonous hor d’euvres / Chewing on our frazzling nerves.

Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo.

They’re pouring hemlock deep down in our ears / Demagogues whipping up the fear

Dishing hate on all our living peers / Dismissing all whose consciences veer.

Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo.

She surely said she saw the sun sneer / Knew that the end was all so near.

He said she’d surely drunk too much beer / Said that he alone was the seer.

Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo.

He said he saw the moon take a dip / Like a wreck-less, perverted ship.

She said he just thinks he’s all so hip / When really all his wires have been snipped.

Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo.

“We saw it,” Duo 1 said. “We went out, right after we wrote it all down–and the sun was sneering.”

“And the moon, you couldn’t see it, it was only 2:30, but somehow, looking up at the sky, you could see how its orbit might go wacky,” Duo 2 said.

I read it over, then asked them about the chord sequence.

There were just three chords, they said, and they were going to play them over and over and over forever, repeating the words as long as necessary, until the sun stopped sneering, and the moon stopped threatening to disrupt the skies.

Naturally, I sent them home. It wasn’t easy. But finally I got them to go home and “rest.”

Then I went for a walk. You know, to check, to make sure.

Everything seemed fine. Actually, everything seemed absolutely beautiful.

Maybe it was the angle, I thought. Maybe my perspective wasn’t right.

Nope, no problem with the perspective. Still, lovely.

I was on my bicycle—and I’d worked hard through the morning and early afternoon—so I thought I could afford to take the late afternoon and evening hours to investigate a little more. But everywhere I looked . . .

. . . it was the same. Everything looked lovely. There was my beloved Ryuso Mountain, up there in the left corner, looking perfectly fine. I turned around, looked towards downtown . . .

. . . and all seemed fine there, too. In those pink clouds, there was a hint of the sun, it was nearby for sure, but there seemed to be no sign that it was sneering. And so I looked up . . .

. . . but the sky was gorgeous, and the birds flew as they always did . . . downright merrily, I thought right then.

It was a mystery. Either that, or Shizuoka Duo had finally lost their marbles. I remembered them standing there at the door, remembered their frantic, dangerous expressions. I mean, they had feared. And then I looked up at the sky again.

And this time, I thought, from somewhere, a trickle of energy could be discerned. In a matter of moments, it became a flow of energy, I thought. But it was hard to judge. Was it a positive flow of energy? A negative flow? The longer I looked, the more confused I became.

And then the evening set in, and the sky here and there began to glow, and here and there it turned a bright water-color blue and purple. I almost thought I could see where the paint had dried thick and where it had dried thin.

The sun, I thought, wherever it’s hiding, is painting this sky.

But what kind of picture? A sneering picture?

Damn, I kept seeing those two panicked faces, Shizuoka Duo’s faces, ablaze with fear, and I was suddenly wondering if I hadn’t gotten wrong all those thousands and thousands of moments in which I’d looked up at the sky and felt so much joy. 

The light shifted. The glow shifted. It was glorious . . . or  menacing.

Geez, what was happening to me?

And the damned sky was changing too much. Every instant, there was something new to be interpreted. Before you could figured out what it was, it was gone.

And I took out my notebook. And I wrote this:

So what now will unfold?

Is my brain really all too old

To wipe away this thickening mold?

To think whose souls they wrongly sold?

Was I scared because they spoke so bold?

Can I just believe the things I’ve been told?

Is my heart really all this cold?

Aren’t there any, any specks of gold?

I called Shizuoka Duo right then and there, straddling my bicycle. They got to my house before I did. I showed them my paper, made a couple of suggestions for a few more chords. They smiled at each other. “Let’s do it!” their eyes said.

So I went in. Took the recording studio from my pocket. Fired it up.

When we’d finished, we stood by the sliding glass door and peered up into the night sky. The moon was full. A little yellow, but, or so it seemed, just fine.