此内容暂无简体中文译文，以下为英文原文。
Historical April 1993 article. Dates, prices, services and contacts describe the source period; current availability has not been established.
It was a lazy spring morning.
The sun was just beginning to make its presence known as it peered over the horizon, a few birds were chirping, and the smell of last night’s rain was still in the air.
He eased himself into the chair on his porch, making the appropriate groans and sighs as his body lodged in the cushion. Slowly he lifted the mug of coffee to his lips.
But he didn’t drink yet; he held it in front of his face, watching the vapor rise and smelling the aroma. Why did coffee always smell better than it tasted, he wondered.
This was his time, as he called it. No phone calls, no interruptions, best of all, no decisions.
He wasn’t getting any younger, life was taking its toll, and he appreciated the rare times in his day when stress was a stranger.
He began scanning the newspaper. not really reading to appreciate or understand. but monitoring to see if there was anything that needed his attention. Front page. another murder, probably drug related, some speculation about terrorism; infrastructure problems, streets deteriorating and sewers collapsing. Nothing worthy of pursuing yet, he thought.
He turned to the sports page and it was much the same: salary arbitration, some wins and losses, and trade rumors.
He allowed himself a small chuckle, thinking back to decades ago when he had lived and died with the numbers in this section.
It had all seemed so important.
He took a deep drink of the coffee. pausing to savor it, and turned to the editorial page.
This section never took long It all; he had his own opinions, why read other people’s thoughts?
Then he turned to the obituary page. Usually he skipped this portion of the paper If there was a tragedy, someone would call him.
But as he glanced over the list of names, one jumped out at him.
In bold letters, it said, Carmody, WIlllarn A. That was his name!
He pulled the paper closer and read carefully. Not only was the name his, so was the date of birth, February 25, 19481 This was getting stranger all the time, he thought.
He read the details. Apparently this other Bill Carmody had few descendants, just some nieces and nephews.
The body was being held at the funeral home only one night, the notice said.
In lieu of sending flowers, donations could be made to the American Head Association Some minutes passed.
He sat motionless, staring into the distance.
The cough of a car starting in the distance broke his revere, and he shook his head.
For some strange reason, he could feel himself breathing heavier and perspiring. lie felt a cold, odd sweat on his forehead and arms. Without a doubt, he knew, he had decided There was no question, he was going to go the funeral home There probably wouldn’t be many people there, he could conic and go very quickly, he wouldn’t even have to sign the register.
He wrote down the address of the funeral home on a piece of paper, it was way across town, finished his coffee and went inside to dress for work.
The day at the office was uneventful, and it was just as well. Try as he might, and he did try, he couldn’t put this coincidence out of his mind Bill Carmody wasn’t a common name; he’d never met another. Having the same middle initial was even Voted azyr Poll/ # 1 BURGER 01 Best Decor #1 Jukebox #1 Restaurant Bar more uncanny. And then to have the same date of birth! Well, this was just too much to absorb at once. And why hadn’t he ever heard of this person?
He was the only William A. Carmody in the phone book. lie’d never met anyone who confused him with this other person or even asked him if he knew someone else with the same name.
He felt himself feeling a bit indignant that this other person took his name But then he stopped, realizing that the other William A Carmody was dead. And he felt a little guilty.
He had planned to come home from work, have dinner, and go to the funeral home afterwards.
But as he drove along the highway from work, he found himself thinking of the best route to pick to go there now. More and more, he felt, he didn’t want to wait. He’d cat afterwards; curiosity had the best of him now. Did the other William A Carmody look like him?
They were the same age, after all, but that didn’t mean much, he thought.
But what if they did look alike? What would that mean? Being adopted had never bothered him lie considered himself lucky that his parents were so kind and generous And even though he was adopted, the people who raised him truly were his parents, he felt.
The mom and dad who gave him up at birth, well, he had their chromosomes and genes, but his real parents were the ones who had taken care of him when he was sick, helped him with his homework, and given him love until their death.
He missed them. What, he wondered, would his morn make of this? Knowing her, she’d be riding with him now, equally anxious to see the other Bill. And then it dawned on him. Could he have had a brother, could he have been a twin? lhs mom, his real mom, no, the mom who raised him, had never mentioned this. but would she have known? lie consciously had not sought his “birth-parents,” that was the politically correct phrase now, and hadn’t really been curious at all about the circumstances of his conception, birth, and background.
But now he began to wonder.
His tires screeched as he hit the brakes. That was close!
He had almost smacked into the car stopped ahead of him He had been driving like this for miles, he realized, preoccupied and thinking, wondering, speculating about the past and not paying attention to the road.
He was lucky that he hadn’t had an accident, he thought, he certainly hadn’t been thinking about what he was doing. Why, he wondered, did this bother him so? What was he worried about?
Then he saw it, a small sign on a bland brick building: “Tucker Mortuary ” He pulled into an almost empty parking lot Ile turned off the ignition and waited Now that he was here, he really didn’t want to go inside This is crazy, he said aloud, damn crazy Corning here was a waste of time’ And with that he jammed the key back Into the ignition and started the car And then he turned the motor off and took a deep breath He could feel himself sweating again, that same cold prickly sweat he had felt when he first read the obituary. He’d come all this way, he thought, and he knew he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t go inside and see this other William A. Carmody.
He walked briskly from the car to the building.
But as he placed his hand on the door to the building, a heavy gold-plated door with cherubs and angels formed in the metal, he froze.
It was as if something was holding him, refusing to let him pull the door open lie closed his eyes and tried to bring order back into his world He could feel his heart beating faster “Excuse me, excuse me,” the voice said from nearby.
He opened his eyes and shook his head, as if awakening from a sleep.
There was an elderly lady standing behind him, trying to get into the mortuary. And he was blocking the way. “Excuse me, I want to get inside,” she said.
He muttered an apology, stepped back and opened the gold door for her.
She smiled and walked inside.
He followed her.
The building was deathly quiet Then he smiled at his pun. That’s more like it, he thought. He’d be embarrassed if anyone knew how this thing was unnerving him. Deathly quiet, indeed.
There was a sign in the lobby that noted where people were laid out. William A Carmody was the only name on it; his body was in Suite C. Bill walked down the hall towards the door with the gold letter “C” above it. his breath was becoming strained now.
He could feel himself heaving, almost gasping.
He noticed that he was breathing through his mouth.
His throat was dry and he had difficulty swallowing And then he was at the door to the parlor.
The room seemed bare.
There were a dozen or so chairs, but no one was sitting in any of them.
There were no plants. just casket, a blue metal casket, sitting at the other side of the room.
The casket was open, and standing next to it was the lady who had passed him coming in the building.
She was looking into the casket and sobbing gently.
He could feel his heart thundering inside his chest.
He walked slowly towards the casket, stepping carefully After a few steps, he stopped next to a chair and leaned on it for a moment, resting Ile felt nauseated and his head was pounding. Hut he had to goon. Finally he drew himself up against the casket.
He placed his hands on one of its handles, bracing himself.
His eyes were closed but he knew the lady was still there, standing next to him, because he could hear her sobs.
He turned his face to the casket, but with his eyes closed.
For what seemed like an eternity. he stood there, facing the body, but not seeing it.
His gnp on the casket grew tighter and tighter And then he slowly opened his eyes. Thank God.
The person inside the casket didn’t look like him at all!
The other William A. Carmody was much heavier. with a different color hair and different facial features.
There was absolutely no resemblance.
The William A. Carmody in the casket was even dressed in clothing that Bill would never wear. Ile allowed himself a smile and tilted his head back a bit. lie didn’t know what he was expecting, but he felt a great sense of relief Somehow, Bill admitted, he had feared seeing his double, his twin, in the casket. And then what would he have done?
But it was obvious that there was no way that he had anything in common with the other William Carmody. besides his name and binlvflate lie turned to the lady standing by him By now she was looking at him inquisitively.
He smiled at her and said he was sorry, and turned to leave.
He felt as if the weight of the world was off of his shoulders.
He didn’t know why this coincidence has bothered him so, but clearly it had.
But that was then, he thought, and this is now.
Now it was time to head for home and have dinner.
He took a step towards the door and it started. Ile felt a huge striking pain, starting in his chest and exploding down his left arm. Ile tried to scream, to yell for help, but he could not.
The pain grew more intense. shooting throughout his body, and he fell to the ground lie wanted to cry. to ask what was happening, to grab his chest to get the hurt to stop, but he could not. And then the pain stopped, and along with it, his heart stopped too. Forever. Like the other William A. Carmody, this William A. Carmody would never feel any pain again.
Originally published in The Times of Skinker-DeBaliviere, April 1993.
Read this article in the original newspaper issue.
Original source: SD_Times1993_04.pdf, printed page(s) 8; PDF page(s) 8.
