CHAPTER 15

TWEEDLELEFT AND TWEEDLERIGHT

   "So, where to, now?" thought Boris, as he continued to wander lost in the dark woods.  He was just about to give up as permanently lost, when he saw two finger posts, making him remark, "And now, which of these finger posts ought I to follow, I wonder?"

   It was not a very difficult question to answer, as there was only one road through this dark wood, and the two finger posts both pointed along it. "I'll settle it when the road divides and they point in different ways."

   But this did not seem to happen. He went on and on, a long way, but wherever the road divided there were sure to be two finger posts pointing the same way, one marked "TO TWEEDLELEFT'S CAMP and the other "TO THE CAMP OF TWEEDLERIGHT."

   "I do believe," said Boris at last, " that they both live in the same camp! I wonder I never thought of that before. But I can't stay there long. I'll just call and say "How d'ye do? And ask them how I can battle the serpents or save the eggs."

   So he wandered on, till, on turning a sharp corner, he came upon two fat little men, so suddenly that he could not help starting back, but in another moment he recovered himself, feeling sure that this must be Tweedleleft and Tweedleright.

   "Why were their names, or a form of them, so familiar to me," thought Boris, "I know I just recently heard them, but I can't just remember where. I do believe that the cooking gas is still simmering my brain cells."

  The Tweedles were standing under a tree, each with an arm around the other's neck and Boris could only tell which was which because of the names stitched around their collars.  They stood so still that he soon forgot they were alive until one suddenly spoke--later he couldn't remember which--saying, "If you think we just fill up our seats, then you ought to write us letters and tell us what to do; we were not voted in simply to sit on our seats. Nohow!"

   "Contrariwise," added the other one, "If you think we are doing something, then again you should write to us to either congratulate us if you agree, or to be contrary if you disagree."

  Then both spoke at once, saying, "That is the democratic way: how can we re-present you, if you do not present youself to us, no sirree, Bub," and with that they both nodded their neckless heads in unison.

   "But shouldn't you have some views of your own?"

   "My heavens, no!  How could we ever stand in your place..."

   "...if we are already standing in our own places!"

   "I'm sure I'm very sorry" was all Boris could say, until he remembered a poem his parents had taught him when he was a little child to help him understand the ineffectualness of politics, at least on one particular matter.  It kept ringing through his head like the ticking of a clock, and he could hardly help saying out loud:

Tweedleleft and Tweedleright

Agreed to have a melee;

For Tweedleright said Tweedleleft

Had 'borted one too many baby.

Just then flew down a monstrous crow,

As black as a tar barrel,

Which frightened both the heroes so,

They quite forgot their quarrel.

   "I know what view you have," said one, "but it isn't so, nohow."

   "Contrariwise," continued the other, "if it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn't, it ain't. That's politics."

   "I was thinking," Boris said very politely, "which one of you battles the snakes?"

   They answered at the same time, "we both do!"

   "That can't be! You can't both be battling the snakes: you're from different camps, at least, on paper, that is!"

   "You begun wrong!" cried one of them "The first thing in a visit is to say 'How d'ye do?' and shake hands!" and here the two men gave each other a hug, and then held out the two hands that were free, to shake hands with him.

   Boris didn't like shaking hands with either of them, for their hands look ever so oily and scaly. They relieved him of the problem of shaking hands with them by suddenly dancing around in a ring with each other. This seemed to be quite in tune with the place, and he was not even surprised to hear music playing: it came from a nearby tree, and it was done by the branches rubbing one across the other, like fiddles and fiddlesticks.

   "Ha, I think these two would be dancing to fiddle music while Rome burnt, ha," thought a rather repulsed Boris.  "In addtion, I believe everything here goes ever round and round the Mulberry Bush, and it seems, in this land, that nothing ever gets done." And soon, the two had danced their way out of his sight.

   Boris was now feeling all alone and poorly, when this desolation of his was gratuitously up-lifted by the down-landing of none other than Mr. Walter Pigeon!

   After cooing to Boris for some time, Walter finally said, "I hope you're not much tired now?"

   "Nohow. And thank you very much for cooing," said Boris.

   "So much obliged!" added Walter. "You like Poetry?"

   "Ye--es, pretty well--some poetry," Boris said doubtfully. "Will it tell me how to fight the serpents and save the eggs?"

   "Well, it will tell you why you should fight the serpents."

   "But I already know the reason why..."

   "Perhaps, but it needs to be fortified."

   "Very well, go on then."

   "I will recite the poem, 'Tweedleleft  and Tweedleright Have the Youngsters Over For Dinner.'"

    "Sounds interesting."

    "You must understand, as I am telling you this, that there are many good people--found near the roots of the grass, mainly--in both the left and right camp, but as a matter of policy, the left camp, at least at the top, is more in line with the snakes's agenda, although as I will shortly present, some of the policies of the leaders of the Right camp are not so anti-snake as they let out to be."

   "I see, I think."

   "I hope you will see."

   Then Walter began instantly:

The sun was shining on the sea,

Shining with all his might:

And this was odd, because it was

The middle of the night.

The moon was shining sulkily

Because she thought the sun

Had got no business to be there

After the day was done.

The sea was wet as wet could be,

The sands were dry as dry.

No birds were flying overhead,

There were no birds to fly.

Tweedleleft and the Tweedleright

Were walking close at hand,

They wept like anything to see

Such quantities of Man:

'If they were only cleared away,'

They said, 'it would be grand!"

'If seventy time seven thousand doctors

Swept them 'way for many a year,

Do you suppose,' Tweedleleft said,

'That they could get them clear?'

'I doubt it,' said Tweedleright,

And shed a bitter tear.

'O Youngsters, come and walk with us!'

Tweedleleft did beseech.

'A pleasant smoke, a pleasant toke,

Along the briny beach:

Boy and girl, do it more and more,

Oh, give a stroke to others each.'

The sex-fed Youngsters eyed their mates,

But never a word they said,

The sex-fed Youngsters winked their eyes,

And shook their heavy heads--

Meaning to say they did not chose

To leave their sex-filled beds.

So many youngsters hurried up,

All eager for some sentiment:

Their clothes were tossed, their parts washed,

Candles were lit in their wee apartments--

And this was odd, because, you know,

They hadn't any commitments.

Many other Youngsters followed them

And yet some more;

And thick and fast they came at last,

And more, and more, and more--

All hopping through the frothy beds

And scrambling like a whore.

Tweedleleft and the Tweedleright

Walked on a mile or so,

And then rested on a rock

Conveniently low:

All the the little Youngsters stood

And waited in a row.

'The time has come,' Tweedleright said,

'To talk of many things:

Of laws--and rights--and ultrasounds--

Of baggages--and potions--

And why your mind is boiling hot--

And whether you have any options.'

'But wait a bit,' Some Youngsters cried,

'Before we have our chat;

For some of us are out of breath,

And some of us are fat!'

'No hurry!' said Tweedleright.

They thanked him much for that.

'A clinic bed,' Tweedleleft said,

'Is what they chiefly need:

Potions and vinegar besides

Are very good indeed--

Now, if you are ready, Youngsters dear,

We can begin to feed.'

'But not on us!' the Youngsters cried,

Turning a little blue.

'After such kindness, that would be

A dismal thing to do!'

'The knife is red,' Tweedleleft said,

'Do you admire its hue?

'It was so kind of you to come!

And you are very nice!'

Tweedleright said nothing as

Tweedleleft cut another slice.

The Youngsters wished he was not so deaf--

As they screamed once, twice, even, thrice!

'It seemed a shame,' Tweedleright said,

'To play such a trick,

After we've brought them out so far,

And made them trot so quick!'

Tweedleleft said nothing but

'Their number's spread too thick!'

'I weep for you,' Tweedleright said;

'I deeply sympathize.'

With sobs and tears he 'scorted out

Those of the largest size,

Holding his pocket handkerchief

Before his streaming eyes.

'O Youngsters,' said Tweedleleft,

'You've had some pleasant fun!

Shall we be seeing you again?'

And answers loud came anon--

For lessons learnt, none were done,

And they would return, every single one!

  "I like Tweedleright best," said Boris, because, you see, he was a little sorry for the poor youngsters."

  "Still all the youngsters' youngsters were eaten, though.  Don't you see, he holds his handkerchief as if he's really sorry, but none of the feeding ever really gets stopped."

   "He does try to councel them."

   "Mere words, words, words; Tweedles are good with them."

   "I get it: either you are altogether against the snakes or you are altogether for them."

   "Yes."

   "So they are both unpleasant characters."

   "You are finally getting it."

   "But there must be some hope that the Tweedles would do something. Maybe the Tweedle-In-Chief  has the power, and motivation, to do something."

   Here Boris checked himself in some alarm, at hearing something that sounded to him like the hissing of a large steam engine in the high grass near them. "Are there any lions or tigers or--even snakes--about here?" he asked timidly.

   "It's only the Tweedle-In-Chief--otherwise known as the White King--snoring. He dreaming now," said Walter, "and what do you think he is dreaming about?"

   "Nobody can guess that."

   "Why, about you! And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you'd be?"

  "Where I am now,  of course," said Boris.

  "Not you! You'd be nowhere. Why you're only a sort of a thing in his dream! You know very well you are not real."

   "I am real!" said Boris, and he began to sob.

   "You won't make yourself realer by crying."

   "If I wasn't real, I shouldn't be able to cry."

   "And you are, indeed, very real."

   "But why then--did you--say that...it doesn't make any sense."

   "Well, think about it: in a way, I  am making some real sense."

   "Well, maybe it does," said Boris, who didn't exactly at the moment fully understand what Walter was saying (and again he didn't want to admit that he was totally confused on the issue) but a little later it finally dawned on him what Walter was getting at. And when he  turned around to tell Walter that he now understood, Walter, as many times before, had vanished out of site, as also did the White King.

  "I wish" said Boris, "that creatures in this land wouldn't pop-in and pop-out into existence like that all the time; it gives one a sense of...of...too much changeableness or something of that nature, although Walter and his Wife have the sense of always being around even when not around, if that makes any sense."

    And just as he said that, the two Tweedles popped into view right before Boris and they were already in the midst of some sort of melee. In addition, they were both already dressed to the hilt in all type of armor in the form of handy junk like bolsters, blankets, hearthrugs, dish covers and the like. Tweedleright was shouting to Tweedleleft, "You 'borted too many a babe. We must fight it out."

   "Oh, good!" said Boris, "Maybe there is some hope here in Tweedletown.

   "Oh, here we go again," said Tweedleleft from behind all his armor.

   "Of course you agree to have a battle?" Tweedleright asked his contrary-part in a calmer tone.

   "I suppose so," said the other sulkily.

   "Do I look very pale?" said Tweedleright to Boris.

   "Well--yes--a little," Boris said.  "You're not going to chicken out on me now."

   "I'm very brave generally," he went on in a low voice, "only today I happen to have a headache."

   "That's not a good enough excuse. You must defeat the egg stealers."

   "OK, I guess we must have a bit of a fight today, but I don't care about going on too long," said Tweedleright. "What's the time now?"

   Tweedleleft looked at his watch, and said, "Half past four."

   "Let's fight until six, and then have dinner," said Tweedleright.

   "Very well."

   "You can't do that! You must fight until you have won your battle," said an exasperated Boris.

   "There's only one sword, you know," Tweedleright said to the other, "but you can have the umbrella--it's quite as sharp.  Only we must begin quick. It's getting as dark as it can."

   "And darker," said Tweedleleft.

   It was getting so dark so suddenly that Boris thought there must be a thunderstorm coming on. "What a thick black cloud that is!" he said. "And how fast it comes! Why, I do believe it got wings!"

   "It's the crow!" Tweedleright cried in a shrill voice of alarm; and the two Tweeders took to their heels and were out of sight in a moment.

   Boris ran a little way into the Wood under a large tree. "It can never get me here," he thought, "It's far too large to squeeze itself among the trees.  But I wish it wouldn't flap its wings so--it makes quite a hurricane here in these grassy marshes. 

   "Ho! I think I hear some deep voice among this wild wind; I think it is saying, I am the Great Oz-am-I: I feel the breath of something new--is it hope--in the wind."