I Know This Much Is True

I don't know why you asked me.

I am not pure of heart.

But I'll do your bidding, oh, Lord, oh, God.

I want to do my best for the people,

for the children of this nation.

I want them to know what they do is wrong.

On the afternoon of October 1st, 1990,

my twin brother, Thomas, entered the.

Three Rivers Connecticut Public Library

and prayed to God the sacrifice

he was about to commit would be deemed acceptable.

- "Forgive us our trespasses..." - Sir, sir!

I'm gonna have to ask you to be quiet. This is a public library.

"Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil."

I want you to be quiet now,

or you will have to leave the library.

"And if your right eye offend thee, cut it out,

- "and cast it from thee." - I will have to ask you to leave!

"And if thy right hand offend thee,

"cut it out and cast it from thee.

For it is profitable to thee that one of thy members should perish."

Thomas and I had spent several hours together the day before.

Most Sundays, I pick him up from his job

at the state institution Settle Building,

treat him to lunch, and return him

to the group home where he lived by suppertime.

A line had been drawn in the sand...

What do you want to eat?

What do you want, buddy?

Oil companies... America.

We're living on borrowed time, Dominick.

We're just wallowing in our... in

our greed and... and spiritual filth.

And now it's time to pay. We're gonna pay the price.

Hey, I don't mean to change the

subject, but how, how's your coffee cart?

How's the business?

How do we kill people for the sake of cheap oil?

- How do we justify that? - How's your business, Tom?

How are we gonna prevent the vengeance of God?

If we have no respect for human life?

I don't know, buddy. What do you want to eat?

Have you had time to look at the menu?

You can't worship both God and money, Kristin.

America's gonna vomit up its own blood.

Uh, can I get a... I'll get a cheeseburger.

No fries, salad on the side. What do you want?

- I want hot dogs. Hot dogs. - Hot dog.

You got it.

- Thanks. - Sure.

Thank you.

Thank you for being a good brother to me.

"It is profitable to thee

"that one of thy members should perish

and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell!"

- Are you Dominick? - Uh, yeah, I am.

He emphatically refuses any attempt to re-attach the hand.

Quite frankly, I'm amazed at his determination.

The severity of the pain should have aborted his mission halfway.

God.

God. What'd you do?

It was a sacrifice.

Sign this, please.

- Wait, what's this? - It's a consent form.

No.

We're gonna try to re-attach the hand with your permission.

No, Dominick, no, no.

Then I'll just tear it off again. It's a sacrifice,

and I know what I'm doing

and I'm doing it on my own choice.

You're gonna lose your hand.

We can restrain him for several days

but we need to give the nerves a chance to regenerate.

You're not a savior. You don't know what a savior is.

You don't know what sacrifice is.

Dominick, it is a religious act.

It is an act of my own accord.

- Would you sign the form, please? - And I need you

to stand up for me for once.

- I need you to. - Sign the form, please, sir.

Okay, I need a minute.

Dominick, I need you to defend me.

I had to do it! No, let me go.

No! Stand up for me.

Dominick! Please, defend me.

I'm lucid! No, no, it's my life.

Stop! I know what I'm doing! Dominick, defend me!

Dominick, defend me!

Help! Help!

Dominick, Dominick. Dominick!

Oh, no! Dominick...

- Wait. No, no, no. - Your brother...

- No? No?! - No.

- No, are you listenin' to him? - Thank you.

- I hear him, you... - It's his hand, it's his decision.

- No. - Thank you.

- God damn it, no. - Fine.

Thank you, Dom.

If Mom was here, she'd thank you.

We made the front page of the paper

on the day we were born.

Born on December 31st, 1949,

and January 1st, 1950, respectively.

Six minutes apart and in two different years.

Our births would have been discreetly ignored by the newspaper

had we not been the New Year's babies.

At our house at 68 Hollyhock Avenue,

you tiptoed and whispered during the day

and became free each evening at 7:30

when our stepfather, Ray, would leave for work.

- Thomas, elbows off the table. - Ow. Ow!

- Ray... - Mind your business, Susie Q.

Don't pamper this boy, huh?

He's fine.

Just eat your supper, sweetie.

I don't wanna see any tears.

Suck it up.

Eat your dinner.

I hate him, Ma.

No, you don't hate him, Dominick.

Kids don't hate their fathers.

He's not my father.

Well, Dominick, he... he is.

He is your father.

And he cares about you and your brother.

He puts food on our table.

Is my real father alive? Did he croak or something?

- Shh, shh, shh, shh. - Just tell me.

- Who is he, Mom? - You get some sleep, huh?

Don't be a monkey.

- Fine! - What are you doing?

Come on, lie down.

What? You gotta go to the bathroom?

- No. - What are you doing?

- I'm going outside. - Dominick!

All my life, I had imagined a scenario

in which my father would, at last,

reveal himself to me.

You get 10 more minutes.

Then I want you to come in, okay?

I cooked up cowboy dads, pilot fathers

who made emergency landings on Hollyhock Avenue.

Hopped from their planes and rescued us from Ray

the intruder who married my mother

and installed himself in our home.

But whoever he was, my mom just kept it a secret.

Just lived with it.

Buried it.

Buried it inside her for her whole life.

And so we all did.

And then, in August of 1986,

three years before Thomas walked into that library,

Ma fingered a lump in her left breast.

Her breast was removed.

A week later, she was told that the cancer had metastasized.

With luck and aggressive treatment,

the oncologist told her,

she could probably live another six to nine months.

What the hell do you mean, six to nine more months?

My stepfather, my brother and I

struggled independently with our feelings

about Ma's illness and pain.

Her death sentence.

Each of us fumbled in our own way to make things up to her.

Thomas spent hours assembling and gluing

and shellacking something he called

a "hodgepodge collage."

My stepfather decided he would fix her broken scrapbook.

My own project for my mother was the most ambitious.

I would remodel her 1950's-era kitchen.

I conceived the idea to show her that I loved her best of all...

Hey, Ma.

Or that I alone understood the family curse.

Doing the kitchen for ya.

That had given her, first, a volatile husband,

and then a schizophrenic son,

and then handed her the big C.

Whoa!

Ma, there's writing on the wall. It looks like it's Grandpa's.

Yeah, it's Papa's.

Ma? What's the matter?

Nothing, nothing. Just do whatever you're doin'.

What? You don't want a new kitchen?

Just, everything goin' on right now,

it's a little much, you know?

Alright.

Dominick, you wanna give me somethin',

just give me somethin' small.

Don't be bitter, baby.

Come here.

I wanna show you somethin'.

Just waitin' for the right time to give it to ya.

- What do you got? - It's for you.

- Ma. - Go on.

Whoa.

Ma, you got the key taped to the box.

So you don't lose it.

Aw! So sweet.

This is...

Ma, what is it?