Uncle Anton's Atomic Bomb

by Ian Woollen

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Geneva said, looking to Rob for clarification on whether this was friendly conversation or not.

  “Where’s Anthony?” Rob asked. “He doesn’t usually sleep late. Is Trip here?”

  “Not here,” Duncan said.

  “May not be coming at all,” Kathryn added.

  Mary explained, “Trip is ill and might not be able to travel and Anthony doesn’t want to leave him alone.”

  “Too bad ….” Rob said. He and Geneva exchanged glances, unsure how much the others knew about Trip’s illness.

  Changing the subject, Mary said, “Geneva, how did you like Chicago?”

  “Very cool,” Geneva said.

  Kathryn interrupted, “I was up there last week performing with the Lyric.”

  Geneva continued, “I used to be a homebody. I never went too far from the island, but this trip has been an eye-opener and I predict that my baby will like taking trips too. Now I want to see New York City.”

  “There’s a lot right here in Indy,” Duncan said. “I can get you a tour of the Colts’ stadium.”

  “We brought our new house plans to show you all,” Kathryn said.

  “Rob, I don’t know if you’d heard that we’re building a house,” Duncan boasted, “on a site just north of Broad Ripple. Turns out it’s near where Mom and Dad had wanted to build. I’ve got the plans right here in my briefcase.”

  Duncan’s ploy to steal the thunder from his brother created a vicious intersection of glares, Rob at Duncan, Rob at Kathryn, Geneva at Duncan.

  Ward skillfully intervened with a fresh plate of toast. “Anybody want some honey with this?” he asked.

  “Congratulations on the house,” Rob said, neutrally enough to avoid a conflagration.

  “Hey, gang! Ready for a big day?” Ward smiled. He traditionally performed the job of agenda-announcer. He banged a knife against his coffee mug and said, “The house plans are very interesting, but today is Rob and Geneva’s baby shower and we have a very busy schedule getting ready. I’m going to need help with the flowers and we’ve got the caterers coming at noon and I want to go over the guest list to refresh your memory on some of the old faces that may show up, including Ruby and Rusalka and Vincent and Kayla, all of who your mother insisted on inviting.”

  Rob said, “Sounds like a classic Wangert wingding. Is Grandma Constance coming?”

  Ward nodded. “Someone will have to fetch her from the nursing home. Not that she’s going to have any idea what’s happening. Rob, I should warn you that she may not even recognize you.”

  “Especially with that hippie beard,” Duncan said.

  Ward continued, “And as for political debate, we will be observing a traditional holiday truce. You’ll recall your great-grandfather’s story about New Year’s Eve truce before the battle of Stones River.”

  “Dad is always coming out with these pieces of family lore that he probably makes up just for the occasion,” Duncan said.

  “I am a vast repository,” Ward said, “and besides, it’s the only thing I have on you guys anymore.”

  “What was Stones River?” Geneva asked.

  “Civil War,” Ward said.

  The term cast a slight shadow over the Wangert breakfast table.

  “We actually had people on both sides at Stones River, or the Battle of Murfreesboro, as the Confederates called it,” Ward added. “Constance’s clan were Copperheads from the Evansville area. Her great-uncles fought for the South and that’s why you’ve never met your relatives down there, because Gonga’s side wouldn’t have anything to do with them.”

  Rob spouted, “We’ve got relatives down in Evansville who we’ve never met because of the fucking Civil War?”

  “Can you believe it? Way back when people didn’t swear all the time,” Ward commented.

  “And we never heard about this until now?” Duncan added.

  “See what can happen when family members actually spend time with each other!” Mary admonished.

  They sat in a pall of tolerant silence. Chewing. Sipping. Each made a random heartfelt attempt to restart a conversation.

  “More toast?” Ward asked.

  Kathryn said, “Sometimes I think about trying to locate my birth mother.” She reached for the marmalade.

  Rob said, “I heard the bomb shelter flooded again.”

  The phone rang in the front hall. Mary hurried to answer it. “It’s Anthony!” she yelled from the hallway.

  They overheard her side of the conversation, a series of what and why questions. Apparently Anthony and Trip were at the Indianapolis airport struggling with a problem about getting a taxi. “Okay. We’ll send someone out.”

  She plodded back to the breakfast room and readjusted her hair. “Oh my,” she sighed.

  “Trip is with him?”

  “He’s in a wheelchair wearing a sign identifying himself as a person with AIDS, and none of the taxi drivers will give them a ride.”

  “Why would he wear a sign like that?” Kathryn asked.

  Mary said, “He claims we all have to be activists now.”

  Kathryn said, “I don’t. I’m a singer. I can’t be hanging around an AIDS patient.”

  “It’s not contagious,” Rob said.

  “How do you know?” Kathryn said, flashing her ring.

  “Whoa, now,” Duncan intervened. “Excuse us, while we have a chat.”

  Duncan and Kathryn removed themselves to the front hallway.

  The others watched a feisty cardinal fuss with the chickadees over the sunflower seed in the feeder. Somebody thumped up the stairs to a bedroom. Duncan returned to the kitchen. It was unclear who had been victorious, but the victory was pyrrhic. Duncan shrugged and put his dishes in the sink and picked up Geneva’s napkin that had fallen on the floor again.

  “I can get Anthony at the airport,” he said. “I’ll be dropping Kathryn off at the Bloomington shuttle.”

  “What about your dog?” Mary asked.

  “Shouldn’t have spayed her,” Duncan mumbled.

  In the car they hardly spoke. They didn’t have to. Duncan knew what her frowns and tears meant. It wasn’t diva spite or opposition to gays. It was infertility. Month after month of insidious failure eroding their spectacular life. Duncan was initially surprised at the intensity of Kathryn’s maternal desire. He figured she wanted the baby like she wanted the new house. The AIDS fuss had been an excuse to get out of a situation that reminded her of failure.

  Kathryn did not brook failure well. Especially when her own body was betraying her. All those years of contraception! Infertility was a cruel joke. Especially because everything else in their life was so successful. Duncan was on the leading edge of the business, thanks to his computer savvy. Wangert Public Relations was profitable again, thanks to his polling service and test market research. Kathryn was under professional management and starting to make good money. But the Midas touch, which could buy a large piece of property and plan a big house full of rooms for a baby, could not seem to create the baby itself. The docs continued to apologize and promise imminent technological breakthroughs. Kathryn refused to consider adoption, despite having been adopted herself, which Duncan could only understand as one of those things about her that he would never understand. And then, adding insult to injury, along comes his pothead little brother knocking up an island chick and basking in their parents’ praise.

  Anthony and Trip were surprised to see Duncan approaching them at the baggage carousel. They all exchanged a moment of facial scrutiny. Trip looked horrible. Anthony’s boyish features had hardened into a false-hope mask. Duncan was now a beaky replica of great-grandfather Wangert.

  “I didn’t expect … you,” Anthony blurted out.

  “The fact is, I owe you guys an apology,” Duncan said. “Shall we get some coffee? We’re in no rush. Everyone’s busy with party chores at the house.”

  Trip said, “Shouldn’t we be helping?”

  Anthony countered, “You’re in no shape to do v
ery much.”

  Trip nodded. “We are moving very slow these days.”

  “SlowLY,” Anthony corrected him.

  “I’m losing all my other faculties,” Trip explained. “He at least wants me to maintain my grammar.”

  “It was one of the things that first attracted me to you, honey,” Anthony said.

  “Mush!” Trip ordered, pointing toward the coffee shop.

  The manager of the coffee shop recognized Duncan. They exchanged hand signals. Three cappuccinos appeared at their table. The waitress ignored the ‘AIDS patient’ sign around Trip’s neck.

  “Are you a regular customer?” Anthony asked.

  Duncan nodded. “Yes, although it’s not what you think. People see me sitting here and assume I’m on a business trip, either going or coming. The truth is, I’m usually waiting for Kathryn to return from one of her gigs and I just like hanging out at the airport. It’s oddly peaceful for me. I come here a couple times a week. It gives me perspective on things. Like how messed up it is that you and I feel so threatened by our little brother having a baby.”

  “I’m not following you,” Anthony said.

  “That’s why you guys came, isn’t it?” Duncan said. “Had to upstage Robbie. Same as me. It’s crazy. Maybe we should just let him have his moment of glory and then he can go back to his cave on the island.”

  “You mentioned something about an apology,” Anthony said. “This sounds more like an attack.”

  “Right, sorry,” Duncan acknowledged. “The apology is about my data on gays. I should trust my data. I’ve learned I have to trust my data. Can’t let personal views get in the way of reality. And the data strongly indicates the gay demographic is a force to be reckoned with. A lot of clout coming. Politically. Economically. Gays are revitalizing many urban areas. I can’t argue with it. I’ve got to accept it. That’s my apology.”

  Mustering all the energy available to him, Trip laughed.

  Anthony smiled, “We’ll take whatever we can get.”

  “Even from you,” Trip said.

  Anthony said, “My idea for this visit was to show Trip some family time. We wanted to see his folks last week in Georgia, so that he could be with them once more, uh, before, uh—”

  “I die,” Trip finished his sentence.

  “They wouldn’t let us. So I thought, for at least for one weekend we Wangerts could rally and put on a good time.”

  Duncan shook his head. “Sorry, that part already happened. It lasted about fifteen minutes at breakfast. Then Kathryn had to leave, because we’ve been unsuccessfully struggling to have a baby and she couldn’t handle it. I just put her on the shuttle bus to Bloomington and, oh, shit … have you ever had the feeling, just saying a casual goodbye, that it might be the last time you see a person?”

  “Every day,” Trip said.

  Bottoms up on the cappuccinos.

  “I think if we’re going to pull this off, we should start drinking,” Duncan suggested. “Another good thing about the airport: the bars are always serving.”

  From there the day spun to its conclusion like a five-ticket ride at the State Fair. The smelly box of shoe-polishing materials came off the top shelf of the upstairs cleaning closet. Trip took the job of DJ. He found a cache of Wes Montgomery records. Fueled by a variety of chemical stimulants, a spirit of collaborative frenzy took over the house. The Wangerts rotated between their assigned duties and the construction of a giant snowman to greet the guests in the front yard. Vases were dusted. The vacuum hummed. Geneva hand-washed the crystal. Rob laid a fire. Ward ran to the store for more cocktail napkins. Duncan shoveled snow. Mary ironed tablecloths. Showers were scheduled at intervals so as not to overtax the hot water tank.

  At 3 p.m. a Bloomington taxi pulled up in the driveway. Kathryn, tipsily repentant, emerged for a sidewalk reunion with Duncan. They were pelted with snowballs from the snowman builders. Kathryn took over the musical accompaniment job from Trip, who needed a nap. She sat at the piano and played ragtime. Nobody knew she could play rags. Geneva danced. The caterers streamed in and out. The snowman took on epic proportions.

  Mary watched it grow from her bedroom window. She tried not to think about the snowman’s eventual contorted demise. For now it was magnificent. Her family was having a good day. She retreated to her room for periodic centering moments. She mouthed a prayer of thanks that Anthony was apparently not planning to ‘out’ her about his biological father. Instead, Anthony appeared to be having fun with his brothers. Yes, her family was having a good day. She opened the black lacquered Russian box and took out her diamond pendant earrings.

  Vincent was the first guest to arrive. A long line formed to shake Rob’s hand and pat Geneva’s belly. Representatives from every quarter of Indianapolis life flowed through the door—the church, the business, the Columbia Club, Mary’s colleagues, the women’s group, Stu and Randy. Grandma Constance arrived in the nursing home van and brought several wheelchair-bound friends with her, including Ernesto. They sat along with Trip beside the fireplace. A euchre game commenced. Kathryn continued performing at the piano. Mary and Ward tried to maintain their role of host and hostess, taking drink orders and directing newcomers to the buffet in the dining room. Within an hour it was a free-for-all. Geneva leaned over and whispered to Rob that it wasn’t all that different from a musicale in Marsden’s bait shack. Anthony kept the fire going. Duncan carried coats upstairs.

  Rusalka arrived, draped in silk and eyes concealed in a large pair of mirrored sunglasses, just as Ward was attempting to quiet the crowd for a toast. “Your attention! Please, your attention ….”

  Ruby came in a moment later and warned Mary to keep Rusalka away from the vodka.

  Ward stood beside the piano. Kathryn banged out a few loud chords. Ward smiled and cleared his throat. He spun a childhood-antics version of Rob and Duncan’s earlier years. He praised Rob’s obvious love for Geneva. He raised his glass to the health and long life of their baby. He started to say more, but words left him and the party witnessed Ward sputtering with tears. Kayla, the radiology nurse, came to his assistance.

  Leather-clad, spike-haired Kayla helped Ward over to the bar and poured him a 7 Up. In the appreciative lull that followed, Rusalka seized the stage. Kicking off her shoes and stepping first on the stool beside Kathryn, she climbed on top of the piano and began speaking in Russian. She spouted incomprehensible poetry.

  It was charming at first and Mary hoped this was Rusalka’s attempt at reconciliation. But the lilting rhythms of the poetry gave way to fist-shaking and a more strident tone. Mary struggled to remember a few words of Russian vocabulary. Anthony sidled over beside his mother. He knew a bit of Russian from his studies. He whispered, “She’s twice used the Soviet nickname for you-know-who. Is she aware of what happened? Did you tell her?”

  “No!” Mary flushed. A searing heat ran up her spine. She whispered, “No, this is not how it will finally come out!”

  The day’s blessings recoiled into nausea. Mary felt a sharp aversion, not so much to the fact of the secret coming out, but how it was coming out—from anger. “If it must be revealed, it should be done differently,” she stammered. She signaled her sons to remove Rusalka from the piano. This was accomplished without difficulty as Rusalka, in full bellow, slipped and fell into their arms. Applause sounded.

  Ruby directed the carting-off of her partner to a bedroom.

  Mary climbed onto the piano bench. She waved her arms for silence. Expecting another toast, someone handed her a champagne glass. Mary shivered through all the times, oppressed by her weighty secret, she fought off thoughts of worst-case scenarios, and here she was about to create one.

  Standing on the edge of a cliff, she began, “We gather to celebrate the birth of a new generation in this family. The story of Rob and Geneva finally coming bravely together to bring forth a new generation is very exciting. We especially admire their having the courage of their convictions to forge their dream of a life on Great Tusk Island, a pe
rfect place to raise a child. Some of you may not know that the current generation of Wangerts also began on Great Tusk with the birth of Anthony.”

  Ward eased over and stood beside the bench. Mary rested a hand on his shoulder. She continued, “Many of you do not know that Anthony’s birth story also included his parents coming together in a rather dramatic fashion. My husband deserves a lot of credit for the courage of his convictions because … technically speaking … he is not Anthony’s father ….”

  Mary paused and waited for the heavens to collapse. A hush consumed the atmosphere. Rob caught Anthony’s eye across the room and offered him an apologetic shrug. Trip rose from his wheelchair to give Anthony a hug. Duncan and Kathryn examined their fingernails. Whether it was a sign of the times or the effects of the alcohol, the guests politely digested Mary’s announcement and returned to whatever they were chatting about previously.

  The snowman stood intact for a week.

  * * *

  PART IX

  * * *

  Chapter 67

  Mary and Ward’s Nighttime Tale

  In late summer and on into autumn, still using the twin beds out on the sleeping porch, Mary and Ward woke early to birdsong. Accompanied by a chirring Greek chorus of cicadas, they declaimed a brand-new episode:

  Lubya did not know about the secret contents of the steamer trunk, or the efforts to retrieve it, but she did know that the diplomat had taken Peter out of school and was paying him an enormous sum to build a strange apparatus in the upstairs laboratory on the estate. Peter would not talk about it, other than to say that when it was all over he would be rich enough to send Lubya and Mikel on a honeymoon trip to America.

  They were now officially engaged. Mikel and Lubya announced their engagement at the Happy Owl. Free rounds at the bar brought many toasts and plans for a village wedding dance. Mikel tried to caution Peter that whatever sum the diplomat promised him was money he did not possess. As a soon-to-be stepfather, Mikel offered to go hiking and camping with Peter and teach him to hunt.