Since you have not as yet responded to my suggestion.
Matter of paring down to a supportable minimum.
Throw a little shit into the game.
Always darkest just before the dawn.
Take it any way you like it.
Stop being petty, stop trying to cut each other’s throat.
If I pop one will you pop one?
I mean when you’re feeling bad you’re glad to be alive.
What is the motivation?
I can’t remember.
At other times unconscious in the street.
How did that make you feel?
Intolerably angry for short periods.
Feeling is what’s important.
You can lose confidence in your own experiences.
Various circumstances requiring my attention.
Something trembling in the balance.
Where can a body get a hit around here?
It’s all been carefully considered.
Have you tried any of the others?
I just see whether they’re friendly or unfriendly.
A week later she applied for a post in Warsaw.
As a wet nurse.
Yes, as a wet nurse. She was accepted.
They like to suck.
They do like to suck.
Worn out your welcome.
Getting very fond of you and your hands.
That’s my business.
He’s not bad-looking.
It’s no mystery.
Why hasn’t anyone had the simple decency?
It’s perfectly obvious.
Probably we should have spoken up before this.
That’s one way of looking at it.
Unable to take him seriously at any level.
Where can a body get a spritz around here?
That’s my business.
If I pull this little white string, will you explode?
That’s my business.
Then he sobs, and faints.
Does it hurt?
I can make it hot for you.
Learning to put the world together.
The white vase holding the marigolds had fallen to the floor.
The bathtub proved impossible to smash although I tried.
God knows you tried.
God knows I tried.
Dark hair across the pillow.
I can do anything when it’s not important.
Very busy making the arrangements.
Will it hurt?
Large piece of white plaster fell off the wall then.
What were we eating?
Cold rolled veal.
Did we have a good time?
Scrumptious.
Will it rain again again?
Something is wrong.
You must have studied English.
The waiter was listening.
Like trying to digest a saddle.
Wake up one dark night with a kiss in your eye.
That was in Barcelona. Rounded up as a work-shy element.
Much cry and little wool.
Ready again to send his Son to die for us.
Like sending a hired substitute to the war.
I rehearsed the argument with him.
Until the scaring bell rang.
What?
Until the scaring bell rang.
What?
Spiritual aridity which was quite hard to reconcile with his surface gaiety.
In a symbiotic hug resembling that which obtains between pigeons and old ladies with bread crumbs.
Did you find the scene disgusting?
I’m not into disgust.
Thought I heard a dog barking.
Reels of 16-mm. film each with a photograph on the box suggesting the particular motif or specialty.
Until the scaring bell rang.
What?
Remembering, leaving, returning, staying.
Two is one too many.
Slept with a man once it was a very pleasant experience.
Where the buffalo roam.
In a bed.
Time to go.
No it’s not.
Hair on it.
No it hasn’t.
Have you tried any of the others?
Haven’t made up my mind.
Dog-Whipping Day. Eighteenth of October.
I tried to tell you but you wouldn’t listen.
What?
Simple, honest, generous feelings.
That’s one way of looking at it.
Self-respect.
Yes I’ve had self-respect.
Yes I’ve had self-respect too it’s a very good thing self-respect.
Yes I’ve had self-respect for a very long time.
Yes I’ve had it for a very long time too.
Yes I can take it or leave it.
Yes once you’ve had it for a very long time it doesn’t make much difference any more.
You questioning my value system?
Not me.
You questioning what I swear by?
Not me I don’t give a rat’s ass.
A little forest or a night of dancing.
You can bank on it.
Perhaps it’s medical.
Sometimes he smells medical.
Nobody ever died of it.
I’ve heard that.
Elegant way of putting chairs here and there.
A lady always does.
Any artist will do.
Chewing red candy hearts.
And the myriad flower stalls with their bursting … sun-dapple … of the rainbow … good God.
I read about it. In Die Welt.
9
I wouldn’t mind a drink right now, said the Dead Father. Some little something.
I could stand a drink, said Julie.
Remember the last time you had a drink, Thomas said to her.
Oh boy, she said. Yep. Sure do.
Cobwebs in my throat, said Emma.
The men look like they need a drink, said the Dead Father, shading his eyes with one hand and peering up the road.
Well, God damn it, I guess we’d better have a drink, then, said Thomas.
He signaled the men to halt. The cable loose in the road.
Julie broke out the whiskey.
What is it today? asked the Dead Father.
Aquavit with a beer chaser, she said.
Wow, said Emma, tasting her glass. Wow wow wow wow.
Yes, Julie said. It’s giggles in the sphinxeries.
Quite good, said Thomas, the beer helps.
I like this drink, Emma said, this is good stuff, can I have two more?
One more, said Thomas, we have many a league to cover yet this day.
You are being stuffy. I find that quite extraordinary. You of all people.
What does that mean? Thomas asked. Me of all people?
Why are you always telling everybody what to do?
I like telling everybody what to do, Thomas said. It is a great pleasure, being boss. One of the greatest. Wouldn’t you agree? he said to the Dead Father.
It is one of the best pleasures, the Dead Father said. No doubt about it. It is bang-up, but mostly we don’t let people know. Mostly we downplay the pleasure. Mostly we stress the anguish. We keep the pleasure to ourselves, in our hearts. Occasionally we may show a bit of it to someone—lift a corner of the veil, as it were. But we only do that in order to certify the pleasure to ourselves. Full disclosure is almost unheard of. Thomas is being criminally frank, in my opinion.
Emma threw down a guzzle of beer, then a guzzle of aquavit.
Okay Fat Daddy, she said, show me how to dance.
What? said the Dead Father.
Emma wearing blue velvet pants burnished to silver where she sits.
Do you know the Hucklebuck?
I do not.
Emma begins to demonstrate. Parts of Emma hucklebuckling in various directions.
Amazing, said the Dead Father. I remember.
Ju
lie and Thomas watching.
It is obvious that but for a twist of fate I would be his and not yours, Julie said. Had I lived within his domains at a time when he was administering them with full heaviness of hand—
He was a goat, Thomas said, that’s well known.
Goatish still. Cops a feel whenever he can.
I’ve noticed.
Prefers the bum, she said, a great grab he’s got there.
I’ve observed.
And in terms of verbal rather than physical attentions, he has proposed variously a shake of the sheets, a dive in the dark, a leap up the ladder, and a goose-and-duck.
And you replied?
With harrowing sweetness, as usual. Still he has something.
Oh yes, Thomas said, he has something. I would not dream of denying it.
Authority. Fragile, yet present. He is like a bubble you do not wish to burst.
But remember there was a time when he was slicing people’s ears off with a wood chisel. Two-inch blade. And remember there was a time when his voice, his plain unamplified voice, could turn your head inside out.
Hunkwash, she said, you are perpetuating myths.
The hell I am, Thomas said. It happened.
You don’t appear to me to be overly hurt or damaged.
There are some times when you are not too bright, said Thomas.
Times when I am not too what?
Bright, said Thomas, there are some times when you are not too bright.
Well fuck you, she said.
Well fuck you, Thomas said, there are some times when I forget and tell the truth.
Sloppy, sloppy, she said. Self-pity monstrously unattractive.
Oh well damn well yes. I’m sorry. But I am taking action, am I not? I could as well have sat at home, worn the cap-and-bells and bought lottery tickets hoping for the twist-of-fate that would change my life.
Me, she said. Me, me.
There is that.
You and I, she said, reaching into her knapsack for a bit of bhang. Have a chew?
Not now, thanks.
You and I, she said, the two of us.
Thomas began counting on his fingers.
Yes, he said.
And Emma, she said. I’ve seen you looking at her.
I look at everything, Thomas said. Everything that is in front of me. Emma is in front of me. Therefore I look at Emma.
And she at you, Julie said, I’ve seen some gazes.
She’s not bad-looking, Thomas said.
But we, you and I, care for each other, Julie said. It is a fact.
A temporary fact, said Thomas.
Temporary!
Expectoration of bhang juice (emphatic).
My God, I’m simply telling the truth, said Thomas.
Viper, she said.
I know no better soul, he said, and the body is also attractive.
Measuring, are you? A measuring man.
Julie cramming more hemp into her mouth.
You forget the decay of time, Thomas said, I never forget it.
I don’t like it.
Who likes it?
I put out of mind that which is injurious to mind. You revel in it.
I do not revel in it.
The two of us, she said, damn it, can’t you get this simple idea into your head? The two of us against the is.
Temporarily, said Thomas.
Oh you are a viper.
A student of decay, is all.
Julie began to unbutton her shirt.
Yes, that’s a way, said Thomas. Fifteen minutes or in the best case, thirty-five.
Come crawl behind a bush with me.
With all my heart, said Thomas, but I cannot abandon what I know. One doesn’t find an absolute every day.
You are an apprentice fool, she said, not even a full fool, nevertheless I will give you a little taste, because I like you. You are a lucky dog.
Thomas spoke a long paragraph to the effect that this was true.
Julie pulling at Thomas’s sleeve.
Thomas and Julie underneath the bush. Thomas holding Julie’s feet in his hands.
Wash feet, he said.
Yes now that you mention it, she said.
I will wash them for you if you wish.
Not necessary. I know the drill.
Washcloth, he said. That’s the little blue square one.
Right.
Rough-textured.
I’ve seen it.
Usually damp.
I remember.
I could just put some bags on them I suppose, heavy canvas bags with locks like the Mail Department uses.
Oh misery me.
The backs of the knees are on the other hand positively lustrous.
Not too bad are they?
Nine lines and a freckle, all immaculate. Nothing to be desired. The height of.
Could an Emma do as well?
I don’t know, said Thomas. I’ll have to think about it.
Julie made a circle of thumb and forefinger and popped him smartly on the ball.
Anguish of Thomas.
It will pass, she said, dearly beloved, it is only temporary.
10
Edmund talking to Emma. Beam of Emma. Washing of socks in the small stream. Discussion of foot care (general). Thomas seated on the ground, back supported by tree, smoking, contemplative. Edmund telling Emma that, all things considered, she is the best. Beam of Emma. Julie and the Dead Father holding hands. Thomas smoking. The men playing whist, quoits, boccie. Terrain features being cut down to feed the fires. All the men wearing dark-blue suits with ties. Edmund wearing dark-blue suit with tie. Thomas wearing dark-blue suit with tie. The Dead Father wearing dark-blue suit with tie. Bending over spits rotating with spitted small animals. Edmund tapped on the cheek with Emma’s fan. God Almighty. Emma tapped on the cheek with Edmund’s thumb. God Almighty. Emma tells Edmund that he doesn’t understand. Thumb not to tap cheeks with, she says. Thumb not gracile but rather stumpy, fat, she says. Index finger better if cheek is to be tapped and fan not available. Edmund fucks everything up, she says. Poor wooer, she says. May consider himself as having status of least-favored-nation, wooing-wise. Crushed Edmund. Edmund falls into flask. Thomas turns head, notices distress of Edmund. Thomas does nothing. Julie looks at Thomas and notices him doing nothing. Julie says to the Dead Father: Sometimes best to do nothing. The Dead Father replies: Maybe mostly. They continue to hold hands and the Dead Father also gropes a bare foot with the hand that is not holding hands. Julie retracts foot. Thomas smokes. Events in the sky. Starfall scattering in the dark part. Clouds moving implacably (left to right) offstage, toward the wings. Thomas smoking. The Dead Father attempting to insert hand (left) between waistband of Julie’s skirt and Julie. Repulsed (warmly). Julie takes the Dead Father’s watch fob and places it in her pocket. The Dead Father smiles. A gift, he says, for you. Thank you, Julie says, thank you thank you. Thank me, says the Dead Father, I am used to it. I do thank you, Julie says, and your shoe buckles are nice too. They are nice, says the Dead Father, that is why I have them there, on my shoes, because they are nice. Both regard the Dead Father’s silver shoe buckles. Thomas smoking. Edmund with most of his mouth around the mouth of the flask. Emma interviewing the men. How high are they? 6′1″, 5′11″, 4′2″, and so forth. For my files, Emma says. Thomas smoking, scratches upper left cheekbone lightly with free fingers of left hand. Alarm arrives from the outpost. Alexander runs to Thomas. Whispers to Thomas. Thomas extinguishes cigar, rises, looks about for his sword. Finds same, buckles on sword belt, tucks orange tight (right) into top of orange boot.
The Wends are here, he said.
They hurried to the spot.
The road blockaded. The path barred. An army deployed across the way and far far up on every piece of high ground available.
Well now, said the chief Wend, aren’t you a pretty sight.
Good day, Thomas said.
Julie lit a cigarette as did Emma.
Well now, the
chief Wend said again, do you intend traveling more along this road?
With your permission.
Would you be hauling that great ugly thing there through the length and breadth of the country of the Wends?
Only the length, said Thomas. Not the breadth.
We don’t want him, the chief Wend said. No thank you.
We hadn’t in mind leaving him, said Thomas. Just passing through.
Is it what I think it is? the Wend asked.
It is the Dead Father.
That’s what I thought. That’s what I thought. About three thousand cubits, I’d estimate.
Thirty-two hundred.
How do you get him around bends in the road?
He is articulated.
No rigor mortis?
None.
Then he is not properly dead.
In a sense.
Has it both ways does he?
In this as in everything.
Is there an odor?
The odor of sanctimony, is all.
Excreta?
Monstrous of course.
Does he molest women?
Not exactly.
What does that mean, “not exactly”?
He tries but I restrain him.
How is that done?
Rap to the forebrain.
Does he converse and issue dicta?
Thomas did not answer.
Well, does he?
Nothing that cannot be enthusiastically ignored.
The Wend chieftain sat down in the middle of the road, cross-legged.
Tarry a bit, he said.
They sat. The nineteen. Emma. Julie. Thomas. The Dead Father.
Then the Wend army sat with a noise like land sliding.
Let me tell you about the Wends, the Wend said. We Wends are not like other people. We Wends are the fathers of ourselves.
You are?
Yes, said the Wend, that which all men have wished to be, from the very beginning, we are.
Amazing, said Thomas, how is that accomplished?
It is accomplished by being a Wend, the leader said. Wends have no wives, they have only mothers. Each Wend impregnates his own mother and thus fathers himself. We are all married to our mothers, in proper legal fashion.
Thomas was counting on his fingers.
You are skeptical, said the chief. That is because you are not a Wend.
The mechanics of the thing elude me, said Thomas.
Take my word for it, said the Wend, it is not more difficult than Christianity. The point is, we are not used to having flaming great fathers about to pick at and badger us. We haven’t the taste for it. In fact, we are violently prejudiced against it. Therefore this huge big carcass of yours is not something we care to have within our country, even briefly. Some of him might rub off.
The Dead Father Page 6