Frolic of His Own

by William Gaddis

  —I went for a ride Christina. I wanted to go for a ride. Do you know what those men are doing in the trees out at the end of our drive?

  —Men in the trees, will you pull that quilt up over his knees Lily? He’s shivering, of course he feels perfectly ghastly, he probably doesn’t remember a thing.

  —Oh yes, yes, every second of it it was glorious! He came forward splashing coffee on the quilt —when Hooker brought up those six batteries of cannon? His officers riding out front with their sabres flashing setting up the firing line it was stunning, all the guns opening up at once raking the cornfield, those bayonets gleaming in the smoke and blood spattered all over the green corn they lost half their force, the Confederates lost half their force, it was glorious.

  —While we’re losing our minds here worrying about you in jail or a ditch somewhere catching pneumonia, for God’s sake will you sit still and drink your coffee? Where are you going! Lily can get it for you.

  —Going where Lily can’t go for me. Hooker took over two thousand casualties Harry, two hours they never stopped for a second, twenty five hundred casualties in that bloody cornfield they never stopped for a second.

  —My God look at him, a gallon of wine it still hasn’t worn off if he drove like he’s walking we’re lucky he’s alive, why he got up and put on that blue suit and a necktie to go for a ride he looks like he lost ten pounds overnight, he’s white as a sheet.

  —Because he’s shaved, Christina. It’s because he’s shaved.

  —Well no wonder he looks odd, I mean thank God he got rid of that asinine excuse for a beard, he looks like a schoolboy on his way to a funeral, that’s what they’re for aren’t they? isn’t that what funerals are for? her voice fallen abruptly to a tone as vague as the steps taking her aimlessly toward the windows, —all the hurt and anger and making up for these miserable notions of guilt, isn’t that what funerals are for? to simply roll up all these confused feelings in a ball and, and simply fill the gaping hole that Father’s left in our lives? I mean no wonder he looks numb babbling about blood on the corn and men in the trees, depriving him of that, it’s like a last parting slap in the face from Father denying him that.

  —Going too far Christina, probably never occurred to the old man the way he felt about these sentimental tributes and all your mealymouthed claptrap about the resurrection and the life just trying to spare everybody the embarrass . . .

  —Harry he never spared anyone a thing in his life! He was the most, one of the most selfish men who ever lived, the law was the only thing that was alive for him people were just its pawns look at us! Look at poor Oscar and his whole, going back to that whole sad business about his mother it was simply coldblooded, Father was always coldblooded right to the end ordering up this cremation without even a fare-thee-well? a shiver shawling her own shoulders there gazing out over the frozen silence of the pond that would suffice, if he had had to perish twice, that poem about fire and ice whose was it, Yeats? that for destruction ice was great? but he had chosen for the fire, and then some line about desire? or hate?

  —What? what did you say?

  —No nothing, nothing I was, nothing.

  —Clean getaway Christina, nothing that strange about it is there? Strip away the poetry and off to the crematory, time comes I hope you’ll do as much for me.

  —Don’t joke about it! His whole world caving in around him and, Oscar? are you all right?

  —Joke was on him, wasn’t it? He’d paused there in the doorway doing up the front of his trousers, —the last laugh?

  —What are you talking about.

  —Bilk, that Neanderthal Senator Bilk, Father beat him to the wire on that impeachment didn’t he? Stabbed him in the back with a cat’s shinbone, you remember that Harry?

  —Oscar just sit down, have you eaten anything?

  —Have your choice of fathers, we just saw Holmes shot through the neck when the Twentieth Massachusetts was hit on three sides didn’t we? so that smug autocrat could preen himself at the breakfast table at his son’s expense, you’ve read that haven’t you Harry? My Hunt after ‘The Captain’? Self serving piece of sentimental humanism at his son’s expense published in the Atlantic before the blood was dry on those piles of amputated limbs he loved it, Doctor Oliver Wendell Holmes he loved every minute of it.

  —Well we’ve simply got to eat something, where’s Lily.

  —Got to get started Christina, I’ll eat something later when I, I thought you’d come in with me.

  —Obviously I can’t can I? I mean this law clerk coming up here with God knows what for us to sign I hardly know what I’m doing.

  —Don’t have to rush it do you? Get Bill Peyton out of the way we can clear up any questions but it all looks simple enough, death and taxes, same old things people spend their lifetimes trying to outsmart, this place goes to you and Oscar with whatever’s in the estate unless he’s made some eccentric bequests somewhere, client we had left everything to fight against circumcision but . . .

  —Harry? do you know how it ended?

  —Probably a good bank balance somewhere Oscar, Federal judge’s salary over a hundred thousand a year and expenses nothing but whisky and cigarettes? He was up pulling on his jacket, —hell of an irony isn’t it? Federal judge at a hundred thousand with this stream of hotshot lawyers pulling down half a million, a million shouting at him showing off to the client sitting there guilty as hell he collects win or lose?

  —No, no I couldn’t figure that out. All the crying and moaning and those bodies piled up in the Bloody Lane with that sort of spectre standing there ankle deep in pools of blood looking down on the two dead substitutes? Because that was the whole point wasn’t it, because Grandfather never appeared on the battlefield that was the point, it was Bagby who stumbled on their corpses at the end of act two but then what happened. I got confused, how did they end it? Did John Israel show up at Quantness right at the end? because I got confused and . . .

  —Oh, got to confess Oscar I dozed off, pretty strenuous day for all of us and I . . .

  —The whole scene with Kane in prison that’s right out of the Crito in my last act I’ll get it, you can read it I’ll get it.

  —Can’t right now, I’ve got to get started. Where’s Christina.

  —But, all right, you don’t have to. That’s all right Harry you don’t have to, it doesn’t really matter does it? He came down unsteadily on the sofa —I just thought, you’re not really missing anything but, no that’s all right.

  —Not what I meant Oscar, look.

  —No no it’s all right, it doesn’t really matter does it, just a lot of, it’s all those ideas I had that got in the way it’s all sort of stiff and old fashioned, characters making speeches and, those ideas that just got in the way that’s what happened, it doesn’t matter.

  —Look, I don’t want to read it till I can give it my full attention that’s what I mean, few things I’ve got to clear up so we can take time to sit down and do it right, you follow me?

  —Because I just thought maybe I, I thought with no funeral service or stone or anything maybe I could still try to . . .

  —Far as that goes nothing to prevent you from putting up a stone or a monument for him is there? Put it right out here on your grounds overlooking the pond if you want to? Make a lot more sense than lined up with a lot of crosses and stone angels, far as that goes you can always arrange a memorial service any kind you want to, these secular times that’s what most civilized people do anyhow isn’t it?

  —But a fifth of the net, you probably couldn’t mount much of a production on a fifth of the net could you, when you don’t even know how much it will amount to?

  —Tried to explain that to you Oscar, what that in lieu of phrase is in there for, keeps things halfway fair so the judge has the discretion to make an award in lieu of damages when their creative accounting comes up with a fifth of nothing but I don’t get the connection between the . . .

  —It’s all right Harry no, it’s all righ
t I just thought maybe, kind of a memorial service because he wouldn’t see it, he wouldn’t be there to see it done the way I always hoped he would but I thought maybe it could be kind of a way to make things up to him for . . .

  —Oscar can’t you see! coming down suddenly almost a blow on the shoulder hunched there before him —you’ve done it? He’d read it hadn’t he? stood by you didn’t he? He came through for you with that brief he came up with for your appeal? did what he had to do and you’ve done what you had to do, you plan to carry around this load of guilt on your head for the rest of your life? what he tried to free you from while he was alive and now his death has finally done it, you’re liberated! That’s what this is all about, what a father’s death is all about, any father, mine was a, when I was in law school he died when I was in law school yes he, he had a small business making mattresses always in the red, debt and bankruptcy broke his neck putting me through college and law school where people fail and drop out like flies afraid I’d think he’d failed, afraid he’d disappoint me if he couldn’t back me up that was the worst of it because my real fear was disappointing him if I did fail, killing ourselves because we were afraid of disappointing each other, can’t you see?

  —Yes but, but my father was . . .

  —They’re all fathers! Never got to see me graduate even then I felt like somehow I’d let him down, never saw me make partner and I felt like I could never make it up to him till I finally realized I could never be afraid of disappointing him again, only of disappointing myself I’d been freed! Free to win or lose, drop out and fail throw the whole thing over if I think it’s what I should do right now, run for president or hang for murder you’ve been liberated! hands on both shoulders bent over him now almost shaking him —you’re free! All those years of being on trial, of fear of disappointment and betrayal and being judged he’s dead Oscar! The Judge is dead!

  —Harry what, is everything all right?

  —What? He straightened up sharply —oh, fine Christina yes, everything just fine.

  —Well he hardly looks . . .

  —No no, just fine aren’t you Oscar? standing over him there rubbing his hands like some fighter’s trainer scanning the battered hulk after the final round, —he’ll be fine.

  —Well I’ve made you sort of a sandwich for the drive in and Harry, will you do something for me? Will you get to the dentist and do something about this tooth? You were up and down half the night it’s driven me crazy, I mean if you won’t do it for yourself will you do it for me?

  —Try to squeeze it in Christina, first chance I get, say goodbye to Lily where is she, in the kitchen? and he was off down the hall, a look back over his shoulder coming in straight for the cupboard, —a little toothache medicine, don’t mind do you Lily?

  —Sure. You okay? She watched him tip the bottle up a moment longer, that close to him backed up against the sink there, watched him drink it down, clear his throat, looking at her.

  —Got to thank you for everything Lily, you’ve been terrific putting up with all this and, and take care of him, of both of them will you? his arm suddenly around her pressed hard against him, a hand out as though to steady himself reeling with that scent of soap and perspiration beading her forehead where he kissed her, and her upper lip kissing her there, recovering his hand lingering at her breast as though to save its memory as he backed off getting breath —and, and yourself, take care of yourself will you? leaving her flushed, getting her own breath, off up the hall scarcely pausing to embrace those shoulders slumped on the sofa seizing his case and his coat and his wife by a wrist out through the doors clattering behind them for another sharp embrace out there on the steps as though fleeing something too close for comfort without a look back to the bleak wave of a hand in the window, still there when she came back in.

  —My God it’s cold! She stood grinding one hand in the other, sniffing as after some fugitive scent gone before she could grasp it, looking about. —Well. You straightened up in here this morning didn’t you. That was thoughtful.

  —What?

  —And the kitchen. I simply couldn’t have faced it.

  —But, but Christina? he turned looking anxiously past her. —Where’s the dog!

  —Well it’s, I mean my God Oscar it’s been gone for ages.

  —But, where is it.

  —Oh, Lily? Oscar’s asking about the dog, have you seen it?

  —Maybe somebody stole it or, no maybe they just came and . . .

  —Well I think we can all breathe a sigh of relief, I’d better shop for supper before it gets dark, Oscar? do you want to drive? But he’d turned back to the window where a shudder seemed to run through him, framed there against the fading light.—Never mind, Lily? maybe you can turn on his nature program for him and just, and keep him company?

  —It’s Saturday.

  —Well, you can just, she can just fix you some soup while I’m out Oscar try to relax, there’s nothing we can do.

  —All of a sudden, it’s just strange all of a sudden having him gone.

  —Of course it is, it’s strange and difficult for all of us but we’ve simply got to get used to it don’t we? People do after all, I mean it happens to everyone doesn’t it? Sooner or later, I mean it had to happen sooner or later didn’t it? And almost a hundred years after all, I mean . . .

  —I meant Harry. I meant, I just meant having someone to talk to. Wait! Don’t move!

  —My God what is it now.

  —Look! no be quiet, look! down there at the pond’s frozen edge where three deer appeared casually chewing at growth in the dead grasses, their white tails blurting as a fourth emerged behind them all the larger for lofting his antlers alert to movement anywhere, to threat anywhere beyond them in a halt bringing up a foreleg poised disdainfully staring directly at him —look! he gasped again —how, how elegant!

  —Where’s my, Lily? have you seen my beige coat? her heels sharp crossing the room, —I’ll look for some sole if they’re still open, or flounder? and will you put on some potatoes to boil? heels clattering up the hall —I mean I’m quite ready just to go for a drive myself.

  And here behind him, —Oscar? a hesitant hand on his sleeve as that clatter of heels closed on the clatter of those doors up the hall, —you want to come in and lay down? But he stood frozen there as the emptied waste he looked out on, left alone with the remains of the day until it was gone with the burst of lights at the stairs, in the halls, in the kitchen, white wine and white flounder and boiled potatoes on the clatter of white china plates at the kitchen table given over to the clatter of dishes at the sink and to stillness at last spreading the darkness in another dimension, greying with the seepage of dawn, shattered by the ring of the phone.

  —It’s him.

  —God it’s Harry, I knew it!

  —At that telephone out on the highway, no. It’s this law clerk.

  —I don’t believe it! in a flurry of coats nonetheless —no I’ll go, wake Oscar will you? No don’t, don’t it’s not even daylight but some tea when I’m back and turn up the heat, he’ll be frozen. I don’t believe it! but a minute later the roar of the car out there nonetheless, and she was gone.

  —What happened?

  —It’s this law clerk Oscar, she went to get him. You okay? He sat down heavily, pulling the quilt over his knees, sipping tea when she brought it, gaining his feet when she blurted —here they are.

  —Lily? can you help us here? and get him some hot tea he’s frozen, he got a ride in a truck from the airport God knows how he found us, can you help us Oscar? Give him your quilt and wait, drag this big one inside, be careful the string’s breaking. I think he wants to go to the bathroom, will you show him? skewing an old Gladstone bag ahead of her with one foot —and take this, and will someone turn up the heat? when he’d returned buttoning up the gap of his trousers to settle in an armchair here they were in their various stages of hasty undress like some depraved version of Christmas morning, dawn breaking through the frosted panes and the cr
eak of the heat coming up arrayed round this frayed apparition of Christmas past or, worse, one yet to come, grounded in a beaver collared overcoat from ranging across the starry heavens where he’d got himself locked in the airborne toilet missing the complimentary victualing being supplanted now in a rash of tea and crusts where he bent forward to open the yellowed pebblegrained old Gladstone, their faces those of aging children in that instant where vestiges of eager anticipation disappeared as he pulled out a bottle sheathed in a much darned green sock to meliorate the cup that cheers but not inebriates, spilling a carpet slipper and sending a coffee can rolling across the floor toward the unadorned fireplace. He needn’t have brought it, —I mean we’ve plenty of coffee, would you rather have coffee? Coffee? no, this was the ashes he told her, they’d tried to palm off a hundred dollar urn on him that would have made the Judge mad as hell, the whole cremation arranged and paid in full twenty years ago signed sealed and delivered —but my God! she thrust it at arm’s length —I mean what shall we do with it? laying the can up on the mantle. Well, you couldn’t do better than human ash for making fine dishware, that fancy English bone china they fire and powder up animal bones but he knew a man that had them to make a chop plate with his wife’s ashes and every time he sat down and said grace before dinner he’d —Oscar, can’t you do something? I mean, I mean we can put him in the library, will you take his things? and gesturing at the mantle —and that, for God’s sake will you take that in there too? waking the mists of memory to reveal that somewhere, China or someplace like that, it was said when a great man dies it was like a whole library burning down, he’d burned all the Judge’s papers first thing like he’d been instructed to do but just to think of all kinds of things heaped up there for almost a century that never even got put down on paper lost and gone forever right up there in that coffee can, now wouldn’t a nice fire in the fireplace cheer things up? —Please! Can’t we stop talking about fire before he burns down the whole, Lily when you’ve dressed will you help me in the kitchen while I go up and get something on? And there some minutes later over a glutinous mass churning on the stove —what in God’s name is that.