Robert Tanenbaum - Absolute rage

"Why? She's a great kid," said Karp defensively.

"Yes, and your daughter's primary belief, besides the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church, is that she's an ugly sack of shit and a freak. That tends to send the suitors running unless they have the prescience to whack her smartly with a ball-peen hammer."

"What suitors?"

"Any number. Warren Wang for one."

"The pudgy kid?"

"Him. Not that he'd be my first choice to look at over the turkey every Thanksgiving for the next forty years, but he was nuts about her. She wouldn't give him the time of day, and he was too chicken to try the hammer. Speaking of which, I told Rose we'd be there by seven-thirty. Get that box of meat."

When they were settled in the cab of the Dodge, Marlene cranked the engine, but did not immediately put the truck into gear. "I ought to warn you. I'd kind of hoped that we could make this a pleasant evening, for the kids' sake if nothing else, but there are tensions chez Heeney."

"He's a drunk," said Karp.

"Hmm, not really. He's a drinking man, and while I know you think it's the same thing, it's not." She paused to reflect. "Here's an example. This afternoon, we were in their kitchen making potato salad and coleslaw, all of us, chopping stuff, and we were having a good time. There was a little radio playing oldies, and Rose and I were singing along, and Dan and Lucy were making wisecracks. The boys and Lizzie were underfoot, trying to help. It was, you know-jolly. Everyone was getting along, it was real life. The old ladies were sucking on cheap Italian white, just enough to get a little buzz. Because of the radio we didn't hear the car pull up. So they just walked in and it was like a switch went off."

"Who 'they'?"

"Heeney. Red, they call him. And the son Emmett. A clone of Dad. The pair of them look like the guys the IRA sends by when you're getting too cozy with the Brits. It was amazing. I was facing the door when he walked in and he stood there for a second just looking. He had the weirdest expression on his face, like how could a bunch of people be having such a good time if he wasn't there, like it was a betrayal or something. Then Lizzie spotted him and they both mobbed him, Lizzie and Rose. Dan didn't move. Then Red kind of eased away from the females around him and said kind of in an aside, but clear enough, 'My other daughter,' meaning Dan. He has this big mop of curls and Red and the other kid are buzz cuts, like the Marines. So he goes over to him and gives him a hug and grabs him around the neck and yanks his hair. He yells something like 'Get the hedge clippers.' All jolly he-man fun. But Dan was mortified."

"I can't wait to meet this guy," said Karp. "I thought dads yelling about kids' hair went out in the sixties."

"Not apparently in southern West Virginia. Anyway, he sucked all the air out of the room."

"Sounds charming. I'm really looking forward to this now."

"No, he is charming. He's Irish after all. But besides that, the guy manages to combine the worst features of fascism and communism. It's quite a show. You'll see."

She pulled up on a sandy shoulder and honked. With shouts the Heeney men descended on the truck and unloaded. Karp appreciated the accuracy of Marlene's description. Emmett was a big, shambling kid with a football tackle's blocky build. Red Heeney was red in face and bristles, with the shape of a beer keg and a pair of bright blue eyes set to play continuously the message I'm nobody's fool. He clasped Karp's hand in a he-man grip and engaged him in conversation as they hauled stuff down to the beach. It was more of a monologue than a conversation. Heeney complimented Karp on the accomplishments and loveliness of his womenfolk, the excellent qualities of his sons, queried him about his former athletic prowess and his present profession. This was done with a certain amount of self-deprecating humor, but Karp, who was a skilled interrogator himself, understood that the man was laying charm.

Karp had no idea why, but he suspected that charming was instinctive in Heeney. The man was a natural politician. Like most of his type he had also to be the center of attention and the man in charge. He organized the picnic with somewhat more energy than picnics need to be organized, but with such good nature that no one except Daniel was offended. The fire was made, the burgers and hot dogs sizzled thereupon, games were organized and played aggressively, without sparing the feelings of the younger members of the party, whom Heeney encouraged not to be crybabies. Throughout, can after can of beer vanished into the mouths of the three Heeneys. They ate; Red Heeney presided. They all learned a great deal about his opinions, and about the union election he was contesting, the iniquity of the mining companies, the corruption of the administrations of Robbens County, of the state and federal governments, of politicians generally. Karp had to admit that the guy was at least an amusing blowhard. He found it oddly relaxing not to have to say anything. He often had to say a lot at work. Summer's blue dusk descended; some pale stars made their appearance through the humid overcast.

"Well, are you having fun?" Marlene asked Karp as they sat together on their blanket, replete.

"Yeah, it's like watching bears at the zoo. The boys are having a good time."

After supper, Heeney had organized a base-running game on the beach in which everyone had joined at some time, and the twins and all the Heeneys were still mad at it, the Heeneys now playing drunk and with increasing violence. As they watched, Dan Heeney slid into Emmett like Ty Cobb, knocking him over. A scuffle instantly sprang up, some shoving, some language, thrown blows. Red Heeney dived in and threw some blows of his own. Dan Heeney stalked off down the beach, like a ten-year-old, while the actual ten-year-olds watched openmouthed.

"He's not having a good time," observed Karp.

"Yeah, poor kid! Rose has been bending my ear. The sadness of her life: two men she loves and they can't get along."

"Why not? He seems like a nice enough kid."

"Oh, he's a doll. I offered him a job."

"What, shoveling dogshit?"

"You always say that, as if that was the only thing we do. No, I need someone to handle office drudgery and also do some basic training. Billy's up to his ears with all the outside dogs, and I want him to concentrate on the attack work. Lucy is also planning to stay. Needless to say."

"The plot thickens."

"Thicker than you think. I happened to mention the other day that I needed someone, and Rose practically sat on my lap until I agreed that Dan would be just right. They're going back home after the weekend and she doesn't want him there just now."

"Because he doesn't get on with Daddy and the bro?"

"Not exactly. She's terrified and he's her baby. Funny, because she's got Lizzie, but there it is."

"What's she frightened about?"

"Oh, this union business. Threats. Someone shot their dog. And the book in the Heeney family is that little Dan can't quite cope with the real world. That's part of the problem. He's really bright, of course, but school bright, which means that he's more or less stopped thinking that Red Heeney's opinions are the Encyclopedia Britannica. A guy like Red gets a kid like that and he has to project incompetence in worldly things onto him, just to balance things out and keep the kid subordinate. He's got book larnin' but he ain't doing no real man's work. Plus the lefty stuff: he's hanging out with the bourgeois exploiters, he's going to work for the capitalists in some way or another. Although, it's not articulated like that. It's a control thing. Heeney is a decent enough guy, but when he laughs, everyone laughs, and when he cries, everyone cries, or else. Oedipus in West Virginia, the usual."

"It seems kind of old-fashioned, doesn't it? Union violence. Working-stiff dad versus college kid. Like something from the thirties. Or a movie."