Dave Eggers - Your Fathers, Where Are They? And the Prophets, Do They Live Forever?

— Of course I didn’t. He’s an honorable man. Like me, like Kev. You don’t get the point of all this at all.

— That’s right, Thomas. I don’t.

— So do you remember sending me to Mr. Hansen’s house?

— I know you went there. I don’t remember sending you there. Now Thomas, let me out of this.

— Of course you sent me there.

— All your friends were going. Thomas, please take these handcuffs off.

— All my friends? Hardly. Don Banh went. He’s the only normal kid I remember ever going there, and he went because his mom spoke no English and thought it was the way to get Don better grades. You know Mr. Hansen targeted kids whose parents were absent or incompetent in some way?

— I don’t know where you get this anger.

— You don’t think I have anything to be angry about? Mom, what kind of parent lets their son go to “math overnights”? Doesn’t that seem irresponsible?

— It didn’t seem irresponsible at the time. You begged me to go. You begged me.

— No. No. No. No. No. You came home one day and you’d heard about this “opportunity” to go to Mr. Hansen’s house for enrichment. You thought it would help me, would get him to like me. You remember what you said? You said, “You could use a friend on the faculty at your school.”

— I didn’t say that.

— Then how the hell would I remember it after all these years?

— Your memory has always been given to opportunistic revision.

— You’re such a monster. Just the way you can say things like that. You know the statements like that I have in my head? Opportunistic revision! Jesus, that’s the one talent you have — saying nasty, nasty, unforgettable things.

— If I say I’m sorry will you let me go?

— No.

— Thomas, I’m worried about you. How long have you had the astronaut and the congressman?

— So you believe me.

— Of course I do. That’s what’s so scary.

— Well that’s a start at least. I didn’t think you’d believe I was capable of it.

— I know you are. I knew it when you burned the hospital.

— See, why would you say that? I didn’t burn any hospital.

— Thomas, please.

— Please? Please what? Who said I burned that hospital? I was never accused of that.

— Thomas.

— What?

— It adds up. You’ve kidnapped me. You’re capable of radical acts. Now it all connects.

— I can’t believe you’d make an accusation like that in your position.

— I’m your mother.

— But you’re shackled to a post.

— I’m still your mother and I know things. Children are utterly transparent to their mothers. I knew every time you did something. When the playground down the street was graffitied, I knew it was you. Your handwriting was obvious.

— See, you lie. If you’d thought that was me, you would have said something.

— I wasn’t in the best of shape those years.

— But you are now?

— You know I’m better.

— I don’t know that. You’re never better. You know how many times I wanted to do something like this with you, get you and lock you somewhere so you couldn’t do anything stupid? So you couldn’t mix meds and drive around, running into telephone poles? I dreamed of it since I was twelve. Just to have you locked up till you were clean.

— Well, I’m glad you didn’t. You would have been locked up yourself. As you will be when this is all over.

— Don’t threaten me.

— I’m not threatening, Thomas. I’m just stating the obvious. This one goes beyond any of the other petty crimes. This one means you’ll never be outside again. How many people did you take altogether?

— Including you, four so far. And I have one or two left.

— You’ll get twenty years for each crime. I won’t visit you in prison. I can’t handle it.

— I’m not going to prison.

— Don’t you dare kill yourself.

— That’s not what I mean. I’ll be gone.

— Thomas, you won’t survive wherever you plan to go. You don’t stand a chance.

— I don’t stand a chance? You’re telling me this? You can’t tell me about survival. I barely survived you .

— You did fine. You’re tall, you’re healthy.

— I’m tall? I’m healthy? That’s your defense? You did a good job with me because I’m tall and don’t have leprosy? You are phenomenal.

— Thomas. My point is that you turned out all right. Outside of this and the hospital, you’ve been fine. You’re functional.

— I’m functional? That was your goal, to raise a son who was functional ? A tall and functional son? Your ambition is incredible. Do you remember what you did with our family photos?

— Excuse me?

— The family albums. Do you remember that?

— Of course I do. You bring it up every few years.

— I’ve brought it up once, and you were probably high when I last did. One of your boyfriends, whose name was actually Jimmy, stole them when he cleaned out our house. Do you remember this?

— Of course I remember.

— I have no idea why he needed to clean out the whole house. He took everything. He took my bed, my stuff, my clothes. He took my backpack. He took my homework.

— Well, first of all, he didn’t do it himself. He hired someone, Thomas, and they didn’t know what to take or not to take.

— You know this? You know he hired someone?

— Yes. He told me.

— He told you afterward that he hired someone?

— Yes. I called him because I knew it was him, and I asked him why the hell he had to take everything from that house, instead of just the TV and the stereo.

— I can’t believe this. You spoke to him afterward?

— I was trying to get our belongings back.

— Why the hell would he have taken that stuff in the first place?

— We owed him money. I’ve told you that.

— We owed him money? I was thirteen.

— You were old enough to contribute if you’d wanted to.

— Holy shit. Holy shit.

— Stop jumping around. You look like an idiot.

— You’re the one chained to a post. You look like an idiot.

— Please free me, Thomas. I’m sixty-two. You have a sixty-two-year-old woman chained up. Are you proud of that?

— And never insult me again. You get that? Never again. You’ve called me an idiot a thousand times and that was the last.

— You’re about to hit me.

— No. Even touching you would make me sick. You owed money to someone named Jimmy. You sold our belongings to pay him back. You sold my belongings. And now you say it was my fault.

— I didn’t say that. I am not saying that at all. His taking our belongings was not your fault. And when I came home and saw he’d done that, I called him immediately and told him it was out of line.

— Out of line. Holy God.

— He hadn’t done it himself. He hired some men.

— This is so much sicker than I ever would have thought. How much did you owe him?

— Three months’ rent.

— And that was what? A thousand dollars?

— Twelve hundred.

— And you had no one to borrow it from. No way to work for it. Were you employed at the time?

— I was on disability. You know I had my injury.

— Your injury. Your injury, holy shit.

— You want to look at my arm? It’s still healed wrong.

— And I should have contributed to the household income.

— I didn’t say that. All I’m saying is that some young men do work. In many parts of the world, you would have been considered the man of the house and expected to contribute.

— You are so great. One in a billion. You know, the reason I was bringing up all this was to note that in all my life I’ve seen no more than ten pictures of my childhood, but you’re making it all so much more fascinating. I give you a chance to explain one thing, and you remind me about a hundred other examples of your insanity. Your crimes multiply every time we talk.