Sam Lipsyte - The Ask

"Please put that wrapper down, Bernie. It's garbage."

"When I'm five can I have the wrapper?"

"Yes, Bernie."

"Are we going home now? Let's say goodbye to Aiden."

"He's still here?"

"He's inside with Nick. Nick is cleaning his underpants."

"Nick's here?"

"His brother died. He fell off a roof in Connecticut. Will I ever die in Connecticut?"

"Bernie. We need to go now."

My boy looked up and smiled.

"But wait right here for a second," I said, took the broken side stairs, pushed into the dim kitchen. Nick squatted near the sink with a tissue in his hand. Aiden stood with his pants at his ankles.

"Just don't see how you got it on your johnson, little man," Nick said. "Well, hello, there."

"Everything okay in here?" I said.

"What does it look like?"

I didn't answer, glanced around the cramped room, the pots in teetering stacks, the econo-sized boxes of crackers and cookies and dried noodles, the bank calendars and rubber band balls and tins of allspice. Aiden's stink mingled with the scent of lentils on the stove.

"It looks like you are holding down the fort," I said.

"This is what I'm doing."

"I'm sorry about your brother."

"He got what he wanted."

"It's a tough thing."

"They found the remains of his last meal. Supermarket olive loaf."

"I've got to go now," I said.

"Look," said Nick, dabbed Aiden's testicles. "We don't need static. Life is short. The world is a bully. You want in on my show, just tell me. The offer still stands."

"Thanks for saying that," I said.

We took the back alley way to our house.

"Who's that?" said Bernie.

Don sat on our stoop, a newspaper in his lap.

"That's a friend of Daddy's. When we get inside I'll need to talk to him. You can watch a show."

"But I want to play with you, Daddy. I want to play guys."

"We'll play guys," I said. "We'll always play guys. But I need to talk to this man now."

"His legs are really skinny and there's a shiny part."

"They're made of metal."

It seemed a little chilly for cargo shorts, but then again, what did Don's girls know about the weather?

"Can I get some legs like that?" said Bernie.

We neared the stoop and Don waved. I laid my hand on my son's shaggy head. He was tall enough for that now. I wondered if this gesture, some compound of fond feeling and flight readiness, was hardwired by nature, or maybe television. It felt natural. But so did television.

"Boys!"

Don was doing sunny today.

"Hope you like smoked turkey," I said.

"Sandwiches?" said Don.

"Wraps."

I fixed lunch in the kitchen. Bernie and Don watched a DVD about dinosaurs. I'd seen it many times. The dinosaurs made cooing sounds and laid eggs by rivers and munched the leaves of primordial trees. The movie was for kids, so they never tore open each other's chests. They just growled, pawed the moist earth, marched off into the rainbow ooze.

"Those dudes are armored up, boy," I heard Don say. "Could have used some of those dinosaur hides in Iraq."

"I like this show," said Bernie, "but they don't have the asteroid."

"What asteroid?" said Don.

"Asteroid is what extincted them. It fell on their heads. Their raw eyeballs popped out."

"That's not what happened," said Don.

"What happened?" said Bernie.

"Wheels within wheels, kid. You a truther?"

"What's a truther?"

"You got it in you, I can tell."

"Where in me?"

"Where it counts."

"I can count to ten."

"Can you count to nine eleven?"

"That's a big number."

"It's small potatoes."

"How come you have metal legs?"

"My girls?"

"They're girls?"

"To me they are."

"Why?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

"I don't know a lot of stuff."

Don laughed.

"There was a guy who wrote a story," he said. "It was in a book my mother used to read. A story about a goose."

"I have Mother Goose."

"This is different. Anyway, one time, I was about ten, eleven, my mother was reading this story, and smiling, and she didn't smile a lot, so I noticed it right off. I asked her what she was smiling about. Then she read me the part of the story where the guy is describing this big tall army officer. I can't remember his name. I wish I could remember his name. I don't even have the book anymore. But this officer, he was a real mean guy with these high leather boots. Like up to the thighs. And the guy who wrote the story, he said the officer's legs were like girls coming out of those boots. It seemed weird to say that, wrong. But also right. And it made my mother happy for moment. It stayed with me. So, when. . well, I call these my girls. And it makes me happy."

"How come you have girls and no legs?"

"Legs got blown off."

"Did it hurt?"

"Hasn't stopped."

"Was it the asteroid that did it?"

"Don," I said, "come on in the kitchen."

I'd laid out a plate of turkey wraps, a bowl of chips, a small dish of cornichons.

"Nice spread."

"Have a seat."

"Thanks. Getting a little sick of the dal and beans. This is nice bland American food."

"Dig in."

We ate without talking, like sad machines, our arms jutting out at robotic intervals for vegetable chips and pulls from our celery sodas. We ate quickly and then just sat.

"Coffee?" I said.

"Why not?"

I'd already brewed it, poured him a cup. Don studied the mug. Maura had brought it home from work, swag from the great swirl of need.

"World's Best Alcoholic Abusive Dad," said Don. "Is that ironic?"

"I guess," I said.

"See, I don't get that kind of irony."

"Maybe it's just glib," I said.

"I defer to your judgment," said Don. "So, you brought me to your lovely home for what reason?"

He rose from his chair, bounced a little where he stood.

"You can take them off," I said, "your. . things."

Don's eyes went tight.

"I'm real grateful."

"Sarcasm," I said.

"What I was raised on. It's stupid but you can trust it. It's just there to hurt people. Nothing more."

"How's Sasha?"

"You like her? Did you like squeezing her tits?"

"I never did that."

"You think she wouldn't tell me?"

"She lied," I said.

"Doesn't matter," said Don. "Sasha and me, we're done. She went back to Pangburn Falls. Going back to school, she says."

"College?"

"High school."

"High school?"

"She's got a lot of road on her. I'm not even her first army of one."

"Sorry to hear she's gone."

"For the best. I'm not doing so hot, you know."

"No?"

"Not feeling that great."

"Oh."

Don took a sip of coffee. The stomps and shrieks of Tyrannosaurus rex drifted in from the next room.

"I'm not going to the zoo with my daddy, am I?" he said.

He looked almost disappointed.

"No," I said.

"What's the dollar amount?"

I told him the figure Lee Moss had shown me on the cashier's check.

"And I sign a bunch of shit that says I'm never to go here, call there, say this or that to X, Y, and Z. And I stay an orphan. Don't get invited to Vail for the ideas festival."

"How did you know about that?"

I saw a flicker in his face now, another Don, the vengeful one, the sneak, the creep.

"I'm informed. I'm a truther. A Purdy truther."

"What do you want me to tell them?"

"How much do you get?" said Don. "For brokering this crap."

"I get a chance to survive," I said. "It's a bad time. That money you'll get will carry you for years, as long as you don't burn it all in tinfoil."

"How do you know I chase the old dragon?"

"Your eyes are pinned. I figure you think snorting is for amateurs, and you are wearing short sleeves. You sure as shit aren't shooting between your toes."