Sam Lipsyte - The Ask

"You're not all fool."

"Thanks for that."

Don sat back down at his plate, poked at some stray lettuce with his fork.

"I knew for a long time," he said.

"Pardon?"

"She had pictures of him in her drawer. I look like her but there were some things, my nose, my chin, I guess. She'd stare at me funny, like I was somebody else. Or also somebody else. I didn't know the name Purdy Stuart or anything. Just that I had to be related somehow to the guy in the pictures. To me he looked like a wuss. She told me my father had been a man she met in a bar. One time she said he'd moved away to Alaska. Another time she said he'd died. Maybe she had more bullshit ready if I ever said I wanted to find the man's relatives or something. But I didn't. What the hell for? My mother and me, and her sister, and my grandma, I already had a family. Sad fucked-up women, all of them. Dented cans, they call women like that. But I loved them. Besides, what the fuck was I? The most dented of all. But my mother, she was something, on a good day. Smartest person I ever knew. Worked her shifts and read her books. I wish more rubbed off on me. But it doesn't rub off. I always thought there was some big thing she was going to do. Had her acceptance letter from the fancy college. No diploma, just the letter, because she never finished. Hung it on the wall of every shithole we lived in. But she just went through her days. Pretty down a lot, but sometimes just, like, shining. And there were a few years there, at the end of high school, right before I signed up, when she was shining for a week at a time. It would build up for days, her happy, playing her CDs and even baking cookies and shit, and then she'd be off to visit some friends, or that's what she'd tell me, she was visiting friends for the night. She always left me a lot of food. She was only gone a night but the fridge would be stocked. Then she'd come home, be her depressed self again."

I heard a crash from the living room.

"Bernie! You okay?"

"Yeah, Daddy! I'm watching my show!"

"Sorry," I said.

"You're a good daddy," said Don.

"According to the manuals, I'm screwing up in more ways than I can count."

"You're a good daddy."

"I'm sorry. Please go on."

"I've said enough."

"I want to hear this," I said.

"Once I saw them. I was cruising around on a Saturday night and my friend called and he was at a party a few towns away and I took a shortcut I'd never done before, passed this motel right outside Pangburn Falls. Saw her car in the parking lot. I knew it was hers from her fucking lame-ass liberal bumper stickers. Always used to embarrass me. Save the abortionist polar bears and shit. Anyway, I pulled in and snuck up to the window. They were on a bed, it was still made, and they were dressed, drinking whiskey. I saw the bottle on the bureau. It was the guy from the pictures. A lot older, but him. They were just laughing. Easy. Reaching out for a gentle squeeze now and then. I couldn't hear what they were talking about. They both looked really thrilled to be there together in that shit room. I got out of there. Took some pictures and got the hell out of there."

"You took pictures?"

"With my cell phone."

"You have them?"

"She came home the next morning, seemed sadder than ever. That was the last time she went out for the night, at least while I was around. I joined up and deployed, eventually. You know, my convoy got lit up the day she had her car crash. Nothing happened to me that time, but still, kind of weird, right? Lot of rain up here, they said. She hydroplaned. Hit a tree not so far from that motel. Crash put her in a coma. They gave me leave to see her. It was a nice room, a decent place. They said it was taken care of. I thought she had some insurance from her last job. I didn't even go through her papers before I flew back. Then I get a message she's dead. Died in transit, from the nice place to a state place where they had to take her. Why'd they move her? I wanted to know. But there was nobody to ask. By the time I got home for good, after all that time recovering and rehabbing and learning how to not really get around on the girls, nobody could answer my questions. But I went through her stuff. Didn't find anything. Then the hospital had some papers they sent over. That's how I found out. Purdy had been paying for the nice place. But after a while he stopped. So they had to move her. I guess they didn't really know how to do it right. It's hard to move hurt people. I've seen plenty of that. A lot of people die on the way . Look, probably she wasn't coming out of that coma. Probably I would have had them pull the plug. But still."

Don leaned back in his chair, kneaded his legs.

"My fucking humps."

"I have aspirin."

"Aspirin. No. Never touch the stuff. They're scared of me. Purdy and Moss and them. Think I'm a psycho."

"Maybe."

"I don't mind."

"I'm not sure that's all of it."

"Purdy doesn't know a thing about the world I come from. The world his fucking son comes from."

"This is really about his wife."

"Melinda? She's okay. Just another rich bitch. Maybe I should take them all out. I've got PTSD. Got papers on it. Maybe I could do that. Live rent-free in a psych ward for the rest of my life."

"Don't do that."

"No?"

"Would Nathalie want that?"

"Would she want me to take the money?"

"I don't know."

"No, you don't. You don't know at all. Tell them I'll sleep on it. Which means I'll get high on it. Maybe the dragon will whisper the answer to me."

"I'm here, Don."

"That's your problem," he said, winced out of his chair. I followed him into the living room. Bernie clutched a pillow. A pterodactyl soared above some coastal cliffs.

"Nice to meet you, Bernie."

"Nice," said Bernie.

"Look at the man, Bernie," I said. "Say goodbye."

"Goodbye."

"The asteroid didn't fall on their heads," said Don.

Bernie stared up at Don.

"What about the asteroid?" he said.

"It didn't kill the dinosaurs," Don said. "It just killed everything else. The plants. The sunlight. It was cold and dark and there was nothing to eat. The dinosaurs got so sad, they died."

"In Connecticut?" said Bernie.

"Especially in Connecticut," said Don, heaved himself out the door.

Our world at an end, we watched TV. We'd endured another silent meal, though not truly silent. We had to talk to Bernie, answer his questions about the recent visitor, or I had to, kept things vague, tried to steer the subject back to asteroids, comets, galactic disturbance. Maura did not speak, cut her lemon chicken into rectilinear bites.

"Daddy," said Bernie. "Are you going to see Aiden's mommy again?"

Maura raised an eyebrow, stacked her tiny bricks of meat.

"That was a playdate, Bernie," I said.

"At a diner."

"Right," I said. "So if you want to play with Aiden again we can do that, no problem."

"Okay," said Bernie.

"Eat some more broccoli," I said.

Maura tapped her fork. You weren't supposed to push food, even broccoli. It would make them hate broccoli, you.

"Or don't," I added. "Eat what you like. Those fish nuggets look good."

"They look a little fancy," said Bernie.

This was the kind of adorable that once had Maura and I grinning crazily at each other, but my wife stood now and walked to the sink, scraped her plate.

"Daddy's going to tell you a story and tuck you in, sweetie," she said.

Bernie fell asleep before the evil. The children picked their berries. The trolls slumbered in their caves.

The spires of the castle of the vintage cardigan king pierced the mist.

Maura and I took our places in the living room, turned on the television, moved through the stations of the stations. We still did not own the devices that let you skip the commercials. Would we always be part of the slow television movement? Would we always be a we?