William Gaddis - A Folic Of His Own

Damages will go to the original plaintiff, whose scurrilous testimony and profane demeanor throughout the trial leave no doubt that consent to his son's baptism, had he known of it, must have been the last thing in what we may arguably call his mind. The amount of the award will not be diminished by the usual claims for medical and funeral expenses, there having been none for the former and the latter, including the fried chicken and refreshments served for the occasion, were assumed by the defendant's assembled congregation. This leaves only the loss of the boy's clothing, a blue suit, shirt and tie bought at a cost of $18.76 at JC Penney which he insisted upon wearing under his baptismal smock, and the award will be made in that amount plus one dollar for punitive damages.

— Laying up treasures in heaven! did you see that Christina? He wouldn't read my play, no, but that's where he got it, he took it right out of my prologue.

— It's faintly possible he's read the Bible himself Oscar. I mean he's had ninety five years to get through it hasn't he?

— Well he, all right then maybe the Old Testament, the last thing he did was throw God out of his courtroom and you saw what happened, now he's bringing Jesus in at the back door. He doesn't even get through the third book of the New Testament does he? leading this jury by the hand like kindergartners on a field trip so he can point the finger right at him? Master and servant, master and man, he's just trying to stir them up.

— But he already did Oscar, came from the sofa in the flickering light of the silenced screen where a leggy blonde who had found relief from hemorrhoids cycled down a country lane and passed them beaming — when Daddy called last night? and he said they're coming up here without Reverend Bobby Joe because your daddy put him in jail for thirty days for contempt of court for getting up and shouting for the Lord Jesus to come and…

— Well my God Lily Father would give Jesus thirty days if he could, are you watching that thing? If you're not turn it off, now what is this mess.

— No wait, those are plants for my fish tank.

— Then take them in and plant them, now what about this heap…

— First I have to fix the light in it and the aerator and…

— I said what are you going to do with this heap of mail, look at it. Everybody on earth must have read about your great award.

— I've looked at it Christina. That's why I'm getting a secretary.

— That's ridiculous, Lily can read can't she? You can open an envelope can't you Lily? doing so herself, — the National Speakers Association invites you to join our panel of distinguished Americans who are in constant demand for speaking engagements and God help us, I hope you've learned that lesson, what you need is a wastebasket. As a high achiever who appreciates the finer things in life, you are invited to join a select circle of…

— Will you just stop standing there and tearing things up? There might be something important.

— A pre-approved credit line with a string of Handichecks for your immediate convenience, do you need a secretary simply to throw things away? What we need is a housekeeper, loading those two on that bus for the Bronx was the happiest day of my life. You can boil a lobster can't you Lily, after that revolting trout we deserve something civilized, I mean what we need is a cook. Now, with a sweep of her emptied hand — will you clean up all that before I lose my mind? All that, before a bottle of Chablis smoothed their way for the lobster, butter running down his thumb onto the white tablecloth, before the light and the aerator were installed and the plants submerged in the tank, before another delivery brought more bills and anonymous personalized invitations and a script indecently titled from a playwriting hopeful thirsting for production and before another rushed a lone angelfish in a plasticized transparency to take up residence among the water sprite and Ludwigia and wavering fronds of Spatterdock enveloped in silence and the eerie illumination neither day nor night, spooky was the word for it as his hand glided over her breasts, now could he feel it? in a whisper, the lump there? because it seemed to have moved, as his hand did preoccupied elsewhere, as hers did now filling with promise abruptly kept with a gasp and a shudder echoed in a moan before he rose from her unsteadily to find the stairs in the dark with the stealth of a schoolboy, all that before the night winds rose with a moaning echo down the chimney blowing in a new day.

Tea, and toast, — and this, she said, holding out the shred of something, — it was on the floor in there.

— Well what is it.

— Those mittens, he chewed up those dumb magic mittens.

— Well my God don't tell Oscar, I'd forgot all about him. Where is he, have you looked for him?

— He's usually under something. Pookie? trailing her voice down the hall, peering under things, and on into the kitchen where — it must have choked, discovered rigid behind the kitchen stove — right where I keep seeing this mouse. She's never even called.

— She will Lily. She will.

And when, eventually, she did, — Who? No this is Lily… Oh hi, sure I remember, that day you came out here with that big picnic and that man with the… with a little white dog? No, I… Oh. Oh, well maybe if you advertise in the paper, they… No I just thought if he was worth a lot maybe somebody kidnaped him and…

— Here, give me that. Trish? what… oh. Oh what a shame… No I, but he, I mean he must be around somewhere, he… and you're sure you didn't take him to Aspen? Maybe he's right there at Bunker's, I mean you ought to have another look before you call in private detectives he, he might be under something, maybe Jerry… Oh. Oh my God… about losing his job yes but why in God's name is he angry at Oscar, I mean… No that's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard, he hasn't spoken to his father in ages and… but… No, but… Trish it's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard it's absolutely paranoid, he's… I said he's more than just a little bit crazy, that show he put on out here breaking Oscar's bones you were here Trish, you were right here and… Who, Oscar? now wait a… Wait just a minute Trish! Of course Oscar's a bit eccentric but for you to use a word like… Certainly not! and I don't want to hear another… Well I'm sure you'll find it, just keep looking under things! and their eyes met the moment she hung up, holding each other's steadily until she said — what did you do with it.

— I threw it in the pond.

And she sat there simply tapping her foot until the tight line of her lips broke with — Well. Here's the mad poet himself.

— Was that call for me?

— It was not.

— No but listen, I'm expecting a call from…

— I just said it was not didn't I! My God, putting up with this nonsense day after day, your friend Jerry thinks there's a conspiracy. He thinks Father wrote the brief for your appeal, it was much too clever and thorough for the young country lawyer who showed up there in the appeals court so he checked and found he was from Father's jurisdiction and the whole thing turns into a conspiracy, I mean isn't that what paranoia is simply all about?

— But what do you mean, it turns into a conspiracy. That day he came out here and we talked about my play and the…

— Between you and Father! He thinks you think the way he would, he's giving you credit for being much more cunning than you really are that's why he's outraged, because you took him in, because you put one over on him pretending you didn't know anything about it when you'd already gone to Father for help and you and Father set up the whole thing.

— But I, it never occurred to me, I…

— And why didn't it! Marching around here with your magic mittens and the whole, I told you to call him didn't I?