William Gaddis - A Folic Of His Own

— Why on earth should she take the plates in, I mean we can sit down and eat right here in peace and quiet now can't we? Whatever made me think I could sit down with him in there to straighten out these papers we have to sign for Father's estate, every time he dug for them in that awful Gladstone bag he came up with something else, didn't we fix a vegetable? I thought we had some peas, those instructions he gave the jury over that wretched child that drowned letting Jesus in at the back door when he'd just finished throwing God out of the courtroom when that odious dog was killed? I mean Harry thought they'd be livid when he practically indicted Jesus for manslaughter but they came out singing his praises for respecting their intelligence of course they hardly understood a word he said, throwing in a Latin phrase or two they thought he was speaking in tongues, Jesus he talked English didn't he? her voice rising to the nasal cadences of far off Stinking Creek — right there in the Bible where he cast those devils into a herd of swine that ran into the sea and drowned just like the time those pigs old Jim Harps had to run and get drowned right there in the Pee Dee where the county agent said it was probably swine fever got to them, did you take those yams out? They're probably burnt to a crisp, not that it matters at this point pour some wine will you, Lily? Talking to them in their own language with that story about the bonfire sparks blowing over and setting the neighbor's house afire same thing with old Frank somebody, set a trash fire blew right over and burned Goody's corncrib down to the ground wouldn't pay him a red cent, I can't possibly eat all this Oscar here, take it back. They liked how he got at them Catholics too, baptising their young before they're hardly off the tit I mean my God, respecting their intelligence? Just a good thing they had a fine man like the Judge to hold this trial, had it down there at Wink County Court with some jury from Tatamount and Stinking Creek where everybody knowed how Billye Fickert shacked up with that fertilizer salesman before she married Hoddy Coops after Earl took off for Mississippi when they run him out for throwing lye down Roddy's well a jury like that would have give the whole store away, can you tell me how Father could have put up with that for thirty years? can you?

— No wait Christina, that doesn't make sense giving the whole store away to somebody who…

— That's what I'm telling you! None of it makes sense, naming this, this babbling lunatic his executor? I mean you think there may not be something to it? that talk about madness running in the family when that loathsome Senator Bilk was ready to impeach him? burning his effigy down there one day and what a great man he was the next when Bilk feels the wind change blowing his trash fire over to burn down Goody's corncrib so he grabs Father's ghost for his reelection campaign while his law clerk sits in there eating Tater Skins with a spicy story about Old Lardass he wanted to tell me when I finally gave up, you can try again in the morning I simply haven't the strength.

— No but wait, don't you want…

— I'm exhausted Lily, I can't eat another bite just hand me my glass, I'm going up the back way and if Harry calls? already slipping off her shoes — will somebody wake me?

— I never even knew those stairs were back there.

— But then you never had servants either did you, oh and Oscar? pausing there in the shadows — for the love of God, make sure he's got no cigarettes when you put him in the library for the night, I mean he'll burn it down and then tell us it's just like a great man dying.

— It's spooky she whispered, to the fading creak of treads and risers gone so long untrodden up the dark stairs, taken up when darkness had stilled through the kitchen itself and the bare floorboards of the halls, the hesitant opening of a bathroom door and the wavering trickle that followed, the shuffle of carpet slippers and the distant clatter of a fallen spoon pulling the pillow over her head till at last the eery light of the fishtank yielded to the sunroom reclaiming its name with a day soft as spring and the echo of raucous laughter down the hall.

— What in God's name is that.

— He's in there watching a game show.

— At this hour? Oscar take him some coffee and get him started digging out those papers we're to sign before he gets his hands on that vile green sock again, Lily? What's this mess on the stove.

— He must have made Cream of Wheat when he was up in the night.

— And the ham, did we leave the ham out? It looks like somebody'd gone at it with an axe.

— Maybe it was these mice that I…

— Lily there are no damn mice you're just seeing shadows, I mean did you hear him out there?

— Maybe he didn't turn the light on, I heard these noises and this shuffling in the hall when the bathroom door squeaked and this trickle trickle trickle every time he went in there because he left the door open, it was spooky.

— Well it's more than spooky, as soon as Oscar digs out these papers to sign we can drive him to the airport, I mean we can't live huddled here in the kitchen like hostages while he sits in there looking like death warmed over cradling that sock in his lap watching game shows and, Harry hasn't called has he?

— That was Reverend Bobby Joe about Daddy, where he just got out of jail down there? banging the saucepan in the sink, scraping the dregs, muttering — they ought to of kept him there.

— Your daddy's full of surprises isn't he, you can throw out those yams too they're burnt to a crisp.

— It's not him no, it's Reverend Bobby Joe that was in jail for yelling at that trial of that boy that got drowned when Daddy was coming up here to get reconciled? So now he can't come because he's going in the hospital for this big operation where Reverend Bobby Joe's down there giving him all this spiritual comfort getting him right with the Lord in case the Lord calls him and if I should go down there and…

— Yes, well meanwhile you can go in and see if Oscar's getting anywhere before the Lord calls all of us, I mean you'd think he could simply pick up the phone and tell me what's going on, I am his wife aren't I? Driving out of here like a madman for some kind of showdown with Bill Peyton you can never have a showdown with Bill Peyton, are we out of milk again? I mean that's why he's their managing partner, pats you on the back, tells you a joke, you're off for a chat with the firm's psychiatrist and suddenly you realize he's thrown you both ends of the rope up there on the bridge waving goodbye while you're not waving you're drowning, now where are you going.

— In to see whether Oscar…

— Never mind, I'll do it myself like everything else here, and those crumbs and God knows what under the table when you sweep up? already through the door with — Oscar? and up the hall — where are you! but here before her loomed only the solitary figure seated in the halo of the screen busied just then with a woman gnashing gleaming dentures with her secret for keeping them in place taken up, as though on cue, in a grimace of clamping in the real thing that stopped her dead. — But, but where's Oscar? At this a hand came up to flutter fingers stained with a generation of Picayunes off in the direction of the pond, the sea, the tired waves vainly breaking, where hopes were dupes fears might be liars, could they turn this thing off so they could get down to business? breaking through the mists of God only knew what lost soliloquy still trembling on his lips to bring him forward gasping over the gaping Gladstone and hand over a clutch of letters in a faded hand bound up with twine which she thrust aside with the emptied Black Bean Nacho Chips bag from the floor, he'd brought some papers up here for them to sign hadn't he? her free hand scribbling a lavish signature on the air but wait, those letters? The Judge had wrenched them away from those old biddies at the historical society, threatened them with perdition if they didn't hand them over when some black showed up down there trying to register them for copyright, maybe should have burned them like the rest of the Judge's papers but once they'd burned the Judge himself they weren't rightly his anymore but the survivors', looked up the law on it right there in 17 U.S. Code 201(d)(l) where copyright ownership may be bequeathed by will or pass as personal property, couldn't copyright them once he'd burned them up could they? right there in Section 203(a)(2)(c) where the rights of the author's children and grandchildren are in all cases divided among them and exercised on a per stirpes basis just thought he ought to explain it doing his duty as executor right to the letter, those old biddies had already let some outsider in to read them where they had no business to was when the Judge read them the riot act and — Please! she beseeched him, half across the room now to toss the packet on the heap of bills and brochures, threats and glossy invitations to prospects of still further threats crowding the sideboard — you, thank you you, thank you for taking such care but, yes but now what you want us to sign and get it over with so you can get back to your, to get home we can take you to the airport or whatever you, or the bus if you…