Robert Coover - Origin of the Brunists

“Who—?”

“‘To the Vince Bonalis, Happy Easter! Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Cavanaugh and family.’ Wow! Whaddaya think about that!”

Etta, speechless, took the card from him and read it. “I can’t hardly get my breath!” she said. “Why, it must’ve cost a fortune! But, but where can we put it?”

“Hell, I don’t know. May have to build a new house just to have room for the damn thing!” Really, it was too great, it was a great thing to do! “There, let’s clear off that end table, it’s big enough, I think.”

When Angie came home an hour later, they still hadn’t got used to the thing, still kept fiddling with it, staring at it, putting the card one place or another, walking around it. She started to tell them she’d just seen Charlie, then stopped short: “Good golly, where did you get that!”

Vince shrugged. “The Cavanaughs,” he said as casually as he could, though he felt like a goddamn blimp in his pride.

“Really?” Angie was tremendously impressed. “Gosh, Mom, Dad’s really getting important, isn’t he?”

“Say, Vince, that’s some damn forest there!”

“Yeah, well, I told Ted he didn’t need to go to so much trouble this year, just a few samples off the shelves down at his store would do fine, but I guess he didn’t hear me.”

Greatest Easter of all time.

Angie and Etta passed round the coffee and sweet rolls, some thirty or forty people milling through the old house. Place looked shipshape, too. Etta had worked hard getting it ready for Charlie. Outside, the front was brightly painted and grass was poking up. Vince caught Angie’s eye, winked at her. He felt very damned proud of her. This after-Mass breakfast had been her idea.

“Ready for the Second Coming, Vince? Just got seven more days, you know.”

“Now, you know I’m always ready, Joe. But me and Georgie here, we’ve talked it over, and we’ve decided not to hold it for a little while longer yet. Still too many of you sinners around.”

Vince had really enjoyed church this morning. First time he had really felt one hundred percent at home since he’d started going back regularly. Even Charlie had consented to come along, remarking in his fashion that it was a good place to search out skirts. He’d made a big splash, too, polished and shined to a spit, and Vince saw that the Marines had been good for the boy, had slapped his burgeoning beergut back flat again and given him a new stature. Angie, full of ideas, had made a cutting from the bouquet and fashioned corsages for Etta and herself, and then, just before Mass, all excited over her project, had gone along with Vince to buy the sweet rolls and to borrow an extra percolator from the Ferreros.

Mass itself had been something extraordinarily beautiful, he’d forgotten it could give a man so much pleasure, so much peace. His conscience completely clean, he had entered into this day of Christ’s Rising with unchecked enthusiasm. Afterwards, Father Baglione had singled him out and, in front of everybody, had thanked him for his recent good works. His thick strong hand on Vince’s shoulder, he had looked up with dark searching eyes. “Dio vi benedica, Vincenzo,” he had said gravely. A wonderful old man.

“Mr. Bonali, we think it is an excellent fine thing you are doing with this, how you call, Common Sense Club.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Abruzzi. I really appreciate your support.”

Etta moved with surprising grace among the people. She never failed to have something to say, and folks even seemed to seek her out. Cavanaugh was right. She was a great woman.

“Where’s Charlie? Didn’t I see him at Mass this morning?”

“Yeah, but the experience was too much for him. He was afraid he might get his halo bent around such a big crowd.”

“How’s he getting along in the Marines?”

“All they were able to do to Charlie was shave his head, but after Charlie the Marine Corps will never be the same again.”

A big turkey was roasting in the oven in Charlie’s honor, stuffed with apple dressing. Whipped potatoes, turkey gravy, hot rolls, big green salad. A man had to arrange his life, by God, so that no matter how great the present was, there was always something better sitting out just in front.

“Thanks for having us over, Vince. Nice idea!”

“Don’t think a thing of it, Dom. Collection plate’s there beside the door.”

It wasn’t until after two that the last of the stragglers pulled out. “Man, that was some breakfast,” said Vince. “I thought I was gonna have to invite them to stay overnight.” He kissed Etta’s cheek. “Charlie here?”

“Not yet,” she said. “I told him about two or so.”

“You said noon. Well, as far as I’m concerned, it’s his tough luck. What do you say, Angie?”

“Second.”

“There, baby, you’re outvoted.”

“It’ll take me a few minutes yet anyway. I’ve still got to mash the potatoes and put the rolls in the oven to heat.”

Angie settled down on the floor to read the funnies from the city paper, while Vince thumbed through the sports section, glanced at the news headlines. Angie had nice legs. Lot of action in that blouse, too. She’d do all right. She was a great girl. Vince noticed a small boxed-in article at the bottom of the front page on the Brunists. Made them out to be a lot more than they were. Well, let them come and see for themselves. When they find out how Miller has been hoaxing them, maybe they’ll string the bastard up.

At three, Etta came in looking down in the mouth. “I’m afraid it’s all going to spoil,” she said.

“Well, hell, chicken, let’s eat without him.”

“That’s what I say,” said Angie.

Etta stalled. “Just a couple more minutes,” she pleaded.

Vince stood up, put his arm around her. “Come on, Mrs. Bonali, I’m starved. If we don’t start now, I’ll have to eat those flowers. It will still be good when that boy gets here, no sense ruining this banquet for all of us.”

Reluctantly, she let herself be led along to the table. It was all decked out with candles and fancy napkins and the best table linen. A little American flag in the middle. The front door opened. “There he is!” they all cried at once.

“Charlie! that you?” called Vince.

“Yeah!”

“Come on! You’re late for dinner!”

Charlie appeared in the doorway. “Jeez, I can’t stay. Got a date with a very fine number, a real pro- test -ant type. Man! Just whack me off a hunk of that bird, Mom, and stick it between two pieces of bread.” He turned, humming, snapping his goddamn fingers, and went into the bathroom.

She’s going to cry, thought Vince. Goddamn that little shit. Etta picked up the carving knife, sliced a thick slab of breast off the turkey, carried it to the kitchen. “Mayonnaise, Charlie?” she called, voice constricted, trying to hold up.

Vince shoved back his chair. Time to meet that boy head on. At the bathroom door, he lifted his hand to knock, then decided just to barge in. Charlie was sitting on the can, still wearing that goddamn cap tipped down on his nose. “Charlie, you get in there and you have dinner with us!”

“Jesus, old man, c’mon! Can’t you see I’m taking a crap?”

“I don’t give a damn what you’re taking!” cried Vince. He tried to swallow down his fury. “Now, you look! Your Mom fixed a special meal today, just for you, boy, she’s been planning it for two weeks, and I’m going to see to it that you eat it, you hear?”

“Look, at least close the door, hunh?”

“Now, when you’re done, you get coming!”

Charlie unwound a big wad of toilet paper off the spool. “Okay, okay,” he grumbled, “only just let me wipe my ass in peace, okay?”