Donald Barthelme - The Dead Father

Heavy work, the Dead Father said, looking pleased. See how many!

Thomas was collecting the carcasses of the edible.

See how many! the Dead Father said again.

Truly formidable, Julie said, to please him. Sword play of this quality has not been seen since the days of Frithjof, Lancelot, Paracelsus, Rogero, Artegal, Otuel, Ogier the Dane, Rinaldo, Oliver, Roll the Thrall, Haco I, and the Chevalier Bayard.

Rather good I think, said the Dead Father, for an old man.

His smoking whinyard wiped upon the green grass.

Emma’s gaze (admiring).

See how long it is, the Dead Father said, and how limber.

He cut a few figures in the air with it: quinte, sixte, septime.

And now, lunch, Julie said.

She produced from the knapsack a new tablecloth and a new seating plan.

I have been elevated, in the arrangements! the Dead Father exclaimed.

Temporary happiness of the Dead Father.

And I, relegated, Thomas said. He gave Julie a straight look.

Julie returned the straight look.

The Dead Father reached for Julie’s bare toe.

Please release my toe.

The Dead Father continued to grasp the toe.

Toe, he said, now there’s an interesting word. Toe. Toe. Toe. Toe. Toe. A veiny toe. Red lines on toe. Succulent toe. Succulent, succulent toe. Succulent succulent succulent —

The Dead Father placed the toe in his mouth.

Thomas rapped the Dead Father sharply in the forehead, across the cloth.

Toe fell from the mouth. The Dead Father clutched his forehead.

You have rapped the Father, he said between moans. Again. You should not rap the Father. You must not rap the Father. You cannot rap the Father. Striking the sacred and holy Father is an offense of the gravest nature. Striking the noble, wise, all-giving Dead Father is —

More grebe? Julie asked.

Is there mustard? Thomas asked.

In the pot.

Have the troops fed themselves? Julie asked.

Thomas peered up the road. Cooking fires were visible.

They are eating hearty, he said, because they know what is ahead.

What is ahead? asked the Dead Father.

The Wends, Thomas said.

The Wends? What are they?

They are what is ahead.

What is peculiar about them? the Dead Father asked.

They don’t like us.

He lifted his hand and rotated it languidly, representing negligence and of-no-consequence.

Don’t like us? Why is that?

First, because we are armed and alien walkers through their domains. Second, because you are, in one of your aspects, a gigantic and strange and awe-inspiring object.

I do inspire awe, said the Dead Father. Better than anybody. A lifetime of it. Did I not once rule the Wends?

You did, you did, said Thomas, with an iron hand.

How is it I rule them no longer?

It is because you are slipping into the starry starry night, Julie said, together with all your works and pomps. Rule of the Wends was taken away from you in 1936.

It will be a hot thing, probably, Thomas said. Touch and go.

How many of them are there?

Near to a million, at the last census.

How many of us are there?

Twenty-three, Thomas said. Counting Edmund.

Groan from Julie.

Thomas, said the Dead Father, let us change the subject. We can talk about something interesting, giraffes for example. Or you can explain yourself. It is always interesting to hear someone explaining himself.

Let us talk about giraffes, said Thomas, when I explain myself I tend to stutter. Of course I don’t know a great deal about giraffes. They are said to be very intelligent. They have beautiful eyes. They have beautiful eyelashes. Tongues extend to twenty inches. Not much of a mane. Terrific base of the neck. Low fluttering voice. Faster than a horse and can travel longer distances at speed. Can beat lion in fight using hooves unless lion gets lucky. Herds running from twenty to thirty are not uncommon each containing several males but many more females.

Thomas paused.

Only old males are excluded and live in isolation, he said.

I am offended, said the Dead Father. Again.

Then we won’t talk about giraffes any more, Thomas said, I will instead explain myself.

I will give you the short form, Thomas said, the basic datatata. I was bbbbbbborn twice-twenty-less-one years ago in a great city the very city in fact from which we have subtracted you. As a new creature on the earth I was of course sent to school where I did reasonably well except where I did reasonably badly. As a child I had the necessary sicknesses seriatim a pox here a measle there broke a bone now and then just to keep in step with the others blacked an eye and had an eye blacked now and then just to keep in step with the others. I then proceeded to higher education as it is called and was educated upon by a team of masked gowned and scrubbed specialists, top performers every one. It had been decided that I would be educated up to the height of two meters and this was done over a ppppppperiod of. Next, my convalescence which was spent as was right and proper and natural and good in military service chiefly in far parts and strange climes, learning there how to salute and stamp my foot at the same time in the English wwwwwway, a skill that has been endlessly useful to me ever since. Also a certain amount of truckling, a skill that has been endlessly useful to me ever since. Also how to make friends with the mess sergeant, a skill that et cetera et cetera. Also how to dig a latrine wherein one may spend many happy and productive hours as have we all reading the great Robert Burton. Next, I returned to the educational arena and studied one of the sort-of sciences, sociology to be precise, but quickly learned that I had no talent for it. Nnnnnnext, wishing with all my heart and all my soul to be true to the aspirations and prefabrications of my generation the boys of ‘34 to be precise, I married. Oh, did I marry. I married and married and married moving from comedy to farce to burlesque with lightsome heart. Oh joy oh bliss oh joy oh bliss. When the bliss had blistered and the smoke had cleared I found that I had fathered, but only once, nota bene nota bene. Then a period of what I can only describ as vacancy. During this period I spent much of my time watching single-engine aircraft practicing stalls and hoping that an engine would fail so that I could see the crash. None ever did. After this I prepared to reenter the main-scream of commercial life. Superbly equipped as I was for nothing-in-particular, I fitted myself into the slot “Navaho lawgiver” but this was a flop because first I am not a Navaho and second there are as you know no Navahos in our country. Pity. I was rather good at chanting. Then I did a bit of poaching. Poached trout from government hatcheries, mostly, sorry disestimable work which dddddid nothing to raise the low esteem in which the organism held itself. I was back where I had started, in low esteem. I then spent some several years in a monastery, but was ejected for consuming too much of the product, a very fine cognac. Then I began to read philosophy.

And what did philosophy teach you? asked the Dead Father.

It taught me that I had no talent for philosophy, said Thomas, bbbbbbut —

But what?

But I think everyone should have a little philosophy, Thomas said. It helps, a little. It helps. It is good. It is about half as good as music.

A meeting. The men discontent. Crowded around Thomas. His orange tights, orange boots, silver belt buckle with rubies, white Sabatini shirt. His clear and true gold-rimmed spectacles. Complaints of the men: (1) Quality of the pemmican (2) That the leadership better fed, in general, than the rank and file (3) That the cable was cutting into shoulders and where were promised heavy canvas gloves? (4) Edmund (5) The rum ration could be doubled without damaging the high regard in which the rank and file held the leadership (6) What plan for dealing with possibly hostile Wends? (7) Attention of the women monopolized by the leadership (8) Edmund (9) Couldn’t the women just come and talk to them sometimes? (10) That the Dead Father sometimes dead weight, sometimes live weight, variations made feasance more difficult than strictly necessary, see contract provisions D, E, and F (11) Truncation of the pornographic film and what had happened next? (12) What of wholly arbitrary and ill-considered ban on fraternization with locals in territories hayfooted/straw-footed through? (13) Nonexistence of chaplain (14) Happy birthday. It is my birthday? Thomas exclaims, astonished. Yes, men reply, today’s the day, where is the party? Thomas counting on his fingers. The men watch. Yes it is my birthday, he says at length, God damn it, you are right as rain. General heehaw, battering of Thomas’s back, Edmund whisks flask from hip, tilts. The Dead Father sitting in the road looking off into the far distance where fields of garlic grow. Thomas removes flask from Edmund’s mouth. Julie practicing harmonica, tune “Oh, Give Me a Home Where the Buffalo Roam.” Emma gazing at immense shoulder of Dead Father, speculatively. Thomas begins to answer complaints point by point. Pemmican good for you, he says. Etc. Julie puts away mouth organ, moves to side of Emma.