Donald Barthelme - The Dead Father

Prefers the bum, she said, a great grab he’s got there.

I’ve observed.

And in terms of verbal rather than physical attentions, he has proposed variously a shake of the sheets, a dive in the dark, a leap up the ladder, and a goose-and-duck.

And you replied?

With harrowing sweetness, as usual. Still he has something.

Oh yes, Thomas said, he has something. I would not dream of denying it.

Authority. Fragile, yet present. He is like a bubble you do not wish to burst.

But remember there was a time when he was slicing people’s ears off with a wood chisel. Two-inch blade. And remember there was a time when his voice, his plain unamplified voice, could turn your head inside out.

Hunkwash, she said, you are perpetuating myths.

The hell I am, Thomas said. It happened.

You don’t appear to me to be overly hurt or damaged.

There are some times when you are not too bright, said Thomas.

Times when I am not too what?

Bright, said Thomas, there are some times when you are not too bright.

Well fuck you, she said.

Well fuck you, Thomas said, there are some times when I forget and tell the truth.

Sloppy, sloppy, she said. Self-pity monstrously unattractive.

Oh well damn well yes. I’m sorry. But I am taking action, am I not? I could as well have sat at home, worn the cap-and-bells and bought lottery tickets hoping for the twist-of-fate that would change my life.

Me, she said. Me, me.

There is that.

You and I, she said, reaching into her knapsack for a bit of bhang. Have a chew?

Not now, thanks.

You and I, she said, the two of us.

Thomas began counting on his fingers.

Yes, he said.

And Emma, she said. I’ve seen you looking at her.

I look at everything, Thomas said. Everything that is in front of me. Emma is in front of me. Therefore I look at Emma.

And she at you, Julie said, I’ve seen some gazes.

She’s not bad-looking, Thomas said.

But we, you and I, care for each other, Julie said. It is a fact.

A temporary fact, said Thomas.

Temporary!

Expectoration of bhang juice (emphatic).

My God, I’m simply telling the truth, said Thomas.

Viper, she said.

I know no better soul, he said, and the body is also attractive.

Measuring, are you? A measuring man.

Julie cramming more hemp into her mouth.

You forget the decay of time, Thomas said, I never forget it.

I don’t like it.

Who likes it?

I put out of mind that which is injurious to mind. You revel in it.

I do not revel in it.

The two of us, she said, damn it, can’t you get this simple idea into your head? The two of us against the is.

Temporarily, said Thomas.

Oh you are a viper.

A student of decay, is all.

Julie began to unbutton her shirt.

Yes, that’s a way, said Thomas. Fifteen minutes or in the best case, thirty-five.

Come crawl behind a bush with me.

With all my heart, said Thomas, but I cannot abandon what I know. One doesn’t find an absolute every day.

You are an apprentice fool, she said, not even a full fool, nevertheless I will give you a little taste, because I like you. You are a lucky dog.

Thomas spoke a long paragraph to the effect that this was true.

Julie pulling at Thomas’s sleeve.

Thomas and Julie underneath the bush. Thomas holding Julie’s feet in his hands.

Wash feet, he said.

Yes now that you mention it, she said.

I will wash them for you if you wish.

Not necessary. I know the drill.

Washcloth, he said. That’s the little blue square one.

Right.

Rough-textured.

I’ve seen it.

Usually damp.

I remember.

I could just put some bags on them I suppose, heavy canvas bags with locks like the Mail Department uses.

Oh misery me.

The backs of the knees are on the other hand positively lustrous.

Not too bad are they?

Nine lines and a freckle, all immaculate. Nothing to be desired. The height of.

Could an Emma do as well?

I don’t know, said Thomas. I’ll have to think about it.

Julie made a circle of thumb and forefinger and popped him smartly on the ball.

Anguish of Thomas.

It will pass, she said, dearly beloved, it is only temporary.

Edmund talking to Emma. Beam of Emma. Washing of socks in the small stream. Discussion of foot care (general). Thomas seated on the ground, back supported by tree, smoking, contemplative. Edmund telling Emma that, all things considered, she is the best. Beam of Emma. Julie and the Dead Father holding hands. Thomas smoking. The men playing whist, quoits, boccie. Terrain features being cut down to feed the fires. All the men wearing dark-blue suits with ties. Edmund wearing dark-blue suit with tie. Thomas wearing dark-blue suit with tie. The Dead Father wearing dark-blue suit with tie. Bending over spits rotating with spitted small animals. Edmund tapped on the cheek with Emma’s fan. God Almighty. Emma tapped on the cheek with Edmund’s thumb. God Almighty. Emma tells Edmund that he doesn’t understand. Thumb not to tap cheeks with, she says. Thumb not gracile but rather stumpy, fat, she says. Index finger better if cheek is to be tapped and fan not available. Edmund fucks everything up, she says. Poor wooer, she says. May consider himself as having status of least-favored-nation, wooing-wise. Crushed Edmund. Edmund falls into flask. Thomas turns head, notices distress of Edmund. Thomas does nothing. Julie looks at Thomas and notices him doing nothing. Julie says to the Dead Father: Sometimes best to do nothing. The Dead Father replies: Maybe mostly. They continue to hold hands and the Dead Father also gropes a bare foot with the hahd that is not holding hands. Julie retracts foot. Thomas smokes. Events in the sky. Starfall scattering in the dark part. Clouds moving implacably (left to right) offstage, toward the wings. Thomas smoking. The Dead Father attempting to insert hand (left) between waistband of Julie’s skirt and Julie. Repulsed (warmly). Julie takes the Dead Father’s watch fob and places it in her pocket. The Dead Father smiles. A gift, he says, for you. Thank you, Julie says, thank you thank you. Thank me, says the Dead Father, I am used to it. I do thank you, Julie says, and your shoe buckles are nice too. They are nice, says the Dead Father, that is why I have them there, on my shoes, because they are nice. Both regard the Dead Father’s silver shoe buckles. Thomas smoking. Edmund with most of his mouth around the mouth of the flask. Emma interviewing the men. How high are they? 6‘1”, 5‘11”, 4‘2”, and so forth. For my files, Emma says. Thomas smoking, scratches upper left cheekbone lightly with free fingers of left hand. Alarm arrives from the outpost. Alexander runs to Thomas. Whispers to Thomas. Thomas extinguishes cigar, rises, looks about for his sword. Finds same, buckles on sword belt, tucks orange tight (right) into top of orange boot.

The Wends are here, he said.

They hurried to the spot.

The road blockaded. The path barred. An army deployed across the way and far far up on every piece of high ground available.

Well now, said the chief Wend, aren’t you a pretty sight.

Good day, Thomas said.

Julie lit a cigarette as did Emma.

Well now, the chief Wend said again, do you intend traveling more along this road?

With your permission.

Would you be hauling that great ugly thing there through the length and breadth of the country of the Wends?

Only the length, said Thomas. Not the breadth.

We don’t want him, the chief Wend said. No thank you.

We hadn’t in mind leaving him, said Thomas. Just passing through.

Is it what I think it is? the Wend asked.