Donald Barthelme - The Dead Father

The trees. The stars. Each tree behaving well, each star behaving well. Perfume of nightscent.

Thomas lying on his back, cruciform.

Julie prowling the edges.

Julie kisses inside of Thomas’s left leg.

Thomas remains in Position A.

Julie kisses Thomas on the mouth.

Thomas remains in Position A.

Julie back on her haunches with a hand between her legs.

Thomas watching Julie’s hand.

Glistening in the hair between Julie’s legs.

Slight movement of Julie’s stomach.

Thomas watching Julie’s hand (neck craned to see).

Julie kissing underside of Thomas’s dipstick.

Cockalorum standing almost straight up but a bit of wavering.

Julie licks.

Pleasure of Thomas. Movement of Thomas’s hips.

Julie lights cigarette. Thomas remains in Position A. Julie smokes looking at Thomas.

Julie smokes with one hand (second finger) moving up and down between her legs.

Various movements on Thomas’s part. Trying to see. Julie smokes. Offers cigarette to Thomas.

Thomas raises head, takes cigarette between lips. Two puffs.

Julie removes cigarette. Hand between legs.

Julie smokes looking at Thomas.

Thomas remains in Position A, as per the agreement.

Julie’s hand moving up and down between her legs.

Thomas staring at Julie’s hand.

Various movements on Thomas’s part — lurches, mostly.

One of Julie’s legs in the air.

Julie remaining just out of Thomas’s reach. Thomas cruciform, as per the agreement.

Thomas’s mowdiwort at 90 degree angle (roughly) to Thomas.

Julie sucks.

Thomas scratches nose with left hand, violating the agreement.

Julie’s breasts dipping this way and that, as she sucks.

Thomas stares at breasts, straining and craning.

Julie stands and moves second finger between legs, gazing at Thomas.

Thomas makes sucking sounds.

Julie kneels astride Thomas’s right leg, and rubs. Again and again and again.

Julie offers fingertips to Thomas, who licks.

Julie attends to Thomas’s gadso, which is at a 90 degree angle (roughly) to Thomas.

Julie lies on one elbow twelve inches from Thomas and sips a whiskey. Hand between her legs.

Thomas staring at her hand, at her buttocks, stomach muscles.

In-and-out of Julie’s stomach muscles. Hand between legs, eyes closed.

Thomas remains in Position A. One of Julie’s legs waving in the air.

Julie stands and then squats. Presenting greens to Thomas’s cabbage tree.

Takes cabbage tree in hand. Use of cabbage tree as dildo.

Thomas staring at Julie’s face.

Thomas remains in Position A, so as not to violate the agreement.

Julie attends to Thomas’s bag-of-tricks for a long time.

Julie turns arsy-versy all cockalorum-kissing.

Thomas licks what there is to lick.

Happiness of Thomas. Happiness of Julie.

Movement of Julie’s buttocks, to the right, to the left, and so on.

A short aria of three notes.

And so on and so on and so on and so on.

What time is it? asked Julie.

Almost one, said Thomas.

How much further?

Almost there, Thomas said. A day’s journey, perhaps. Twenty-four hours at most. Julie began to cry.

Thomas offered the Dead Father a document bound in blue paper.

What is it?

Read it, Thomas said.

It was a will.

It is a will, the Dead Father said, whose?

We thought it best that you take the precaution, Thomas said. Many people are inadequately prepared.

I don’t want to make a will, said the Dead Father.

No one wants to make a will, said Thomas. Still it is a prudent step that we thought you ought to take, in your wisdom.

My wisdom, said the Dead Father. Infinite. Unmatched. Still, I don’t want to make a will.

Prudence and wisdom being two of your strongest suits, Thomas said.

Dash my wig! said the Dead Father, I’ll not do it. I’m too young.

Thomas looked up into the sky.

Of course it’s entirely up to you, he said. If you wish to leave your affairs in rotten mishmashy cluttersome disarray…

I’m too young! the Dead Father said.

Of course you are, said Thomas, so are we all. Yet there is a vein in you that may pop at any time. I have identified it. Runs up the right leg and who knows, who knows where it wanders after it leaves the leg. Lurking potential embolisms menace it. I don’t want to frighten you, but you get the picture.

By the Holy Goat, the Dead Father said, I will not.

Thomas waved his hands in the air suggesting exhausted patience and disinterested pursuit of what-is-right.

Who shall I leave it to? the Dead Father asked. Who is worthy?

I should say, no one. Perhaps the nation. The first step is the inventory. Can you give me some idea of what the estate consists of?

Vast, said the Dead Father. I have no idea. Consult my steward.

Your steward has been let go, said Thomas.

Luke? Luke gone? On whose authority?

It was thought best, Thomas said.

Then who is looking after things?

I believe his name is Wilfred, Thomas said.

But Wilfred is not Luke, the Dead Father said.

Best we could manage, said Thomas. You have no idea at all as to the size of your holdings?

Oh I have some idea, said the Dead Father. He produced a small black pocket notebook.

You’re taking this down?

Thomas nodded.

The Dead Father cleared his throat.

Various lands in Saxony, he read aloud.

That’s rather vague, Thomas said.

Um, said the Dead Father unperturbed, so it is. Let me continue. Certificates of deposit totaling —

Totaling what? asked Thomas.

They are all separate and distinct figures with no total listed, said the Dead Father. The sum would appear to be quite large, could one add it.

He turned a page.

A nut-brown maid, he read. Regina. The stereo. A pair of chatterpies. My ravens. A parcel of rental properties. Eleven rogue elephants. One albino. My cellar. Twelve thousand bottles more or less. Lithographs to be swallowed for sickness. Two hundred examples. My print collection, nine thousand items. My sword.

Your sword is gone, Thomas noted.

My sword is gone, said the Dead Father, but I have a spare sword, back in the city. My second-best sword. Jeweled hilt and all that.

A field of flowers outside Darmstadt. Wrinkleflowers. My greenhouses and potting sheds. Wilfred will know. Portrait busts of myself by Houdon, Minque, Planck, and Bowdoin. My napkin rings. Four thousand volumes of cabalistic literature. Cycladic figures to the number of one hundred eighteen. My gouges: The straight gouge, short bent gouge, long bent gouge, V gouge, U gouge, 5/32” gouge, 3/8” gouge. Four skew chisels. My box at the opera. My Bennie Moten records. My Thonet rocking chair. The regiment.

To whom will you leave the regiment?

Do you want it?

What would I do with the regiment? Thomas asked.

Parade it. Have regimental dinners. Fold and unfold the colors. Defend frontiers. Push into the Punjab.

Let us table the question, for the time being, said Thomas. Is there more?

Much, much, more, said the Dead Father, but let us lump it together under “incidentals.” Do you want Regina?

Never having met the lady, Thomas said, I would say not. Also I am a witness and a witness cannot be a beneficiary. I do not wish to profit from this transaction in any way. I only wish to have everything tidy.

Tidy, said the Dead Father, what a way of putting it.

Julie will be a witness and Emma will be a witness and one of the men is, I have learned, a notary.

I shall place the regiment in trust for itself, said the Dead Father. That should take care of it. Have you the form?