Donald Barthelme - The Dead Father

I’m fatigued, said the Dead Father.

Be of good courage, said Thomas, it ends soon.

The roaring they told me was the voice of the Great Father Serpent calling for the foreskins of the uninitiated but I was safe, my foreskin had been surrendered long ago, to a surgeon in a hospital. As we drew near through the tangling vines I perceived the outlines of a serpent of huge bigness which held in its mouth a sheet of tin on which something was written, the roars rattled the tin and I was unable to make out the message. My keepers hauled the pirogue onto the piece of ground on which the monster was resting and approached him most deferentially as who would not, shouting into his ear that I had come to be tested by the riddle and win for myself a boon and that if he were willing they would proceed to robe him for the riddling. The Great Father Serpent nodded most graciously and opening his mouth let fall the sheet of tin which on its reverse had been polished to the brightness of a mirror. My escorts set up the mirror side in such a way that the creature could regard himself with love as the fussing-over proceeded, I wondering the while if it would be possible to creep underneath and read the writing there. First they wrapped the Great Father Serpent in fine smallclothes of softwhispering blush-colored changeable taffeta taken from a mahogany wardrobe of prodigious size located behind him, tussling for half an hour to cover his whole great length.

I like him, said the Dead Father, in that we are both long, very long.

Reserve judgment, said Thomas, we are not quite to the end.

Then they put on him, said Thomas, a kind of scarlet skirt stuffed with bombast and pleated and slashed so as to show a rich inner lining of a lighter scarlet, the two scarlets together making a brave show at his slightest movement or undulation. The Great Father Serpent looked neither to the right nor to the left but stark ahead at his primrose image in the tin. Then they covered the upper or more headward length of him with a light jacket of white silk embroidered with a thread nutmeg in color and a thread goose-turd in color, these intertwined, and trimmed with fine whipped lace. Then they put on him a sort of doublet of silver brocade slashed with scarlet and slashed again with gold, sleeves for his no-arms hanging there picked out with seed pearls, the doublet having four and one half dozen buttons, the buttons being one dozen of ivory, one dozen of silk, one dozen of silk and hair, one dozen mixed gold and silver wire, and six diamonds set in gold. Next they put on him a great cloak made of unshorn velvet pear-colored inside and outside embroidered at the top and down the back with bugles and pearls countless in number and holding two dozens of buttons, altogether they were near two hours a-buttoning, while they buttoned I inched closer to the underside of the tin which was taller than myself and leaning against a tree, I inched and inched, sometimes half-inched, so that to the eye my movements were imperceptible. Then they belted around his midpoint a girdle of russet gold with pearls and spangles supporting his hanger, to which was buckled the scabbard (buff-colored leather worked in silver wire gimp and colored silk) which held the shining, split tongue two meters long. As they placed upon the oblong head the French hat with its massy goldsmith’s work and long black feather, I slipped beneath the tin and out again, I could not believe what I saw written there. The Great Father Serpent nodded once at his own image, whisked the tongue from its scabbard, and pronounced himself ready to riddle.

Here is the riddle said the Great Father Serpent with a great flourishing of his two-tipped tongue, and it is a son-of-a-bitch I will tell you that, the most arcane item in the arcana, you will never guess it in a hundred thousand human years some of which I point out have already been used up by you in useless living and breathing but have a go, have a go, do: What do you really feel? Like murderinging, I answered, because that is what I had read on the underside of the tin, the wording murderinging inscribed in a fine thin cursive. Why bless my soul, said the Great Father Serpent, he’s got it, and the two ruffians blinked at me in stunned wonder and I myself wondered, and marveled, but what I was wondering and marveling at was the closeness with which what I had answered accorded with my feelings, my lost feelings that I had never found before. I suppose, the Father Serpent said, that the boon you wish granted is the ability to carry out this foulness? Of course, I said, what else? Granted then, he said, but may I remind you that having the power is often enough. You don’t have to actually do it. For the soul’s ease. I thanked the Great Father Serpent; he bowed most cordially; my companions returned me to the city. I was abroad in the city with murderinging in mind — the dream of a stutterer.

That is a tall tale, said the Dead Father. I don’t believe it ever happened.

No tale ever happened in the way we tell it, said Thomas, but the moral is always correct.

What is the moral?

Murderinging, Thomas said.

Murderinging is not correct, said the Dead Father. The sacred and noble Father should not be murdereded. Never. Absolutely not.

I mentioned no names, said Thomas.

He was staring at the Dead Father’s belt buckle.

Very handsome buckle you have there, he said, I never noticed before.

The belt buckle was silver. Six inches square. A ruby or two.

The Dead Father regarded his belt buckle.

Gift of the citizens, many Father’s Days ago. One of several hundred sumptuous offerings, on that Father’s Day.

May I try it on? Thomas asked.

You want to try on my belt?

Yes I’d like to try it on if you don’t mind.

You may certainly try it on if you wish.

The Dead Father unbuckled the belt and handed it to Thomas.

Thomas buckled on the Dead Father’s belt.

I like it, he said. Yes, it looks well on me. The buckle. You may have the belt back, if you like.

My belt buckle! said the Dead Father.

I’m sure you don’t mind, said Thomas. Doubtless you have others just as sumptuous.

He handed the buckleless belt back to the Dead Father.

I don’t mind?

Do you mind?

Yes, Julie asked interestedly, do you mind?

I was always rather fond of that one.

Surely you have others just as fine.

Yes I have a great many belt buckles.

I am delighted to hear it.

Not here. Not with me, the Dead Father said.

You can have my old belt buckle, Thomas said. It will do.

Yes, Julie said, it will do.

Quite a good buckle, my old buckle, Thomas said.

Thank you, said the Dead Father, accepting the old buckle.

Not as fine as your former belt buckle, of course.

It isn’t, the Dead Father said. I can see that.

That’s why I wanted yours, Thomas explained.

I understand that, said the Dead Father. You wanted the better buckle.

And now I have it, said Thomas.

He patted himself on the belt buckle.

Looks quite good I think.

It does, said Julie.

Yes, Emma agreed.

Gives you a bit more dash, said Julie. More dash than you had before.

Thank you, Thomas said. And to the Dead Father: And thank you.

My pleasure, said the Dead Father. Good to be able to do something for you younger men, once in a while. Good to be able to give. Giving is, in a sense —

No, said Thomas, let us be clear. You didn’t give. I took. There is a difference. I took it away from you. Just get it straight. The matter’s trivial, but I want no misunderstanding. I took it. Away from you.

Oh, said the Dead Father.

He thought for a moment.

Will there be consolation?

Yes, said Thomas. You may make a speech.