Frolic of His Own (72 page)

—Oscar can't you see! coming down suddenly almost a blow on the shoulder hunched there before him —you've done it? He'd read it hadn't he? stood by you didn't he? He came through for you with that brief he came up with for your appeal? did what he had to do and you've done what you had to do, you plan to carry around this load of guilt on your head for the rest of your life? what he tried to free you from while he was alive and now his death has finally done it, you're liberated! That's what this is all about, what a father's death is all about, any father, mine was a,
when I was in law school he died when I was in law school yes he, he had a small business making mattresses always in the red, debt and bankruptcy broke his neck putting me through college and law school where people fail and drop out like flies afraid I'd think he'd failed, afraid he'd disappoint me if he couldn't back me up that was the worst of it because my real fear was disappointing him if I did fail, killing ourselves because we were afraid of disappointing each other, can't you see?

—Yes but, but my father was . . .

—They're all fathers! Never got to see me graduate even then I felt like somehow I'd let him down, never saw me make partner and I felt like I could never make it up to him till I finally realized I could never be afraid of disappointing him again, only of disappointing myself I'd been freed! Free to win or lose, drop out and fail throw the whole thing over if I think it's what I should do right now, run for president or hang for murder you've been liberated! hands on both shoulders bent over him now almost shaking him —you're free! All those years of being on trial, of fear of disappointment and betrayal and being judged he's dead Oscar! The Judge is dead!

—Harry what, is everything all right?

—What? He straightened up sharply —oh, fine Christina yes, everything just fine.

—Well he hardly looks . . .

—No no, just fine aren't you Oscar? standing over him there rubbing his hands like some fighter's trainer scanning the battered hulk after the final round, —he'll be fine.

—Well I've made you sort of a sandwich for the drive in and Harry, will you do something for me? Will you get to the dentist and do something about this tooth? You were up and down half the night it's driven me crazy, I mean if you won't do it for yourself will you do it for me?

—Try to squeeze it in Christina, first chance I get, say goodbye to Lily where is she, in the kitchen? and he was off down the hall, a look back over his shoulder coming in straight for the cupboard, —a little toothache medicine, don't mind do you Lily?

—Sure. You okay? She watched him tip the bottle up a moment longer, that close to him backed up against the sink there, watched him drink it down, clear his throat, looking at her.

—Got to thank you for everything Lily, you've been terrific putting up with all this and, and take care of him, of both of them will you? his arm suddenly around her pressed hard against him, a hand out as though to steady himself reeling with that scent of soap and perspiration beading her forehead where he kissed her, and her upper lip kissing her there, recovering his hand lingering at her breast as though to save its memory
as he backed off getting breath —and, and yourself, take care of yourself will you? leaving her flushed, getting her own breath, off up the hall scarcely pausing to embrace those shoulders slumped on the sofa seizing his case and his coat and his wife by a wrist out through the doors clattering behind them for another sharp embrace out there on the steps as though fleeing something too close for comfort without a look back to the bleak wave of a hand in the window, still there when she came back in.

—My God it's cold! She stood grinding one hand in the other, sniffing as after some fugitive scent gone before she could grasp it, looking about. —Well. You straightened up in here this morning didn't you. That was thoughtful.

—What?

—And the kitchen. I simply couldn't have faced it.

—But, but Christina? he turned looking anxiously past her. —Where's the dog!

—Well it's, I mean my God Oscar it's been gone for ages.

—But, where is it.

—Oh, Lily? Oscar's asking about the dog, have you seen it?

—Maybe somebody stole it or, no maybe they just came and . . .

—Well I think we can all breathe a sigh of relief, I'd better shop for supper before it gets dark, Oscar? do you want to drive? But he'd turned back to the window where a shudder seemed to run through him, framed there against the fading light.—Never mind, Lily? maybe you can turn on his nature program for him and just, and keep him company?

—It's Saturday.

—Well, you can just, she can just fix you some soup while I'm out Oscar try to relax, there's nothing we can do.

—All of a sudden, it's just strange all of a sudden having him gone.

—Of course it is, it's strange and difficult for all of us but we've simply got to get used to it don't we? People do after all, I mean it happens to everyone doesn't it? Sooner or later, I mean it had to happen sooner or later didn't it? And almost a hundred years after all, I mean . . .

—I meant Harry. I meant, I just meant having someone to talk to. Wait! Don't move!

—My God what is it now.

—Look! no be quiet, look! down there at the pond's frozen edge where three deer appeared casually chewing at growth in the dead grasses, their white tails blurting as a fourth emerged behind them all the larger for lofting his antlers alert to movement anywhere, to threat anywhere beyond them in a halt bringing up a foreleg poised disdainfully staring directly at him —look! he gasped again —how, how elegant!

—Where's my, Lily? have you seen my beige coat? her heels sharp crossing the room, —I'll look for some sole if they're still open, or flounder? and will you put on some potatoes to boil? heels clattering up the hall —I mean I'm quite ready just to go for a drive myself.

And here behind him, —Oscar? a hesitant hand on his sleeve as that clatter of heels closed on the clatter of those doors up the hall, —you want to come in and lay down? But he stood frozen there as the emptied waste he looked out on, left alone with the remains of the day until it was gone with the burst of lights at the stairs, in the halls, in the kitchen, white wine and white flounder and boiled potatoes on the clatter of white china plates at the kitchen table given over to the clatter of dishes at the sink and to stillness at last spreading the darkness in another dimension, greying with the seepage of dawn, shattered by the ring of the phone.

—It's him.

—God it's Harry, I knew it!

—At that telephone out on the highway, no. It's this law clerk.

—I don't believe it! in a flurry of coats nonetheless —no I'll go, wake Oscar will you? No don't, don't it's not even daylight but some tea when I'm back and turn up the heat, he'll be frozen. I don't believe it! but a minute later the roar of the car out there nonetheless, and she was gone.

—What happened?

—It's this law clerk Oscar, she went to get him. You okay? He sat down heavily, pulling the quilt over his knees, sipping tea when she brought it, gaining his feet when she blurted —here they are.

—Lily? can you help us here? and get him some hot tea he's frozen, he got a ride in a truck from the airport God knows how he found us, can you help us Oscar? Give him your quilt and wait, drag this big one inside, be careful the string's breaking. I think he wants to go to the bathroom, will you show him? skewing an old Gladstone bag ahead of her with one foot —and take this, and will someone turn up the heat? when he'd returned buttoning up the gap of his trousers to settle in an armchair here they were in their various stages of hasty undress like some depraved version of Christmas morning, dawn breaking through the frosted panes and the creak of the heat coming up arrayed round this frayed apparition of Christmas past or, worse, one yet to come, grounded in a beaver collared overcoat from ranging across the starry heavens where he'd got himself locked in the airborne toilet missing the complimentary victualing being supplanted now in a rash of tea and crusts where he bent forward to open the yellowed pebblegrained old Gladstone, their faces those of aging children in that instant where vestiges of eager anticipation disappeared as he pulled out a bottle sheathed in a much darned green sock to
meliorate the cup that cheers but not inebriates, spilling a carpet slipper and sending a coffee can rolling across the floor toward the unadorned fireplace. He needn't have brought it, —I mean we've plenty of coffee, would you rather have coffee? Coffee? no, this was the ashes he told her, they'd tried to palm off a hundred dollar urn on him that would have made the Judge mad as hell, the whole cremation arranged and paid in full twenty years ago signed sealed and delivered —but my God! she thrust it at arm's length —I mean what shall we do with it? laying the can up on the mantle. Well, you couldn't do better than human ash for making fine dishware, that fancy English bone china they fire and powder up animal bones but he knew a man that had them to make a chop plate with his wife's ashes and every time he sat down and said grace before dinner he'd —Oscar, can't you do something? I mean, I mean we can put him in the library, will you take his things? and gesturing at the mantle —and that, for God's sake will you take that in there too? waking the mists of memory to reveal that somewhere, China or someplace like that, it was said when a great man dies it was like a whole library burning down, he'd burned all the Judge's papers first thing like he'd been instructed to do but just to think of all kinds of things heaped up there for almost a century that never even got put down on paper lost and gone forever right up there in that coffee can, now wouldn't a nice fire in the fireplace cheer things up? —Please! Can't we stop talking about fire before he burns down the whole, Lily when you've dressed will you help me in the kitchen while I go up and get something on? And there some minutes later over a glutinous mass churning on the stove —what in God's name is that.

—It's that old vanilla pudding we got when your friend came out here with the . . .

—Anything hot yes, I mean a few more pulls at the bottle he's got wrapped in that old sock we can put ham gravy on it and he won't know the difference, of course I suppose that means getting a ham.

—But how long will he be here?

—Well we've got to put him up overnight don't we? I mean after a trip like that I'm sure he expects, oh Oscar. What's going on in there.

—He's watching cartoons on television Christina, listen. You're aware that's Father's coat he's got on aren't you?

—Why, do you want it? And that battered old Gladstone bag that was Father's too wasn't it? God knows what else he's got in it, I think I smell something burning. I mean bringing a can of human ashes as a house present he may plan to spend Christmas with a roaring fire in the fireplace it's all he can talk about now, don't you smell something? Burning bones and papers and libraries he's, no! No he's smoking in there Oscar go in
and stop him! he's a pyromaniac go in there and stop him before he burns the place to the ground will you? Lily I'm going up the back way and lie down until we can go shopping, if he gets hungry you can give him some of your pudding and start a list will you? Ham, put down ham and, and grits, don't they eat grits?

—What are those.

—God only knows, just write it down will you? slipping off her shoes to find her way up the dark stairs as stealthily as she came down them when the empty kitchen had waked to the full light of day, through the hall to tap at the sunroom and lead out through the butler's pantry and the tradesman's entrance round to start the car with a bare murmur leaving the house and barren hearth behind.

—Where have you been!

—Well Oscar where does it look like we've been, let him take that one Lily it's heavy, it's got the ham in it. Will you help her?

—You've been gone since, slipping out without even telling me it doesn't take three hours to buy a ham. Why did you buy a ham. I don't like ham, I never liked ham and I don't like . . .

—Will you simply take it in? or do you want to stand out here in the cold reciting poetry, it's Sunday Oscar. We had to drive sixteen miles down the highway to find a place open in that revolting shopping mall with every bloated obese local specimen pushing mountains of inedible junk food wherever you wait, hold the door will you Lily? That bag's splitting, will you see what he dropped? as they reached the kitchen, —just put it all down there.

—But what are these?

—Can't you read the label? It says Tater Skins doesn't it?

—And Black Bean Nacho Chips, Fried Hog Rinds why did you, Cream of Wheat? Does anyone here eat Cream of Wheat?

—For grits Oscar, they didn't have grits so . . .

—But grits are corn, hominy grits are made from ground corn.

—Fine! Put ham gravy on it and he'll be fine, I mean my God Oscar we can do something to make him feel at home short of burning the house down can't we? He's not smoking in there is he?

—No, he just brought those packages of Picayunes that Father left because he thought I might like them. He wants to know what we do for fun around here. He thinks the place is gloomy. He says if we'll put a pool table in there he'll show me a few tricks.

—Put in a, I mean my God how long does he expect to stay! He was just bringing up some papers and things for us to sign wasn't he? about the will? I mean Father left more than a few packages of Picayunes didn't he?

—He brought Father's decision in that case about Spotskin and Hiawatha's Magic Mittens, do you want to hear about little James B suing his father as guardian over the royalties and a local court appointing his lawyer J Harret Ruth as his conservator? about the thrilling success of his father's junkyard theme park The American Way as a tourist attraction till a three year old got locked in an old fashioned icebox? about little James B himself hailed before Wink County Court over his mastiff and salukis fighting making the night hideous with their howls? He brought this latest Cyclone Seven First Amendment decision where Szyrk and the Village reversed their positions before two little kids drove a pickup truck into it just before he came up here and . . .