The Dead Father by Donald Barthelme

  The regiment, for example, said the Dead Father.

  “… shall be distributable at any time under the terms of said shares, the said issuer, custodian, or transfer agent is fully authorized to pay, deliver, and distribute the same to whosoever shall then be the trustee hereunder, and shall be under no liability to see to the proper application thereof.”

  He paused.

  Good deal of handwashing there, said the Dead Father. What paragraph is that?

  Paragraph 4, said Thomas, perhaps you will like Paragraph 5 better. “I hereby reserve unto myself the power and right—”

  Yes, said the Dead Father, I like that better.

  “During my lifetime—”

  No, said the Dead Father, I don’t like it better.

  Lifetimes and deathtimes, said Thomas, are what wills are about.

  Yes, said the Dead Father, that’s what I don’t like, being reminded.

  You need not bother with the details, Thomas said, you are fully protected, I assure you. The thing to do is sign it.

  I’m too young. And who will beneficiate?

  I care not a whit, said Thomas, pick someone. Or something.

  Edmund, said the Dead Father.

  Edmund?

  He is the last, said the Dead Father, and the last shall be first.

  Edmund?

  I have made up my mind, said the Dead Father.

  As you wish, said Thomas, we shall have to tell him about it very slowly, otherwise it will kill him.

  Parcel the news out bit by bit, said the Dead Father. Begin with the napkin rings.

  Thomas assembling the witnesses for the ceremony.

  The notary said: Do you identify this document as your Last Will and Testament, do you wish it to be so regarded, and have you signed it of your own free will?

  Yes, said the Dead Father. Sort of.

  What was that? asked the notary.

  More or less yes, said the Dead Father.

  Well was it yes or was it not yes?

  It was yes, I guess.

  The notary looked at Thomas.

  I heard “yes,” said Thomas.

  The notary said: And have you requested that these persons witness your signature and make an affidavit concerning your execution of this Will?

  I have, said the Dead Father.

  The witnesses will please raise their right hands. Do each of you individually declare under oath that the Dead Father has identified this document as his Last Will and Testament and stated that he wished it to be so regarded?

  He has, said Thomas, Julie, and Emma.

  Has he signed it in your presence and did he at that time appear to be of sound mind and legal age and free of undue influence?

  Was he ever of sound mind? Julie wondered aloud. As you and I would define it? Strictly speaking?

  A mind of his own, Thomas said, that much is clear.

  I always liked him, said Emma.

  Will the witnesses respond to the question?

  Yes, said the witnesses, he has and did.

  Have you in his presence and in the presence of each other, affixed your signatures?

  We have.

  The thing is done, said the notary, where is the brandy?

  Thomas poured brandy for all hands.

  This should make you feel good, the notary said to the Dead Father. A prudent step. Prudent, prudent.

  Rage of the Dead Father.

  Prudent is shit!

  21

  You two children have walked me many kilometers, said the Dead Father.

  So we have, said Julie.

  With scant regard for your own comfort. Your own projects. Of which you doubtless have a great many. You have labored on and on and on and on. For me.

  That is the case, said Julie.

  What of yourselves? Your two lives?

  In what sense, what?

  What purpose? What entelechy? What will you do with yourselves when it is all over?

  Julie looked at Thomas.

  What will we do with ourselves when it is all over?

  Thomas shook his head.

  I’d rather not answer that question if you don’t mind, she said.

  Why not?

  I haven’t an answer.

  I know that, the Dead Father said.

  One would think one would be able to answer a question of that kind wouldn’t one.

  One would.

  Disagreeable not to have a ready and persuasive answer intelligible to all.

  I can imagine.

  Could be answered possibly in terms of the kind of life one has imagined for oneself. Or in terms of what one is actually doing.

  Both good choices, said the Dead Father. Also their congruence or non-congruence would be of interest.

  Ugh! said Julie.

  I hope I haven’t spooked you.

  I’d say you rather have.

  Older people don’t really like younger people, the Dead Father said.

  A person on horseback approaching the group.

  It is that one who has been following us, said Julie.

  I wonder who it is, said Emma.

  I know who it is, Thomas said. It is Mother.

  The horse halted. Mother sitting on the horse.

  Mother, Thomas said, we need some things from the store.

  Yes, Mother said.

  A ten-pound bag of flour. The unbleached.

  Mother produced a pencil and an envelope.

  Ten-pound bag of the unbleached, she said.

  We need garlic, bacon, tonic water, horseradish, cloves, chives, and chicory.

  Garlic, bacon, tonic water, horseradish, cloves, chives, chicory.

  We need cigarettes, chili powder, silver polish, mayonnaise, Lysol, croutons, and chutney.

  Cigarettes, chili powder, silver polish, mayonnaise, Lysol, croutons, chutney.

  We need eggs, butter, peanut oil, vermouth, beef bouillon, and barbecue sauce.

  Eggs, butter, peanut oil, vermouth, beef bouillon, barbecue sauce.

  We need scouring powder, hand soap, lighter fluid, Fig Newtons, and tennis balls.

  Scouring powder, hand soap, lighter fluid, Fig Newtons, tennis balls. Is that it?

  That’s it.

  Very well, Mother said.

  Thank you, Mother.

  Mother reined her horse about and rode away.

  I don’t remember her very well, said the Dead Father. What was her name?

  Her name was Mother, Thomas said, let me have your keys, please.

  My keys?

  Yes let me have your keys.

  I need my keys.

  Let me have them, please.

  Without my keys I can’t open anything.

  I will keep them safe for you.

  There are things I need my keys for, the Dead Father said. Things I need to open and close. Lock and unlock. Shut and unshut. Start and stop.

  I will keep them safe for you.

  I feel very uncomfortable without my keys! the Dead Father said.

  They call it stormy Monday but Tuesday’s just as bad, Thomas said, your keys.

  The Dead Father gave Thomas his keys.

  22

  AndI. EndI. Great endifarce teeterteeterteetertottering. Willit urt. I reiterate. Don’t be cenacle. Conscientia mille testes. And having made them, where now? what now? Mens agitat molem and I wanted to doitwell, doitwell. Elegantemente. Ohe! jam satis, AndI. Pathetiqularly the bumgrab night and date through all the heures for the good of all. The Father’s Day to end all. AndI understand but list, list, let’s go back. To the wetbedding. To the dampdream. AndI a oneohsevenyearold boy, just like the rest of them. Pitterpatter. I reiterate&reiterate&reiterate&reiterate, pitterpatter. Remember some old Papsday when heaped all round with gifties, the delegations presenting themselves, the musicking, quantuscumque, I’m a jollygood jollygood, pip of a pap, loved and rererespected by all. Endjoying the endthusiasm which your endtente has endgendered. All kettlecooking they were that Papsday and bonfiring and bellr
inging and carnalvailing, AndI the papinjay of the day, laurelheaded and goldenrobed and homaged to the skies. They came to AndI in their dozensandhundreds and did their knee-bends, AndI most rightly and graciously and sweetly reiteratingandreiteratingandreiterating. The leader of the delegations mumbling something about maidens, how many maidens? AndI replied that Old AndI not so interested in maidens as formerly. Quantum mutatus illo! he said but seriouslynowseriouslynow how many maidens and how bedecked? AndI repeated that I was not so maidenminded as formerly but as a gesture in the direction of custom and tradition and honoring the old ways I would accept would reluctantly accept ex abundantia one with red hair and one with hair black as carbon and one with brown soft hair and one blond as corntassel nil consuetudine majus and one with two breasts and one who excelled in the art of falconry and one who was a philosopher and one who was by nature sad in the cast of her mind et cetera et cetera et cetera total of forty-four for Papsmearing that Papsday. They came to my couch that eve all lovely and giddygay and roaratorious and tum-tickling AndI paprikaed many papooses that night. I the All-Father but I never figured out figured out wot sort of animal AndI was. Endshrouded in endigmas. Never knew wot’s wot. I reguarded my decisions and dispositions but there wasn’t timeto timeto timeto. Endmeshed in endtanglements. There were things I never knew what made the pavement gray and what made the giant monuments move back and forth on the far horizon ceaselessly night and day on the far horizon and what made the leaves fibrillate on the trees and what comity meant and what made the heart stop and how unicorns got trapped in tapestries, these things I never learned. But AndI dealt out 1,856,700 slaps with the open hand and 22,009,800 boxes on the ear. Son, I’m not gonna hitya. I’m not gonna hitya unless you force me to it. Little cocksucker. Ceaselessly night and day for the good of all. AndI never wanted it it was thrust upon me. Feckless endangerment. Not a healthy endvironment. Reiterateandreiteratethattothebestofmyknowledgeandbelief I was Papping as best I could like my AndI before me palmam qui meruit ferat. It could have been otherwise. I could have refused it. Could have abjured it. Coastered along goodguying way through the world. Running a little shop somewhere, some little malmsey&popsicle place. Endeavoring to meet ends. To the bicker end. Endocardial endocarditis. Enowenowenow don’t want to undertake the OldPap yet. Let’s have a party. Pap in on a few old friends. Pass the papcorn. Wield my pappenheimer once again. Old Angurvadal! Companion of my finest hours! Don’t understand! Don’t want it! Fallo fallere fefelli falsum! My broad domainasteries! Pitterpatter. Thegreatestgoodofthegreatestnumber was a Princeapple of mine. I was compassionate, insofarasitwaspossibletobeso. Best I cud I did! Absolutely! No dubitatio about it! Don’t like! Don’t want! Pitterpatter oh please pitterpatter

  23

  They came then to a large gap in the earth surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of people holding black umbrellas. Rain. The men laying down the cable.

  This is it, said Thomas.

  What is it? asked the Dead Father.

  This.

  This large excavation? asked the Dead Father.

  Yes.

  Julie looking away.

  They straggled up the edge of the excavation.

  Who has dug this great hole in the ground? asked the Dead Father. What is to be builded here?

  Nothing, Thomas said.

  How long it is, the Dead Father observed.

  Long enough, said Thomas, I think.

  The Dead Father looked again at the hole.

  Oh, he said, I see.

  And these, he asked, indicating the mourners, are they hired or volunteers?

  Wished to pay their respects, said Thomas.

  Great wreaths of every kind of flower standing about on stands.

  No Fleece? asked the Dead Father.

  Thomas looked at Julie.

  She has it?

  Julie lifted her skirt.

  Quite golden, said the Dead Father. Quite ample. That’s it?

  All there is, Julie said. Unfortunately. But this much. This where life lives. A pretty problem. As mine as yours. I’m sorry.

  Quite golden, said the Dead Father. Quite ample.

  He moved to touch it.

  No, said Thomas.

  No, said Julie.

  I’m not even to touch it?

  No.

  After all this long and arduous and if I may say so rather ill-managed journey? Not to touch it? What am I to do?

  You are to get into the hole, said Thomas.

  Get into the hole?

  Lie down in the hole.

  And then you’ll cover me up?

  The bulldozers are just over the hill, Thomas said, waiting.

  You’ll bury me alive?

  You’re not alive, Thomas said, remember?

  It’s a hard thing to remember, said the Dead Father. I don’t want to lie down in the hole.

  Few do.

  Rain falling on all of the bystanders. Emma with kerchief to eyes. Julie standing with hands hiking up skirt.

  Just once to place my hand on it? asked the Dead Father. Last request?

  Denied, said Thomas. Unseemly.

  Julie moved to the Dead Father, restoring her clothes.

  My dear, she said, my dearest, lie down in the hole. I’ll come and hold your hand.

  Will it hurt?

  Yes it will, she said, but I’ll come and hold your hand.

  That’s all? said the Dead Father. That’s the end?

  Yes, she said, but I’ll come and hold your hand.

  That’s the best you can do?

  Yes, she said, I never do less than the best I can do, I’ll come and hold your hand.

  No more after this?

  Don’t believe so, said Thomas, can I help you off with the loop?

  Together they maneuvered the loop from the Dead Father’s torso.

  I wasn’t really fooled, said the Dead Father. Not for a moment. I knew all along.

  We knew you knew, said Thomas.

  Of course I had hopes, said the Dead Father. Pale hopes.

  We knew that too.

  Did I do it well? asked the Dead Father.

  Marvelously well, said Julie. Superbly. I will never see it done better.

  Thank you, said the Dead Father. Thank you very much.

  Thomas placed his hand on the Fleece, outside the skirt.

  It is lovely, said the Dead Father. I am covered with admiration.

  And soon, with good black earth, said Julie. Sad necessary—

  Oh to be alive, the Dead Father said, for one moment more.

  That we can arrange, said Thomas. Two, if you wish.

  The Dead Father stretched his great length in the hole. Skittering of black earth upon the great carcass, from the edges.

  I’m in it now, said the Dead Father, resonantly.

  What a voice, said Julie, I wonder how he does it.

  She knelt and clasped a hand.

  Intolerable, Thomas said. Grand. I wonder how he does it.

  I’m in the hole now, said the Dead Father.

  Julie holding a hand.

  One moment more! said the Dead Father.

  Bulldozers.

  Books by Donald Barthelme

  COME BACK, DR. CALIGARI

  SNOW WHITE

  UNSPEAKABLE PRACTICES, UNNATURAL ACTS

  CITY LIFE

  SADNESS

  THE DEAD FATHER

  GREAT DAYS

  PRESENTS

  60 STORIES

  40 STORIES

  PARADISE

  THE KING

  (For children)

  THE SLIGHTLY IRREGULAR FIRE ENGINE

  OVERNIGHT TO MANY DISTANT CITIES

  (Nonfiction)

  GUILTY PLEASURES

  THE TEACHINGS OF DON B.

  NOT-KNOWING: THE ESSAYS AND INTERVIEWS

  Farrar, Straus and Giroux

  18 West 18th Street, New York 10011

  Copyright © 1975 by Donald Barthelme

  Introduction copyright © 2004 by Donald Antri
m

  All rights reserved

  Originally published in 1975 by Farrar, Straus and Giroux

  This Farrar, Straus and Giroux paperback edition, 2004

  A part of this novel originally appeared in somewhat different form in The New Yorker.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Barthelme, Donald.

  The dead father / Donald Barthelme ; introduction by Donald Antrim.

  p. cm.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-374-52925-3

  ISBN-10: 374-52925-6 (pbk. : alk. paper)

  1. Fathers and sons—Fiction. 2. Fathers—Death—Fiction. 3. Fatherhood—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3552.A76D4 2004

  813'.54—dc22

  2004047064

  www.fsgbooks.com

  eISBN 9781466857308

  First eBook edition: October 2013

 

 

  Donald Barthelme, The Dead Father

 

 

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