The Dead Father by Donald Barthelme
No they’re not they’re new. The horseman who has been following us is not new.
They seem sort of dark and furry.
Yes now that I look closely they’re apes.
Yes I see what you mean they do appear to be apes.
One two three four five apes.
Yes they’re tapping their feet to the music.
What’s the tune.
It’s the “Crabapple Stomp.” I always liked that one.
Me too the only thing wrong with it is that it’s not new, do you think they want to dance?
What?
Do you think they want to dance, the apes?
Ask them but maybe they would hold on too tightly.
I’ll take a chance. They’re new.
Maybe they would crush you with their incredibly powerful arms.
That would be new.
Probably they smell terribly.
That would be new too I’m tired of all you sweet-smellers.
What’s that music?
That’s the “Carborundum Waltz.”
I was always fond of waltzes. I remember—
Look she’s not scared of the apes she’s asked one to dance.
He dances pretty well, for an ape.
Whose idea was having this dance in the first place?
It was the Dance Committee.
Well it breaks the monotony I suppose.
Yes I suppose it does that, in a sense.
I think some are male and some female the smaller ones are female, probably.
Yes they’re slightly more graceful than the males.
I’m going to dance with one.
Leave me here in the middle of the floor?
It will be new.
Yes it will be new but I think it’s slightly insulting to be dancing with a person and then leave that person alone in the middle of the floor and go off and dance with an ape.
You can have the dance after this one I’ll write your name on my dance card.
I don’t particularly want to dance with someone after that someone has been dancing with an ape.
* * *
Can you talk at all?
(Silence.)
Nothing?
(Silence.)
That’s new.
(Silence.)
You apes live around here in the dense underbrush and move in and out among the trees seeking fruits and vegetables?
(Silence.)
Well you certainly are accomplished dancers except perhaps maybe you’re holding me a little tight?
(Silence.)
Thank you that’s better I suppose there’s no point in asking you your name is it all right if I call you Hector?
(Silence.)
Are any of the females your wife or girl friend I mean, I suppose you dance with each other a lot at night or at festival times special occasions Hector there’ll probably be repercussions about this the men don’t like it I can see that would you like a plate of chicken or something oh I forgot you’re not a meateater and probably it would be wrong of me to get you started but there are some little cakes and things and I think Kool-Aid or the equivalent things change their names so fast these days I’m not sure it’s still called Kool-Aid may be just grape juice with a little something added to zip it up ouch! doesn’t matter it was my fault where did you go to school excuse me that was a dumb question it’s just that when you’re dancing you usually feel like you ought to make conversation and it’s a little hard when the other person doesn’t say anything.
(Silence.)
Well I’ve certainly enjoyed this dance it was new can I introduce you to one of the other members of our party who’s a good dancer too lots of zest and a good personality you’ll be surprised some people think she’s prettier than I although that’s not the sort of thing I can comment on can I ha ha just come on over here for a moment and I’ll introduce you oh my she’s dancing already well would you like to just sort of sit this one out what a grip, lightly, lightly, that’s better you do understand quite a lot don’t you an amazing amount considering would you excuse me for a moment I have to go to the ladies’ room or I mean I must leave you for a moment Hector let go of my hand now I’ll come back and we’ll chat some more I promise Hector let go now don’t be a—
This is Emma.
Emma, Hector.
Hector, Emma.
He likes to dance that I can tell you and don’t be afraid he’s really very sweet and quite new, a new experience I can promise you that.
Thomas approaches and asks Julie to dance.
Julie says that she is willing to dance with Thomas.
I saw you dancing with that ape.
Yes I was dancing with that ape his name is Hector I mean that’s not really his name I don’t suppose I just called him that.
Did you want to go to bed with him?
Never occurred to me I just wanted to try it, is all.
Are you sure you don’t have a fantasy of going to bed with him you were dancing quite close I saw it.
Well he tends to hold on very tightly I don’t think it’s sexual so much I just think he likes to hold on to everything very tightly I mean I think that’s the way he holds on to things. Very tightly.
Well it made me feel funny to see you dancing with him and talking to him and all that and you certainly looked like you were having a high old time.
Well he’s very pleasant and sweet and believe me I had my work cut out for me just keeping the conversation going you’ve nothing to be jealous about nothing whatsoever I’m surprised at you jealous of an ape what’s that music?
It’s the “Registration Waltz.” He certainly knows his way around a banjo.
Yes I didn’t know he played banjo I knew he played guitar of course but I didn’t know he played banjo.
I didn’t even know we had a banjo but Sam has been carrying it all this way and a pocket cornet too you should see it it’s only about eight or nine inches long but he gets a lot of sound out of it they’re made in Warsaw he told me amazing how much musical talent you find around almost everybody can play something a little bit.
Yes I believe the Dead Father plays nine instruments he told me once what they were eight or nine but he can certainly make a banjo sing I think this was a good idea don’t you everybody seems to be having a good time whose idea was it?
Edmund’s. And Emma’s.
What’s that they’re playing now?
It’s the “Penetration Waltz” I believe.
And the apes coming, crashing I suppose but I don’t care, gives you a feeling of newness always good to meet new people get an idea of what others are like new perspectives as it were I wish they could talk almost made a mistake and offered Hector some chicken salad probably a bad idea to get them started.
The Dead Father looks quite happy doesn’t he almost benign one could almost forget about his wood chisels and all the rest of it seeing him sitting here keeping time with his mechanical leg and doing that what do they call it frailing I think I wonder where he learned that the old bastard knows a lot of different things you have to hand it to him product I suppose of his long years of—
Ouch! I’m sorry probably my fault do you want to get a little taste of something I’m thirsty look at that! that ape just knocked Edmund down now he’s picking him up again now he’s knocking him down again oh God we don’t want a melee you’d better break it up maybe we could organize a lady-in-the-lake or something you try to get the apes in one line and I’ll line up our people let me see twenty-three less the three playing plus five apes means roughly twelve on a side.
We’ll need a caller, Thomas said, I’ll do that, that means twelve on a side.
The lines formed. The trio begins “The Titanium Polka.”
Honor your partner, Thomas said, all gather round, there’s a great day comin’, let’s run it in the ground.
Emma and Hector do-si-do-ing down the lines.
This is the best dance I have ever been to! Emma exclaimed.
An outpost of civilization or human habitation. Dwellings in neat rows back to back to back to back. Children at play on roofs.
Where are the streets? asked the Dead Father.
There appear to be none, said Julie.
Perhaps tunnels in the earth?
Or maybe they squeeze between the houses, making themselves all teensy-weensy and not forgetting to gaze into the windows as they pass.
It is Planning, said Thomas, a New Town. One must achieve the rim to be killed by auto.
Circulation is not a big thing here, said a stander-by. Why is that man, that one of you, the distinguished-looking one, being dragged? What has he committed? Why are those nineteen puffing and sweating away, on the cable? Why are you three not puffing and sweating away on the cable? I do not understand your table of organization.
He is a father, said Thomas.
Terrible news, said the man, you can’t bring him in here.
He is fatigued. We are fatigued. We can pay.
You’ll have to deballock him and wipe your feet on the mat, said the man, whose face contained beardescules at odd points, such as the lips and center of the forehead. Do you need a deballocking knife? Scissors? Razor? Paper cutter? Shard of glass? Letter opener? Fingernail clippers?
He is a sacred object, in a sense, Thomas said. No more of your bubblegum. Which way is the flophouse?
There are two, the citizen said. The good one and the bad one. The bad one has the best girls. The good one has the best pâté. The bad one has the best beds. The good one has the best cellar. The bad one has the best periodicals. The good one has the best security. The bad one has the best band. The good one has the best roaches. The bad one has the best martinis. The good one has the best credit cards. The bad one has the best table silver. The good one has the best views. The bad one has the best room service. The good one has the best reputation. The bad one has the best façade. The good one has the best chandelier. The bad one has the best carpet. The good one has the best bathrooms. The bad one has the best bar. The good one has the best Dun & Bradstreet. The bad one has the best portraits. The good one has the best bellmen. The bad one has the best potted plants. The good one has the best ashtrays. The bad one has the best snails. The good one has the best postcards. The bad one has the best breakfast. The good one—
Between the good one and the bad one, Julie said, there appears to be little choice.
There are also private houses but none large enough or foolish enough to attempt to accommodate your party, said the man. That thing there would scare the children out of their wigs, did they get but a glimpse of it.
He is talking about you, Emma said to the Dead Father.
The Dead Father beamed.
He says you’ll frighten the children.
Happiness of the Dead Father.
Him, the citizen said, him can’t be brought in without the fixing. I can lend you a Skilsaw.
I would prefer not to, said the Dead Father.
He prefers not to, Thomas told the citizen.
Well damn and blast, said the citizen, who would imagine otherwise? Yet a rule is a rule.
Edmund, Thomas called.
Edmund presented himself.
How would you like to buy a drink or so for this citizen of this fine community? Thomas asked. You may charge it to me.
Tremble of happiness running through Edmund from top to bottom (visible).
Edmund and the citizen off to the alehouse arm-in-arm.
Now, Thomas said, let’s inspect the accommodations.
After looking at the good one, they chose the bad one.
Julie and Thomas in their room, sitting on the bed. Picture on the wall, Death of Sigismur.
Amazing how he holds on to his balls, said Julie, that is a curious thing, I don’t understand it.
I understand it, said Thomas.
Doesn’t know when it’s time to hang it up, she said, how old do you think he is?
He claims one hundred and nine, said Thomas, but he may be stretching it. He may be shrinking it. I don’t know.
Three of our people are clones I think.
Which three?
The three with the red hair and the limp.
Thomas lay back upon the bed.
What a disgusting idea, he said.
How is it that you gave him back his leg after you had whacked it off?
Purely practical. He staggers better with it. We have ends in view.
So we do, she said, so we do.
A knock on the chamber door.
Who’s there? called a voice, from outside the door.
Shall we answer? Julie asked.
Who’s there? the voice called again.
Who wants to know? Julie shouted.
There was a silence.
Peter, the voice said, at length.
Do we know anyone named Peter?
I know no one named Peter.
What do you want, Peter? she called.
I have to mist the plant, Peter called.
Thomas looked about him. A cactus sat on the dressing table.
Does one mist a cactus? Julie asked.
Let him in, Thomas said.
Julie opened the door.
Some people know what they are doing, Peter said, and some don’t.
He began wrapping wet cheesecloth around the cactus.
Well there tall thin fellow, said Julie, why are you here?
I heard there were strangers. We don’t often get strangers. I wanted to give it to you.
Wanted to give what to us?
He appears to be a dolt of some kind, Thomas said, sotto voce.
The book, Peter said.
What is the book about?
Peter had a frayed tattered disintegrating volume with showers of ratsnest falling out of it clutched to his chest.
It is a manual, he said. Might be of some small use to you. On the other hand, might not.
Are you the author? Julie asked.
Oh no, said Peter. I am the translator.
From what language was it translated?
It was translated from English, he said, into English.
You must have studied English.
Yes I did study English.
Is it long? Thomas asked, looking at the thin book.
It is not long, Peter said, and at the same time, too long.
Then, furiously:
Do you know what translators are paid?
Not my fault, Julie said, as with much else in the world, not my fault.
Pennies! Peter proclaimed.
Are you selling us this book?
No, Peter said nobly, I am giving it to you as a gift. It is not worth selling.
He unwrapped the cheesecloth from the cactus.
Edition of forty, he said, printed originally on pieces of pumpernickel. This is the second edition.
We must give you something, Thomas said, what can it be?
You are strangers, Peter said. Your approval would be enough.
You have it, said Julie. She kissed Peter on the forehead.
I am justified, Peter said, for the time being. I can struggle on, for the time being. I am reified, for the time being.
Exit of Peter.
He didn’t ask much, said Thomas.
His bargaining position is not the best, Julie said. He is a translator.
They lay on their stomachs in the bed, looking at the book.
The book was titled A Manual for Sons.
The author was not credited.
“Translated from the English by Peter Scatterpatter” was found on the title page.
They began to read the book.
A MANUAL FOR SONS
TRANSLATED FROM THE ENGLISH BY PETER SCATTERPATTER
(1) Mad fathers
(2) Fathers as teachers
(3) On horseback, etc.
(4) The leaping father
(5) Best way to approach
(6) Ys
(7) Names of
(8) Voices of
(9) Sample voice,
A
B
C
(10) Fanged, etc.
(11) Hiram or Saul
(12) Color of fathers
(13) Dandling
(14) A tongue-lashing
(15) The falling father
(16) Lost fathers
(17) Rescue of fathers
(18) Sexual organs
(19) Names of
(20) Yamos
(21) “Responsibility”
(22) Death of
(23) Patricide a poor idea, and summation
Mad fathers stalk up and down the boulevards, shouting. Avoid them, or embrace them, or tell them your deepest thoughts—it makes no difference, they have deaf ears. If their dress is covered with sewn-on tin cans and their spittle is like a string of red boiled crayfish running head-to-tail down the front of their tin cans, serious impairment of the left brain is present. If, on the other hand, they are simply barking (no tin cans, spittle held securely in the pouch of the cheek), they have been driven to distraction by the intricacies of living with others. Go up to them, and, stilling their wooden clappers by putting your left hand between the hinged parts, say you’re sorry. If the barking ceases, this does not mean that they have heard you, it only means they are experiencing erotic thoughts of abominable luster. Permit them to enjoy these images for a space, and then strike them sharply in the nape with the blade of your tanned right hand. Say you’re sorry again. It won’t get through to them (because their brains are mush) but in pronouncing the words, your body will assume an attitude that conveys, in every country of the world, sorrow—this language they can understand. Gently feed them with bits of leftover meat you are carrying in your pockets. First hold the meat in front of their eyes, so that they can see what it is, and then point to their mouths, so that they know that the meat is for them. Mostly, they will open their mouths, at this point. If they do not, throw the meat in between barks. If the meat does not get all the way into the mouth but lands upon (say) the upper lip, hit them again in the neck, this often causes the mouth to pop open and the meat sticking to the upper lip to fall into the mouth. Nothing may work out in the way I have described; in this eventuality, you can do not much for a mad father except listen, for a while, to his babble. If he cries aloud, “Stomp it, emptor!” then you must attempt to figure out the code. If he cries aloud, “The fiends have killed your horse!” note down in your notebook the frequency with which the words “the” and “your” occur in his tirade. If he cries aloud, “The cat’s in its cassock and flitter-te-hee moreso stomp it!” remember that he has already asked you once to “stomp it” and that this must refer to something you are doing. So stomp it.