Frolic of His Own (36 page)

—I honestly don't know what you mean, to lose? You plan to lose?

—Plan to win, win or lose. See I'm telling you we've got a real strong case here, win in the lower court and fight their appeal or lose and fight it out on our appeal I'm telling you, won't go into all the legal niceties of it they call them but the long view, taking the long view they win all pleased with themselves and we'll take them in the higher court win or lose, we'll take them on appeal.

—I see. I mean of course I don't see, it all sounds rather risky. Oscar?

—What? Oh. Yes it's probably ready, lunch is probably ready.

—I'm not talking about lunch! Have you been listening to what he's said?

—Of course I've been listening!

—Well? What are you going to do, accept their, where are you going.

—To see about lunch!

—Can't you simply blow your little horn? Let her call us when she, my God. I'm not sure what you're in for Mister Basie, what you smell may be a warning.

—Didn't count on lunch Mrs Lutz, afraid I got to pass it up, get back to the . . .

—He'll be terribly disappointed, he's sounded like it's the only reason you came all the way out here.

—Didn't count on it, see we could have done all this on the telephone but he insisted, thought the two of us should sit down together coming down to the wire here, go over the whole case, why he had me to bring out the whole file, see all this? riffling through papers in the attaché case opened on his lap, —brought the whole file I would have needed a trunk I just brought out the latest hey, look. Look, see this? flourishing a streamer of newspaper, —brought this out to you, thought maybe you missed it, piece in the paper on your hairy Ainu you were talking about?

—Well I, no I didn't see it, I . . .

—Where they think now how the samurai, this fancy top elite warrior class way up there in the nobility that's like it says here the epitome of everything Japanese in their Kabuki and all the rest, how these samurai are really descended right down from your primitive old hairy Ainu they've been treating like dirt over there for a thousand years like a field nigger down here in Fayette County, have to say I got a kick out of it.

—Yes I, I can see you might I, thank you.

—Never would even have noticed it there in the paper but I remembered you talking about your hairy . . .

—Yes I, I'm sure you do yes thank you for thinking of my, of me, Oscar? Mister Basie's afraid he can't stay for lunch.

—But we, I thought we could talk some more about the . . .

—Got it all talked out Oscar, talk any more we'll just get confused.

—But I, maybe I can call you later or, tomorrow if I call you tomorrow we can . . .

—May not be a tomorrow, we're right down to the wire here, the judge sitting on those papers right now. It's real simple Oscar. You take their settlement and I'll pick up the phone. You want to go on with it, we'll hold our breath for the decision.

—Then I, I'll hold my breath.

—Hey!

—Oscar you're, do you know what you're . . .

—I know what I'm doing Christina. I'm going on with it.

—Hey, Oscar! and a clap on the sagging shoulder there, —that's it!

—My God. Wait, I'll see you to the door Mister Basie. I just hope you're right, I know you've worked awfully hard on it and, and I know you're not foolish. Harry's told me you're very much in demand.

—How's he doing?

—Harry? If he comes through this case alive I suppose he can come through anything.

—You want to see legal bills take a look at those. Thanks Mrs Lutz, you give him my best?

—Yes and, thank you . . . She stood there until the slur of tires on the gravel turned her back into the house and that lunch —and Ilse? That Pinot Grigio, bring it in to the table, did you hear me? And over the cold corn soup, —what's this floating in it. You don't plan to hoard that whole bottle of wine over there do you? I only hope your Mister Basie is as brilliant as Harry thinks he is oh, they're scallops aren't they, I mean if you have anything left once you've paid his bar bills buying drinks for his old buddies at the Beverly Wilshire? and over the carrots —you can start thinking about that seventy five hundred dollars for that ambulance chaser that blonde plaything of yours dug up I'm sure you still give her money? over the poached salmon —her divorce is probably as far off as ever thank God let me have the salt, I mean I hope she didn't find these new lawyers you've got that you're so secretive about, and the wine please? Of course it was quite senseless of that law clerk of Father's taking him to the movies in the first place but it may all blow over when you lose your lawsuit which Mister Basie seems to be planning on but I mean that should convince them that your play wasn't worth anyone bothering to steal so it's all just as well isn't it? her chair scraping the floor as she pushed the emptied wine bottle aside —here, let me help you. You're aware that you're putting on weight aren't you, whatever these rubdowns this woman is giving you if that's the word for it, handling things I won't ask exactly what it is she's handling but your body really never has been your friend has it, because you never learned to play. I mean you never really learned to play did you.

—To play what! he muttered, making their way back to the empty room already falling into shadows.

—No I mean, I just meant like other boys with . . .

—What other boys! You mean out playing baseball? There were no other boys, I used to play all the time I didn't need other boys, right down there by the pond I used to play all the time didn't I? By the shores of Gitche Gumee?

—Stood the wigwam of Nokomis, my God no I didn't mean that, where she stood now looking out over the pond, looking out where dark beyond it rose the black and gloomy pine trees and the firs with cones upon them —it was all just too heartbreaking, by the shining Big-Sea-Water where a tall and stately birch tree once had rustled in the breezes, where he'd cleft its bark asunder just beneath the lowest branches, just above the roots he'd cut it down the trunk from top to bottom, stripped away the
bark unbroken for the birch canoe he'd made there puffed with pride at his achievement turning turtle when he'd launched it, filled with terror when his father saw the great birch torn and naked till its sap came oozing outward and the swift Cheemaun for sailing floating upside down and sideways through the reeds and tangled beach grass come to rest there in the mud —and it should have been a warning that you could never please Father.

Out there now the rising west wind rushed the surface of the pond toward the sea like a spring freshet, a flash flood, —look! he whispered, —how it's tossing up the branches of the pine trees like some wild saturnalia, flinging up their skirts all lust and rapine ravished like the Sabine women, like the . . .

—Like the beautiful Wenonah. I think it's a time for Hiawatha's nap, I'm going up for a bath. I mean if there's any hot water of course.

Dark had taken the trees and the torn surface of the pond out there by the time she came down where bursts of colours dancing across his face from the illumination of the screen belittled its repose till the sound of his name restored all its accumulated anxiety in an instant, in the blink of an eye caught up in a wince. —What?

—I said are you awake? what on earth are you watching? and a voice from the screen obliged her with ‘a sea anemone which looks like a harmless flower but is in reality a carnivorous animal.'

—It's my nature program he told her, slouching almost upright.

—You do have curious tastes don't you, she came turning on lights. —Has Harry called? And when it finally rang —We're fine, did you get to that new doctor? Well whatever you call him, you . . . I know that Harry but you've simply got to make time, if you don't you're going to end up like . . . that's exactly what I mean, he's sitting right here waiting for the evening news to whet his appetite for supper, I mean I can't take care of both of you can I? Scenes of mayhem from Londonderry to Chandigarh, an overweight family rowing down main street in a freak flood in Ohio, a molasses truck overturned on the Jersey Turnpike, gunfire, stabbings, flaming police cars and blazing ambulances celebrating a league basketball championship in Detroit interspersed with a decrepit grinning couple on a bed that warped and heaved at the touch of a button —because they offered him a settlement Harry, almost a quarter million dollars but of course he insists on going ahead with the case or rather Mister Basie does, he was out here for . . . what? The Stars and Bars unfurled in a hail of rocks and beer cans showering the guttering remnants of a candlelight vigil —but if you can just try to be patient with her Harry, you know her mother just died and she's been in an awful state trying to . . . to what? Oscar will you turn that down! that now she wants you to help her break
her mother's will? I don't see what . . . well they never really got on after her mother was converted by that wildeyed Bishop Sheed was it? a million years ago convincing her that it was more exclusive with Clare Luce and all that after the wads of money she'd been giving St Bartholomew's with these millions of Catholics jamming every slum you can think of if you call that exclusive, she . . .

—Look! Christina look! Placards brandishing
KEEP GOD IN AMERICA, MURDERER
—come quickly! and caught in the emergency vehicles' floodlights towering over it all the jagged thrust of —that, that Szyrk thing that, look!

—I'll talk to you later Harry, something's going on. What in God's name . . .

—It was struck by lightning and the dog, they said it killed the dog that's what all those candles . . .

—Well thank God for that.

—No but look at them look at the, that sign that little girl was carrying that said murderer that's Father, they said that was Father they, look! Did you see that? The effigy swung back into view and away to reveal a collision between a hot dog cart and a sandwich board purveyor of novelty flags, Spot dolls, keychains, T shirts bearing the Spot logo blazoned beyond on chests and unrestrained breastworks engulfing a frail girl whose meager bosom cautioned
You may play with my dog but leave my pussy alone
abruptly swept away by
PROCHOICE, IT'S MY BODY, ART IS FILTH,
a siren's wail and a bullhorn exhorting Go home now, youall uns just go home, hear?
BLACK PRIDE, THE LAVENDER COALITION, SMOKE WHITE OWLS, HE MARKS THE SPAROWS FALL
as the camera nosed its way through the streaming candles for a jarring glimpse of fur wadded there in a spotlit glare broken off in the shadow of the effigy swinging closer, close enough to read
MURDERER JUDGE THYSELF
pinned to its robes —because he called it an act of God, the lightning, that's what they said, that's the candlelight vigil.

—My God.

—No don't turn it off! Wait . . . The screen brightened. A leggy blonde cycled down a country lane and they were told she'd found relief from hemorrhoids as she passed them beaming, a woman gnashed gleaming dentures and they were told how she kept them in place, a sometime movie star pursued the active life with a tennis racket no longer hampered by incontinence —well try another station! and once again the sirens wailed, flags, placards, beer cans and fists flew, a moment's inattention and an armoured personnel carrier spewing tear gas down an emptied street —my God look! but the black body necklaced with a blazing tire turned out to lie at a crossroad in Soweto and now, poised at a casement window,
a lady in impeccable negligee stirred by a gentle breeze over phantom breasts smiled serenely on the unruffled landscape of a country morning after a satisfactory bout with an overnight laxative in the day's early light, mist rising on the pond out there and the smell of —some more coffee? Ilse? over the morning paper's rehearsal of flying fists and beer cans, rocks and occasional items of intimate apparel culminating in twenty seven cases of injury, one of alleged rape and two arrests heralding a national outpouring of grief signaled on highways and byways throughout the land in lighted headlamps blinded by the sun as screens everywhere came to life with each delicate step in extracting the limp twelve pound remains from their fatal entrapment following emergency measures taken by the Village under the watchful eyes of dark suited local officials in unaccustomed neckties knotted once for all and hung over bedposts during the week, assorted insurance adjusters and senior citizens, white minister, black pastor, and the media cornering a stoic James B shouldered aside by his expansive father confronting their microphones in a mix of cordiality and vengeance, survivors of the night's melee and the entire resident dog population of every hue and cry, their numbers to be swelled in these days to come by gifts from many points of the compass and as various a herd of givers, a mastiff from a black coalition in Chicago and a pit bull from an anonymous donor in Mississippi, two salukis and an Afghan signed ChubbyChasers International and a registered cocker spaniel from a former First Lady and a springer from a more recent one but none, elegized the press, could take the place of little Spot in the heart of little James B, or in the heart of America, or, as it soon proved, in the astute vision of the boy's guardian ad litem filing suit against the Village charging negligence, distraint, conversion, conspiracy, loss of companionship and restraint of trade where it all might have ended down the road in Judge Elbert Haynes' Wink County Supreme Court with no more than the usual racial abrasions and related high jinks attendant on jury selection thereabouts but for the shrewd eye of presiding Village Board member J Harret Ruth surveying the wider prospect of Federal jurisdiction and so proceeding by impleader to provide the requisite out-of-state litigant in the odd bedfellow of the original creator of the vehicle of entrapment and ‘rusting travesty of our great nation's vision of itself thus satisfying the simmering local appetite for a proven common enemy —landing the whole enchilada, as Harry phrased it standing there in front of the smoking fireplace rattling the law newsletter he'd been reading from —right back in the old man's lap.