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.
No, Julie said. No speech.
A speech to the men? asked the Dead Father. To my assembled loyal, faithful —
No, said Julie.
Yes, said Thomas. Tomorrow.
Tomorrow?
Maybe tomorrow, said Thomas.
My speech!
To bed, said Thomas. All to bed now. Pleasant dreams.
Thomas regarded his orange tights, his orange boots, his new silver belt buckle.
Yes! he said.
7
Let him make his speech, Julie said.
Yesterday you said no.
I was in a fouler mood yesterday. Today I am in a fairer mood.
That’s interesting, Thomas said. How do you do that?
I ignore sense data, she said, let him make his speech.
Thomas turned to the Dead Father.
Would you like to make your speech now?
I have prepared some remarks, said the Dead Father. Remarks which are perhaps not without pertinency.
Thomas gathered together the men and Emma.
The men stood in a ragged half circle. The nineteen. Edmund with his hand on his back pocket, where the flask was. Emma at one tip of the crescent, Julie at the other.
The Dead Father stepped forward and assumed his speaking position, a kind of forwardly lean.
All the men lighted cigarettes. Julie lighted a cigarette as did Emma.
The Dead Father placed the tips of the fingers of his two hands together.
In considering, he said, inconsidering inconsidering inconsidering the additionally arriving human beings annually additionally arriving human beings each producing upon its head one hundred thousand individual hairs some retained and some discarded — All the men sat down and began talking to each other. In contemplating I say these additionally arrived human beings not provided for by anticipatory design hocus or pocus and thus problematical, we must reliably extend a set of ever-advancing speeding poised lingering or dwelling pattern behaviors sufficient unto the day or adequate until the next time. Given the existence of the next time, anticipatory design neurosis designs for integration of the until-then-threatening non-self-requested experience of life and sweet, sweet variable stresses and flows to carry inward and inwardize if rain floods fires earthquakes tornadoes do not occur as predicted but look out of the window and see how dark the sky, how bold the wind, how whipped the trees, how gravitational the red falling skinripping rooftiles not provided for by anticipatory design fury preallotted to the discontinuance of consciousness known as sleep, let us pray. Tensionally cohered universe here today and gone tomorrow finity inward and finity outward and ever-advancing speeding poised lingering or dwelling particles in waveful duality and progressive conceptioning and Father’s Day interface with holistic behaviors unpredicted by parts such as you, me, them, and we, and I, and he, and she, and it. These, assigned by a static or “at rest” analysis to super series of unpredictable mathematical frequencies composed of complementary and reciprocal numbers found in cyclic bundling of experience not necessarily compromised by variable geographic bundle limitations, but sometimes, as in the song at twilight when the lights are low and the flickering shadows softly come and go, to multidynamically blossom or burst forth in beauty or pain and pre-and postnatal … disappointments. . next appropriate trial balance struck… as to what might be… in the best case… however. However. Given the already-secreted true experience of the regeneratively-evolving comprehensive world-design effort against fire flood pestilence violent atmospheric disturbance and providing seventeen cubic feet of air per minute per person free of toxic or disagreeable odors or dust, or malice, we feel that metals broadly speaking and synthetics narrowly speaking will interlink into continuously improving world-around extra-corporeal networks, networks within which only individual man presents himself as an inherent island of physical discontinuity sad to say, sad to say, physical discontinuity and torpor, total velocities of which known practices have proved inadequate to solve. Given however all-over compensatory design despair such as is known to you and known to me, and freakiness, and bearing in mind push-pull as prior to and above all, and disregarding those whose larger pattern security is challenged or threatened by these systematically pulsing alternations, we project your existence here as possibly tolerable within tolerances of.01, 02, and.03, given up-tooling of social engineering extra-genetic razzle post-partum reprepositioning and I spy. Thank you.