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The Dead Father plodding along, at the end of his cable. His long golden robes. His long gray hair to the shoulder. His broad and noble brow.Awfully calm, said Julie.
Placid as a mailman, Thomas agreed, he is trying to be good.
Harder for him than for thee or me, hes not used to it.
I was never good, until I attained my majority, Thomas said. And even then --
I never bothered my pretty head about it, Julie said. Sometimes I did the right thing and sometimes I did the wrong thing. In difficult cases, I shut my eyes and lea<samp></samp>ped. A great deal of leaping.
A in those instahat have feelings attached --
I go against them, she said. My feelings. Method of the utmost trustworthiness, learned from the Carmelites.
I follow my feelings, Thomas said, when I find them.
Hes been very quiet.
Not a peep out of him these many miles.
Has he perhaps twigged?
Look on the bright side, Thomas said, and decide that he has not. Its essential.
A grimace from Julie.
The worlds slow stain. Who said that? Preserved from the tagion of, I think, the worlds slow stain.
I blo it if I ever khomas said.
Julie bit off a chew of bhang.
And the men, said Thomas. Some possibility of trouble there.
Nonsehe men will be adequately repensed by the reds and blues and silver streaks we have introduced into the gray tusche of their lives. Dont worry about the men. They are only men after all -- a tractor could have dohe job as well.
The position would have suffered, Thomas said. Think of it: Up there, the een, the Old Incibles, hauling upon the cable. The line of the cable itself, taut, angled, running from there to here. Finally, the object hauled: the Father, in his majesty. His grandeur. A tractor would have been très insipide.
Chewing of bhang (nonittal).
Before attaining your majority, Thomas asked, what did you do?
Schemed, mostly. Scheming away night and day, toward the achievement of ends. I woke up angry one m and stayed angry for years -- that was my adolesce. Anger and scheming. How to get out. How to get Lucius. How to get Mark. How to get away from Fred. How to seize power. That sort of thing. And a great deal of care-of-the-body.<bdi>..</bdi> It was young. It was beautiful. It deserved care.
Is beautiful, Thomas said. Is beautiful, beloved.
Thank you, she said. There were many men, I dont deny it, it was moths to the flame. I tried to love them. Damned difficult. Kept a harpoon gun in my tall window. Tracked them as they moved dowreet, in their ridiculous dignity. I never fired although I could have, it erable. Having them in my sights was enough. My finger origger, always about to go off but never quite. Tension of the most exquisite sort.
I thought it was an objet dart, Thomas said.
Julie smiled.
Often, when I was young, last year, I walked out to the water. It spoke to me of myself. Images came to me, from the water. Pictures. Large green lawns. A great house with pillars, but the lawns so vast that the house be seen only dimly, from where we are standing. I am wearing a long skirt to the ground, in the pany of others. I am witty. They laugh. I am also wise. They pestures of infinite grace. They appreciate. For the finale, I save a life. Leap into the water all clothed and grasping the drowner by the hair, or using the cross-chest carry, get the silly bastard to shore. Have to bash him on the mush to end his wild paruggles. Drag him to the old weathered dod there, he supine,. I rampant, mahe resuscitation. Stand back, I say to the crowd, stand back. The dazed creatures eyes open -- no, they close again -- no, they open again. Someohrows a bla over my damp, glistening white, incredibly beautiful shoulders. I whip out my harmonid give them two fast choruses of "Red Devil Rag." Standing ovation. The triumph is plete.
You left out Albert Schweitzer, Thomas said.
Hard to patch him in, said Julie, but he is there.
At that moment the Dead Father approached Thomas, holding a small box.
A present, he said, for you.
Thank you, said Thomas, what is it?
Open it, said the Dead Father. Open the box.
Thomas opehe box and found a knife.
Thank you, he said, what is it for?
Use it, said the Dead Father. Cut something. Cut something off.
I spoke too soon, Thomas said, he is not reciled.
I will never be reciled, the Dead Father said, never. When I am offended, I aunishment. Punishment is a thing Im good at. I have some rather fine ones. For anyone who dares trifle. On the first day the trifler is well ed, with strong cords and hung upside down from a flagpole at a height of twenty stories. On the sed day the trifler is turned right side up and rehung from the same staff, so as to empty the blood from his head and prepare him for the third day. Ohird day the trifler is uned and waited upon by a lised D.D.S. who extracts every other tooth from the top row and every other tooth from the bottom row, the extras to be mismatg acc to the blueprint supplied. On the fourth day the trifler is given hard things to eat. On the fifth day the trifler is forted with soft fine garments and flagons and the attentions of lithesome women so as to make the shock of the sixth day the more severe. On the sixth day９９lib?he trifler is fined alone in a small room with the music of Karlheinz Stockhausen. On the seventh day the trifler is pricked with les. On the eighth the trifler is slid naked down a thousand-foot razor blade to the music of Karlheinz Stockhausen. On the ninth day the trifler is sewn together by children. Oenth day the trifler is fined alone in a small room with the works of Teilhard de Chardin and the music of Karlheinz Stockhausen. On the eleventh day the triflers stitches are removed by children wearing catchers mitts on their right a hands. Owelfth day --
I apologize for saying you were perpetuating myths, Julie said to Thomas. I am beginning to e round to your opinion.
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