Executioner's Song, The - Norman Mailer [206]
He always devoted a few minutes to Grace. He would be gentle in his talk, but with a touch of irony. Would always want to know which Spook Grace had met in her thoughts this week, and then they would talk about spooks. He would also ask Grace's opinion of the books he was reading, The one he liked most was The Ginger Man by J. P. Donleavy. Once she bought Gary a subscription to Art Today.
She thought his pictures of children were worthy of superlatives.
The only time she saw him get angry was on the day Bessie told him she had definitely lost the house. He was so angry at the Mormon Church that even the recollection of his wrath years later made Grace think, "I'll bet a nickel he knew those boys were Mormon before he killed them."
He would also ask how Mikal was getting along in college. Mikal the Mysterious, he would call him, because he never came to visit.
Grace could hear him say, "I just don't know Gary," and that was true, considering that Mikal had only been four years old when his brother went to Reform School. Grace also thought Mikal's long hair might have something to do with it. He would be uncomfortable in that visiting room under the eyes of. the convicts.
At such times, Bessie would divert Gary with funny stories of his father. It was impossible not to recognize that the father and son never got along, but now, somehow, it was funny stories about Frank Sr. that would make Gary laugh the most.
Frank had been bragging of the somersault he used to do off the top of some piled-up chairs into the orchestra pit, and once in Denver, Frank decided to show her. Bess told him she didn't think he should try it. He was too drunk. "I've done this all my life," he told her, "I know how." He got up, and the chairs fell, and he knocked the wind out of himself so badly she thought he was dead. "I kept trying to give him mouth-to-mouth whatever-you-call-it."
Or the time with the sheep. Gaylen had a black sheep, and Mikal cried, "I want one." What Mikal wanted, Mikal got. "Sure, sure," she said, "sheep, horse, cow, whatever, get it for the kid." Frank came back from the stockyards with a white sheep who had a black face and pulled it out of the back of the station wagon. Bess was angry.
She didn't like animals, and the back of the car would have to be cleaned. That damned sheep.
The lady next door had three yapping dogs. As Frank came around the corner, the sheep turned unmanageable. All the boys began to scream, "Help Father get the sheep in the pen." It went on for a half hour. Bess stayed up on the porch. She cried out, "Twist his tail, Frank, and he will go right ahead of you," but Frank couldn't hear what she was saying, and told Gaylen, "Kick the damned thing in the ass." Gaylen would go to launch his foot, the sheep would turn around and get kicked in the face. Frank would say, "Don't you know the goddamn face from the butt?"
All at once the animal turned. Frank got his foot caught in the rope, fell, and the sheep began to drag him. That sheep laid a slide of green diarrhea, while Frank was pulled across the lawn, the sidewalk, and the gravel in the shoulder of the road. Before they got Frank up, he had one sore bottom. "Look at me," he said, brushing himself, "grass all over."
"Frank," Bessie said, "it isn't grass."
Between her sobs of laughter, she would say, "That was the one funniest thing I ever watched."
"Remember," said Gary, "how Dad was the worst driver in the world?" He turned to Grace. "My father caused more wrecks. When people would start honking at him, he'd put his thumb to his nose. Or he'd let go of the steering wheel and wiggle all of his fingers next to his ears like Bullwinkle the Moose. They'd go crazy till he put his hands back on the wheel. We kids used to think he was hot stuff. We'd wiggle our fingers at the other cars, too."
After the laughter, in all the thought that followed on memories, Gary