“The Father Who Bowed”
by
Russell Edson
A father presented himself. He said, ladies and gentlemen, your father …
His family applauded.
He bowed …
Ladies and gentlemen, he began, it has come to my attention over the last few decades that we are run up against a biological barrier …
His family began to applaud …
No, he began again, do not say that age is beauty, that the white-haired old woman trying to see the sock she darns through cataracts is worth the droppings of a rat.
No, I should say more service to the healthy microbe in the rat’s droppings than the poor darning that comes of arthritic hands and eyes in cataract …
No, indeed, more to be said for lesser forms than men astride their graves!
… We weary the promise unfulfilled, the downward repetition that ends in utter, utter death …
His family applauded …
Ladies and gentlemen, he began again, let us end this terrible business: stuffing brother George into the toilet like a turd; Mother into the garden like a potato; sister Ann up under the roof like an old cobweb; for me, the garbage can …
His family began to cheer; they were on their feet crying, bravo bravo, encore encore.
You do me too much honor, he sighed as he bowed; the curtain slowly coming down …
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