Books by DAR

Small Family With Rooster

Excerpts: Small Family With Rooster
(First published in The New Yorker)

The baby falls asleep in Amy's arms on the ride in from the airport, and Amy asks her mother to keep her voice down, please. Mrs Hunt gasps, cuts off the gossip, and guns the car. All the way to the Mansion she wears an expression that says she has tried to make the visit endurable but that, already, she is no longer responsible. Mark turns to watch the snowy billboards of Charlottesville, Virginia, and thinks what a span there is between Christmas and New Year's -- six whole days. And it won't even be Christmas until tomorrow.

Mr. Hunt is just backing out of the driveway in his Jaguar when Mrs. Hunt, Amy, the baby, and Mark pull up the driveway in theirs. Even with the two panes of tinted Jaguar glass between them, Mark can tell that Mr. Hunt is bigger and angrier than ever.

One good sign is that the Christmas tree in the vestibule seems to be prospering. It is a real live Virginia pine in a large planter of rich, black soil. Each green needle glistens. Extraordinarily white sand dollars hang from the branches. Mark drops the luggage on the floor near the tree and comes closer, on the lookout for good signs. Tiny white bulbs flash on all at once, then go out again, a one-second flash of mute joy every four dark seconds.

Amy's brother, Vance, is dead. Mark and Amy have not been back to the Mansion since Vance died, after last year's Christmas. Vance was the favorite offspring of Mr. and Mrs. Hunt, squash partner of Mark, godfather of Billy, the sleeping boy. Amy lowers Billy into his crib. Mark puts his arm around Amy and they watch the passage of dreams cross his smooth pink face. Outside people proceed with baby steps on the sidewalks of packed snow.

For a needed change of scenery, Mark and Amy go directly downtown to shop. Mark feels very New England in the midst of Southern ebullience. In the grocery, the nice salesboy runs to fetch their order while Mark contemplates the display jars of "Stuffed Olives!" "Spiced Grapes!" "Prepared Prunes!" "Peeled Apricots!" He also contemplates the cardboard display showing Larry Bird dunking a basketball, with space for fourteen dimes and thirty quarters under Larry's arm and, over Larry's head, the words "Fight Leukemia!" It is empty.

The Mansion is unlike Mark and Amy's New England farmhouse, and coming here is never easy; however, it is less easy now that Vance is not present to make jokes. Dinner this first night is tense. Jokes are out of the question. It is hard to find a topic to discuss without arousing personality conflicts. After a few false starts, the topic tonight is: How many zeros are in a trillion? Mr. and Mrs. Hunt say ten. Amy says twelve. Mark ducks down the hall to the library and looks up "trillion" in the dictionary. From the library, he hears Mr. Hunt calling Amy an ignoramus. He hears Mr. Hunt berating Amy for spending four years burning down libraries instead of getting an education. The dictionary is on a stand. Mark is flipping pages fast. With his finger under the tiny light he finds "trillion" and is hurrying back to support his wife when she finally bursts into tears.

On Christmas morning, Mark climbs the back stairs to the fourth-floor attic of the Mansion. There are between eight and ten rooms here, depending on whether you consider some to be large closets or small storage rooms. On the wall just inside the entranceway of each room is an old push- button light switch. Mark enters only the rooms in which these light switches work. The attic is very neat and orderly, but Mark is getting spooked. He is thinking about Vance, who had promised to teach him to skydive someday. Mark opens one door and reaches inside for the light switch. The place feels cold. There seems to be no switch, so he lights a match and discovers it is an empty elevator shaft.

On the sill above the kitchen sink is a pair of golden tongs that Mark is wondering about. They're nifty- looking, but he wonders what they're for. He asks Ruby, who is wearing a paper-thin maid's uniform and has a tremendous turkey bone sticking out from between her front teeth. Ruby tells him that the tongs are used to remove toast from the toaster -- they're a toast-taker-outer -- and then she watches the disgust cross Mark's face. She bends over and claps her hands once, twice, and allows the turkey bone to wag in her mouth. "That's it, honey," she says. "A golden toast-taker-outer. Mrs. Hunt got it. She gets everything. She gets everything, Mrs. Hunt. Yeah. Even a golden toast- taker-outer. She believes in everything."

Mrs. Hunt has been calling for Mark. Mark enters the stairwell and looks up to see his mother-in-law's head leaning over the banister. She is a pretty lady, but her head is flushed. "There you are," she says. "I'm looking for Mr. Hunt's electric razor. Did you borrow it this morning?" "No," says Mark. Mrs. Hunt has opened her mouth to tell him to put it back, but this reply makes her stop short and makes her head redden more.

At the Club, the squash pro has white duck pants and a yellow cashmere sweater and very firm, very engaging blue eyes, and he shows Mark how far away he should be from the ball when he connects. To represent the ball, the pro drops on the court his well-worn calfskin wallet. Just teach me the game, thinks Mark.

Mark hears a good expression from a drunk man at a party. The man puts a fatherly arm around Mark's waist and asks Mark if he is going to have the brown bottle flu tomorrow. Mark asks what the brown-bottle flu is. "You know," says the man, removing his arm and giving an excellent imitation of someone chugging whiskey. Other than this, Mark does not enjoy the party.

Mark is walking Billy around the coffee table -- around and around. Mark is amazed at how primitive the boy is -- that though they are holding hands, he doesn't know enough to keep from cutting his father off as they round each corner. Mark is charmed.

It is snowing. Mrs. Hunt is gathering Mark, Amy, and Mr. Hunt to go for a toboggan ride. Mrs. Hunt is the only one who wants to go. Everyone else is weighing which is worse, to go or to stay home and be called "lazybones" all afternoon.

Mark is contemplating the word "opulent." He notes its fat and glossy sound. He contemplates "rich." He contemplates "wealthy." He contemplates "comfortable." To him, "comfortable" sounds like the squash pro's calfskin wallet hitting the court floor, the flap of soft leather against lacquered wood.

The toboggan is twelve feet long and loaded with jingle bells. Mr. Hunt sits in the back, because he is biggest and angriest. His legs are around his daughter, Amy, whose legs are around her mother, Mrs. Hunt, whose legs are around her son-in-law, Mark. What a way to die, thinks Mark.

Amy runs into a childhood girlfriend at another party. Impetuously, she introduces Mark, and the three of them squeeze into the kitchen to talk over old times, and soon discover that old times are a bore. Still, Amy is trying to be pleasant and she would he sore if Mark didn't make an effort. He tells a hilarious story. Amy's friend is startled and amused by the punch line, but her response is delayed -- "Whey" -- because she has to exhale her smoke first. Now Amy is homesick for the farm, too.

Mark is exploring the attic again. He comes across four boxes stacked one on top of the other. When he folds back the top of the first box he realizes it contains the belongings of Vance. There feels to be a great deal of loose, dusty paper inside. Mark removes with one hand a silver baby rattle and with the other a silver rip-cord handle -- both bent and tarnished. Mark is confused at seeing a life so condensed, but what is more confusing is that the remnants already look antiquated! In only twelve months of sitting in the box, the remnants of his brother-in- law look as ancient as an Egyptian pharaoh's.

Mrs. Hunt has discovered a burst pipe in the solarium. Big, slurpy drops of water are leaping from a hole in the wall. Mark rescues a book on African violets and dries its cover with his sleeve. He volunteers to call a plumber, but Mrs Hunt is very upset. Her head is red again. She tells Mark that everyone knows you can't get a plumber the week of Christmas. Mark goes to the living room to brush up on African violets.

At dinner, Mr. Hunt pours the wine and passes the glasses down to Mrs. Hunt, to Amy, and to Mark. The wine is ruddy in the candlelight. Ruby is slow with the second course. "Honestly!" says Mrs. Hunt. Mr. Hunt can't locate the buzzer with his foot -- it seems to have disappeared under the new broadloom. Mrs. Hunt suggests he ring for Ruby with the little bell on the sideboard. Amy says never mind, she'll go to the kitchen and tell Ruby in person. "No!" Mr. and Mrs. Hunt gasp, but Amy is already through the swinging door. Mr. and Mrs. Hunt exchange a look that says Amy will never grow up.

The Mansion is quiet in the middle of the afternoon. Everything is hushed. Mark is slumped back in the sofa of the living room. He watches Billy climb onto a large, antique rocking chair, sit in the middle of the seat, and practice covering and uncovering his eyes with his hands. Mark looks forward to the day when he can tell Billy about Vance, his godfather, about how sweet he was, and honest. Mark thinks maybe Vance is in this quiet room with them right now, appreciating his godson. He hopes so. He listens to the sound of piano keys being dusted in the next room. The sound is beautiful.

For a needed change of scenery, Mark goes to the Club for one more squash lesson. The squash pro tells Mark to relax and be one with the ball. "Like Zen." "Like what?" "Like Zen," sighs the pro, wondering if Northerners will ever get hip.

Everyone is crowding around the buffet table. Amy has a little hors d'oeuvre to give Mark, a surprise. "Close your eyes," she commands. Mark closes his eves. Then he opens them and says, "I hate closing my eyes, okay?" They are both getting partied out.

Mark comes down with a bug. Then Amy comes down with a bug. No one else gets the bug, prompting word to spread that it is nerves, brought on from living in that house. Whatever the case, the bug neutralizes two days of their visit. Mark doesn't eat for thirty six hours, and he loses three pounds. The first food Mark tastes after thirty- six hours is the tip of a spoonful of strained pears. He is testing the pears for Billy. The touch of the food lights Mark's body and his mind, and he is irradiated with love for his small, immediate family -- if only they could be home.

Ruby is having one of her bad days. All she has done since 9 A.M. is sit on the kitchen stool and cry into her apron, saying "This poor house, this poor house since Vance went away."

Mrs. Hunt is a nut for winter sports. She has collected everybody for one more toboggan run. But she wants her son-in-law to loosen up and have fun this time. Mrs. Hunt tosses a snowball at him to loosen him up. Amy fires one back at Mrs. Hunt. Soon a friendly snowball fight is underway. Mr. Hunt is not angry for the first time this visit as he crunches a snowball on the back of his son-in- law's neck. He gets less and less angry as he tackles Mark and rubs his face in the snow. In fact, he appears to be enjoying himself immensely. You really get to know people in a snowball fight.

Mr. and Mrs. Hunt have gone to one more party but Mark and Amy have declined to go, for they are utterly, irrevocably, and everlastingly partied out. Besides, it is nice to have an evening to themselves. They go upstairs to read in bed, but on the landing Amy says, "Oh no," remembering that her nightgown is in the dryer downstairs. Mark is only too happy to get it, and in a minute he is waltzing up the stairs again with the clinging nightgown stuck to his chest like a dancing partner. Amy is reading about Catherine the Great and Mark is reading about dairy goats, and their feet are touching under the covers. Unexpectedly, Mrs. Hunt is back, yelling "Yoo-hoo!" as she mounts the steps two at a time. She enters the bedroom uninvited to tell them what a fantastic party it is and that they must go. Mark smells her perfume and the drinks she has had and -- is it possible? -- her mink coat. Mrs. Hunt curls up at the foot of the bed uninvited. She delivers what she believes to he a convincing argument. Mark's stomach is growling and he pointedly begins reading his book again. Mrs. Hunt is wearing a great deal of crimson lipstick, but now she is too angry to speak. She is giving off more and more odors all the time and is making the bed bounce. Mark is naked under the covers. Mrs. Hunt tells them they'll never be invited to another party in this town. When she leaves, they figure out how the lock works.

Ruby is having one of her good days. She tells Mark the story of a friend of hers who got a new uniform from her employer for Christmas and here is what happened next: She finished her work and went home, and that afternoon the employer's family sat down to eat their turkey dinner and there was the uniform stuffed inside. Ruby laughs. Mark watches Ruby laugh and wiggle around the kitchen.

Mark has many photographs of Vance, because Vance used to come north to the farmhouse all the time. Mark's favorite serious shot shows Vance holding his newborn godson on his knee, his strong fingers girdling the boy's chest. Mark's favorite nonserious shot shows Vance knee- deep in the fishpond, pretending to be a sea monster. It is hard to he sad when remembering Vance blasting three feet of pond water from his mouth. But now, on New Year's Eve, Mark learns that he is about to be given a new picture of Vance.

The very final toboggan runs of the year are due. Mr. and Mrs. Hunt just had theirs and they landed deep inside a snowy rhododendron. Everyone is keenly aware of the potential for allegory as Mark and Amy make ready to take their turn. They push off with their hands and soon attain breakneck speed. They pass the rhododendron at twenty miles an hour; they make the first turn at thirty. Dry snow is bombarding their faces as they realize it is guaranteed to be the best run of the week. Mark puts his mouth to Amy's ear and yells, "What a marriage!"

The new picture of Vance is being given to Mark by Mr. Hunt. Mr. Hunt has tears in his eves as he takes Mark aside, removes the picture from a cellophane sleeve. Actually, it is an old picture of Vance, a blow-up from a group high-school shot that was taken eight years earlier, when Vance still had short hair. Mark doesn't like this enlarged picture of Vance with short hair. Vance looks withdrawn. He looks granulated. His lips and his cheeks and his eyes have been touched up with paint.

Mark refuses the picture.

To ring out the old, ring in the new, and celebrate the last night of the visit, Mr. and Mrs. Hunt go to one party while Mark and Amy take Billy to another. Only dear and special friends have been invited here. Everyone sits on the floor of the living room, overlooking the river lights and the black hills of the city. Already Mark and Amy can feel pressures lifting, peace approaching. Someone puts on a CD that Mark has been wanting to hear for three years. He writes down its name. Someone is leaving for a year in Japan and Mark writes down his address in case they should go there, too; who knows? The champagne tastes perfect with the Brie. Also the gin and also the vodka taste perfect with the Brie. Mark rocks happily among the guests and asks whether they will have the brown-bottle flu tomorrow and he thinks how great it will be to have it ... at home!

Amy hears the baby crying from his portable crib in the bedroom. She touches Mark on the shoulder, and together they enter the dark and dream-filled sanctum, closing the door behind them. Amy holds the baby in her arms while Mark explains to him what is in store for them tomorrow, the minute they get home. In the barn, the reception committee will be ready. First to greet them will be the pig, the old and tired pig, who'll twitch her ear and go "Oink." Next will be the dairy goat, also old and tired, who'll raise her chin and go "Baa." But best of all will be the rooster, the fierce young rooster, who'll march about and flap his wings, going "Cocker-doo!" He'll jump onto his perch and go "Cocker-doo!" He'll crow from inside the horse stall, and from on top of the hayloft, and from the rafters overhead, until the barn will be filled with the sound of his welcome: "Cocker-doo! Cocker-doo!" A sound of yearning breaks from the sleepy boy as he listens to his father. Then the sound of applause breaks from the crowd gathered outside the door, and all three look up in shock.