Mountains and Fathers

Bill and Susan, brother and sister (two years apart and the best of friends), were eating salads together. They were at a wedding, a family wedding, and not being part of the party (it’s a big family) they’d been seated with a motley crew of recent arrivals. They were keeping to themselves. She had a huge pile of beets on her plate stacked up like Fuji-san, which she thought of because she often traveled to Japan on business. Bill thought of Mt. Rainier. Either way, Bill was a little jealous, since he certainly liked beets as much as Susan did, although it must be admitted (especially by Bill) that she really did like beets an awful lot. As they ate they talked about her, Susan’s, wedding a few years earlier, and she kept insisting that the paterfamilias, long exiled and almost universally loathed, had been there all along. “Of course he wasn’t,” said Bill. “That was the whole point; he wasn’t there because you didn’t invite him.” Susan begged to differ, or actually she differed without doing much begging at all. “I did so invite him. He was there, but he wanted to keep a low profile.” “I wish he had been. I do now, and I did then. I would have known he was there. And it's not like him to keep quiet.” said Bill. Susan let the silence gather around that comment, which in her view was completely unnecessary. “You didn’t say anything at the time.” “Hmph,” said Bill, which emphasized the silence more than otherwise. "And you loved playing the father," continued Susan. "In his absence. Why is it eating you now?" “Well, whatever," said Bill, "but when has he ever kept a low profile? The point is that he wasn't there.” asked Bill, avoiding the point. He jabbed a piece of chicken with his fork. “I would have heard him. He wasn’t there.” Soon the rest of the table had turned their attention to their discussion. From just listening to a few whispered comments amongst themselves, all of them were soon insisting that, yes, the Dad really had been there all along. “On the left hand side at the back, right next to cold-cut platter,” someone said (the wedding had been in the ballroom of a posh tennis club). “That duck was excellent,” someone said. “Not like the chicken here,” said someone else. Only Jimmy, coming to Bill’s aid from a faraway table, was doubtful. Jimmy was their little brother. He said to Susan, “You have to admit that you didn’t make him feel very invited. So why would he come?” But the rest of the crowd (for it was a small crowd at this point) wouldn’t hear of it, even though a good number of them hadn’t even been there. According to them, the Dad had been there, and that was that. “Case closed,” someone even said. Then someone noticed something in Bill’s eye. “It looks like you’ve got something in your eye there,” someone said. And in fact Bill did feel something. He tried rolling his eyes around trying to work it loose, and when that didn’t work, he squinted and tried to pull out what felt like an eyelash, pressing the tips of index and thumb together for steadier motion. When he opened them again, the crowd had pushed in even closer. “Nope. It’s still there,” someone said. “Yep, you gotta work that loose,” said someone else. Everybody had a comment to make, and Bill just kept working at it (he was actually a good sport, but he got even better as problem continued. Eventually everybody got tired of trying to help him and went off to dance, drink champagne, and eat cake. Even Susan and Jimmy left eventually. Susan left a pocket mirror and instructions not to rub his eye too hard. Bill sat at the table for a long time, winking and blinking to himself, occasionally trying his trick with his fingers. Sometimes he would open his eyes ridiculously wide, but that wouldn’t work either. Next morning found him back at home, rolling and squinting his eyes in front of the mirror, still trying to get that eyelash out of his eye.