Thomas helping haul on the cable. Julie carrying the knapsack. The Dead Father eating a bowl of chocolate pudding.
When I asked you to help me, he said, it wasnt because I needed help.
Of course not, said Thomas.
Im doing this for you, essentially, the Dead Father said. For the general good, and thus, for you.
Thomas said nothing.
As so much else, said the Dead Father.
Thomas said nothing.
You never knew, said the Dead Father.
Thomas turned his head.
You told us, he said, repeatedly.
Oh well yes I may have mentiohe odd initiative now and again. But you never knew. In the fullest sense. Because you are not a father.
I am, Thomas said. You fet Elsie.
Doesnt t, said the Dead Father. A son ever, in the fullest sense, bee a father. Some amount of amateur effort is possible. A son may after ho endeavor produce what some people might call, teically, children. But he remains a son. In the fullest sense.
A moments quiet.
Have you heard from her? Elsie?
There ostcard, Thomas said, three months ago. Picture of a puppy dog with large staring eyes. Love, she said.
Four months ago, Julie said.
Three and a half months ago. She said she laying field hockey. She was a left inner, she said.
Hockey, said the Dead Father. Chasing that round hard thing down the field. Develops the thigh muscles. Beyond what is desirable, sometimes.
Thomas jerked upon the cable. The Dead Father fell down. Julie and Emma picked him up.
Great knotted bunches of thigh muscles like a plate of red empty lobster shells, the Dead Father said, I picture it. Ahetic. Sad to see in a twelve-year-old.
I wrote that she was not to pursue it to excess, Thomas said, over his shoulder.
Why do you abide with him? the Dead Father said to Julie. A boy. A e. A weakwick. Probably not even found the butto.
Hes found it, she said.
Is it a large ohe Dead Father asked.
Large enough.
A tender red?
Tender enough.
I see it?
Oh I am tired of you! Julie cried.
She raised her arms with fists at the end into the air.
I am not tired of you, said the Dead Father.
That your tuff luck, she said. Not my tuff luck. Yours. Tuff titty.
Titty, said the Dead Father. A short suck?
You are incredible.
Thomas walked back to the Dead Father and rapped him sharply in the forehead.
The Dead Father said: This is damned unpleasant!
Then: If only I were myself again!
We are making progress, Thomas said.
When I douse myself in its great yellow electricity, the Dead Father said, then I will be revivified.
Best not to anticipate too much, said Thomas, it jiggles the possibilities.
Possibilities! Surely the Fleece is not a mere possibility?
It is an excellent possibility, Julie said quickly. A wonderful possibility.
Have you noticed the weather? asked Thomas.
All turo look for the weather.
Good weather, Julie said. Great weather.
A very pleasant day, Emma noted.
Pleasant day, said the Dead Father.
Extremely pleasant, Thomas said.
It was on a day much like this, said the Dead Father, that I fathered the Pool Table of Ballambangjang.
The what?
It is rather an iing tale, said the Dead Father, which I shall now tell. I had beeched by the look of a certain maiden, a raven-haired maiden --
He looked at Julie, whose hand stra