says, lying for no reason at all. She says, âThe baby is really kicking today.â
4 Abbott Celebrates the Birth of His Nation
Abbott knows whatâs going on out there. Blankets on lawns, scared birds circling the dark, the smell of burnt meat, sulfur. Somewhere a minivan in neutral is gliding silently toward the pond. Abbott is unpatriotic, unwashed. He pours another drink, kills a mosquito, sedates his dog with laced cheddar. He can hear, in the distance, the Sousa and bottle rockets. He reads
Billy Budd, Sailor
for the first time in seventeen years. He had forgotten how sad it is, or more likely he had never quite known.
5 In Which the Celebration Continues Deep into the Night
Poor welkin-eyed Billy, devoid of
sinister dexterity
. The days can be long without it, Abbott knows. Heâs lying in bed beside his wife, who is almost certainly awake. These two heads on pillows, maybe three feet apart. Buddâs tragic impressment by the Royal Navy has Abbott remembering the day, nearly thirty years ago, when he learned about military conscription. His father had made some casual remark about his exemption from the draft, young Abbott had asked for a clarification of terms, and his parents, still married then, had explained. What a concept. What a blow to moral intuition. (This was roughly six months before the intuition-razing twelve-hour television miniseries
Roots
.) Abbott can recall the backyard patio, the dandelions, the squat tin shed flexing in the heat. He received his parentsâ warm but dubious assurance that he would never be conscripted and then went upstairs and closed his door. Thirty years ago in a backyard. Abbott, lying now in bed, has an idea. He might put his forehead right against hers if sheâll turn around. The firecrackers still cracking out there, the sedated dog snoring at the foot of the bed. âHey,â he whispers, turning on his side to face his wifeâs shape.
6 The Heating and Cooling Specialistâs Tale
âI come to this guyâs house in the middle of the afternoon, and heâs home. I figure heâs probably a professor. Iâm a little early, and he seems kind of startled to see me. He comes to the door holding his daughter.â âHow old is she?â âI donât know, I canât tell anymore. Two? The guyâs arm is completely covered with butterfly stickers, and heâs wearing all this costume jewelry. Like that kind Sarah used to love. Three or four bracelets and probably
ten
necklaces this guyâs wearing. His daughter is just in a diaper, and she has magic-marker streaks all over her chest and legs. Theyâre listening to Tom Pettyâs
Damn the Torpedoes
. You know, Iâve been there, those long days, no big deal, but this guy looks a little sheepish, even after I tell him I have a daughter and try to make funny faces at the girl and all that.â âYou scared her, didnât you?â âShe just looked at me. Then the guy shows me into the kitchen, and I see his dog, this big Lab, jammed into a tiny space between the dishwasher and the cabinet, and the dog is trembling and drooling like crazy. Just like Otis used to do when it thundered, except today it was beautiful. And I think maybe heâll try to explain the dog, but he doesnât say anything. So I say, âYour refrigerator isnât working?âAnd he tells me that itâs just not keeping the food very cold. I open it up, and I look in, and itâs filled with juice and fake meat, so now I know the guy is a professor.â âYou look at peopleâs food?â âHey, I donât judge. And the first thing I always check when thereâs a problem with a fridgeâjust in caseâis the little temperature dial. You know? Like you turn it one way to make itââ âI know what the dial is.â âAnd sure enough, I move this huge thing of apple juice and about three gallons of milk to look at
4 Abbott Celebrates the Birth of His Nation
Abbott knows whatâs going on out there. Blankets on lawns, scared birds circling the dark, the smell of burnt meat, sulfur. Somewhere a minivan in neutral is gliding silently toward the pond. Abbott is unpatriotic, unwashed. He pours another drink, kills a mosquito, sedates his dog with laced cheddar. He can hear, in the distance, the Sousa and bottle rockets. He reads
Billy Budd, Sailor
for the first time in seventeen years. He had forgotten how sad it is, or more likely he had never quite known.
5 In Which the Celebration Continues Deep into the Night
Poor welkin-eyed Billy, devoid of
sinister dexterity
. The days can be long without it, Abbott knows. Heâs lying in bed beside his wife, who is almost certainly awake. These two heads on pillows, maybe three feet apart. Buddâs tragic impressment by the Royal Navy has Abbott remembering the day, nearly thirty years ago, when he learned about military conscription. His father had made some casual remark about his exemption from the draft, young Abbott had asked for a clarification of terms, and his parents, still married then, had explained. What a concept. What a blow to moral intuition. (This was roughly six months before the intuition-razing twelve-hour television miniseries
Roots
.) Abbott can recall the backyard patio, the dandelions, the squat tin shed flexing in the heat. He received his parentsâ warm but dubious assurance that he would never be conscripted and then went upstairs and closed his door. Thirty years ago in a backyard. Abbott, lying now in bed, has an idea. He might put his forehead right against hers if sheâll turn around. The firecrackers still cracking out there, the sedated dog snoring at the foot of the bed. âHey,â he whispers, turning on his side to face his wifeâs shape.
6 The Heating and Cooling Specialistâs Tale
âI come to this guyâs house in the middle of the afternoon, and heâs home. I figure heâs probably a professor. Iâm a little early, and he seems kind of startled to see me. He comes to the door holding his daughter.â âHow old is she?â âI donât know, I canât tell anymore. Two? The guyâs arm is completely covered with butterfly stickers, and heâs wearing all this costume jewelry. Like that kind Sarah used to love. Three or four bracelets and probably
ten
necklaces this guyâs wearing. His daughter is just in a diaper, and she has magic-marker streaks all over her chest and legs. Theyâre listening to Tom Pettyâs
Damn the Torpedoes
. You know, Iâve been there, those long days, no big deal, but this guy looks a little sheepish, even after I tell him I have a daughter and try to make funny faces at the girl and all that.â âYou scared her, didnât you?â âShe just looked at me. Then the guy shows me into the kitchen, and I see his dog, this big Lab, jammed into a tiny space between the dishwasher and the cabinet, and the dog is trembling and drooling like crazy. Just like Otis used to do when it thundered, except today it was beautiful. And I think maybe heâll try to explain the dog, but he doesnât say anything. So I say, âYour refrigerator isnât working?âAnd he tells me that itâs just not keeping the food very cold. I open it up, and I look in, and itâs filled with juice and fake meat, so now I know the guy is a professor.â âYou look at peopleâs food?â âHey, I donât judge. And the first thing I always check when thereâs a problem with a fridgeâjust in caseâis the little temperature dial. You know? Like you turn it one way to make itââ âI know what the dial is.â âAnd sure enough, I move this huge thing of apple juice and about three gallons of milk to look at
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