The Land of Laughs by Jonathan Carroll Page B

away the memory. A Grand Union trailer truck floated by in slow motion.
    “Did you love him?” Her voice was quiet and held back, I guess a little afraid.
    “No. Yes. I don’t know — how can you not love your father?”
    “Very easily — I didn’t love mine. His greatest dream in life came true when one of his students got into Harvard.”
    “What do you mean — your father was a teacher?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “You never told me that.”
    “Yes. He taught English too.”
    I slid a quick look at her, and she puffed out her cheeks so that she looked like a squirrel with a lot of nuts in there.
    “I guess I shouldn’t say this, but he was awful, from everything I remember about him.” She put her hands on the dashboard and patted out a kind of soft African beat. She spoke while she patted. “He used to eat sliced pineapple and read Hiawatha out loud to my mother and me.”
    “ Hiawatha? ‘By the shores of Gitchy Gummi, On the bottom of the lake, Hiawatha and his buddies Playing poker for a stake.’”p>
    “Gee, you must be an English teacher too.”
    The sky was so dark that I switched on the headlights and slowed down to forty. I had often wondered what she was like as a kid. That nice, moony-pale face in miniature. I could see her off in a dark corner of a dark living room playing with her marionettes until nine, when her mother would tell her to go to bed. White socks that were falling down, and black patent leather shoes with gold buckles.
    “You know, Thomas, when I was little about the only exciting thing my family ever did was to go to Peach Lake on the weekends in the summer. I used to get sunburned.”
    “Oh, yeah? Well, the only exciting thing that ever happened to me was reading The Land of Laughs and drinking Hires root beer out of a big glass bottle. Whatever happened to Hires root beer in a big glass bottle?”
    “Oh, come on, you can’t tell me that your life out there with all of those famous people wasn’t neat. You don’t have to try to make me feel better.”
    “Better? That has nothing to do with it. At least you had a normal father! Look, being his son was like living in this birdcage. You couldn’t open your mouth without everyone being fake-nice to you or telling you how much they liked your ‘Papa’s‘ movies! What the hell did I care about his movies? I was a little kid, for Christ’s sake! All I wanted to do was ride my bike.”
    “Don’t shout.”
    “I don’t have to …” I wanted to say something more, but I saw the turnoff for a roadside rest stop so I took it instead. It was dark as night outside as I crept down the exit ramp. The parking lot was filled with camper trucks and cars with overflowing luggage racks. Many of them were open to the rain, so the exposed suitcases, baby strollers, and bicycles were totally soaked and shiny. I found a parking space when a white Fiat with Oklahoma plates almost hit me while backing out of it. I switched off the motor and we both sat there while the rain hammered on the roof. Her hands were folded in her lap, but mine still gripped the steering wheel. I felt like ripping it off and handing it to her.
    “All right, do you want something to eat or what?”
    “Eat? Why? We’ve only been on the road for an hour.”
    “Oh, well, I’m sorry, dear — I’m not supposed to be hungry, huh? I’m not allowed to eat or anything unless you do, is that it?” I sounded like a kid who’s just discovered sarcasm but doesn’t know how to use it yet.
    “Just shut up, Thomas. Go outside and have a fishburger or something. I don’t care what you do. I don’t deserve your anger.”
    There wasn’t much else I could do but go. We both knew that I was making more and more of an ass of myself, but by then I didn’t know how to stop. If I’d been her, I would have been royally bored by me.
    “Do you want any … ? Oh, shit, I’ll be back in a little while.”
    I opened the door and stepped right into this monstrous puddle, drenching