HENRY H. ROTH
Style
When I was little, I was always surprised to see my father return home
daily from work. I was certain he had better places to go. Mumbling to
himself, dialing frantically and shouting orders into a phone, impatient
with everyone around him, father seemed restless and never happy in our
spacious apartment.
Eventually, a small unused bedroom was converted into an office
where he paced back and forth like a caged animal, devising plans to in–
crease the productivity of his thriving men's-sportswear firm.
My older brother Charles and I never ventured too close to our fa–
ther. And we were never invited into his new office . We did garner
much loving attention from our gentle mother, but she was to die before
she was forty. With her death, we lost our only ally.
Mother sm.iled a lot; father occasionally grinned but rarely smiled and
never laughed, because he considered the world serious business. He 'd
shake hands, bid goodnight, and march off to his lair, happy to be rid of
us. I can't recall relatives or friends dropping in to visit our parents.
It
was
a somber childhood. Charles always had great difficulty sleeping. And
he'd keep me up late at night tossing out pessim.istic comments about our
chances of survival.
"Pop would pay us plenty to run away and keep away. Mom won't
let him, of course, so he can only dream about his master plan."
Now my father is seventy. I am forty. My brother is forty-six. Father
calls me once a week for a briefing. Once every two months, he strolls
over for dinner with his third wife, a timid lanky woman with thick
glasses, spindly legs, and a harsh voice, to dine at my cluttered apartment.
As
always, father, though charming to my fam.ily, is mostly distracted and
annoyed whenever locked in a family situation.
Years have passed. Charles is completely out of the picture. Father
will
tolerate no mention of my brother. Jailed twice for major financial
indiscretions, Charles is about to be prosecuted in Denver on new em–
bezzling charges.
I long to bring up my brother's name at our infrequent gatherings,
but my family has been won over by the old man, who brings flowers to
Laura and thoughtful toys to Tom and Gregg. Father would have a major
tantrum if I revealed Charles's latest mess and I'd be judged by all present
