120
PART ISAN Il..EVIEW
And with th ese words, which make me more impo rtant , I commem–
orate m y father and enj oy the respec t ga in ed with m y commemo ration .
My brothers are silent. They arc not writers. I feel I am th e most
extin gui shed perso n in th e house now. Th ey had me write th e short obit–
uary for th e newspaper. I wrote the letters for our relatives. They only
signed them. Even m y aunt gave co nsen t to that.
I am alone. The funeral is tomorrow. Accidentall y I think of Anka.
And immed iately a dark th o ught comes : tomo rrow I shall have
to
walk
behind m y father's coffin dressed in blac k. What would happen if I were
to refuse)
That spo ils m y mood . I have always made fun of all formalities; if I
now consent
to
th em , I shall be mock ing m yself. That worries me so much
that I descend fi'om the heights to whi ch I had ri se n. Aga in I am upset, I
swea t and suffer: what will my friend s say? Once we made fun of a fi'iend
who inh er ited a lot of mon ey fi'om hi s father, paid for our wine and wore
a black band aro und hi s sleeve. " It's because of othcrs"-he tried to justi–
fY
himself. I was th e first to attack this justification which was really a
condemnatio n.
" How can a tradition, a lo re with no significance, which o nl y has sig–
nifi cance in vul ga rity , dictate w ho is qualified for our weddings- the
priest! H ow can a ridi culous formality dictate how we are to behave, how
to ac t-how can it rule o ur soul s and minds) We compl y wi th tradition
because it is insignifi cant; but we feel no shame that insignifi cant things
pl ay such a maj o r role in our li ves, because we o urse lves have become for–
mal , vulgar, worthless ...."
And he repli ed:
" Yo u only talk that way because you have as yet had no opportunity
to fight formali ty."
" Your wedding w ill be the first!"
" I shall no t marry."
" Your exams th e second."
"That has a practical purpose."
"The third shall be death
1"
" We shall see." (My blood was hot fi'om the wine.) " Bes ides, if anyone
in m y family di es, I will be neith er so rry no r glad .. .. My father will leave
me no thing so I won't be able to afford mourning cloth es ."
Thus we argued drunkenl y and insulted our benefactor in the name of
principle.
That stupid drunken brawl seems even more stup id now and upsets me
more. I fruitlessly try
to
capture the peace I felt this mo rnin g, the seri ous–
ness, importance and propriety. Neither the dream of m y father smiling
mock ingly, nor th e vomitin g which has turn ed me nobl e ove rni ght, nor
