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Eight
Cantinflas was a popular Mexican
comedian (1911-93), a.k.a. Mario Moreno. I looked him up on the web, and found
a commentary on a seventies animated series that used his likeness.
The theme was time-travel, but without a
time-travel device. Cantinflas just sort of floated through the centuries,
meeting famous people, getting into scrapes, messing with the course of
history. The comedian’s bawdy humor was on full display – including topless
women, although for the sake of the kiddies their nipples had been erased.
Pisarro
bursts into laughter. “Nipple erasure? Ouch!”
“And
still, the essential question,” I continue. “What is he doing on my wife’s
ass?”
I
have come to the conclusion that Pisarro is the only person in the world to
whom I can tell absolutely everything. We sit at a table behind the union, one
of those sunny late-October days, crisp and bright as the first bite of an
apple.
I
spy a figure descending a slope of lawn – thin, professorial, no surprise
except that it’s Richard Zwei. I rise to greet him with a handshake.
“Dad!
How the hell did you find me here?”
He
seems a little on-edge – but, as usual, fully capable of charming his way
through it.
“Your
habits are well known at the lab,” he reports. “And a lawyer - even a retired
one - knows how to finagle information.”
“Dad,
this is Dr. Lisa Pisarro, the woman who so nicely reassembled Marcus’s
shoulder. Pisarro, this is my father-in-law, Richard Zwei.”
“My
pleasure,” he says, and takes Pisarro’s hand. “I hope I’m not being a bother,
but could I steal Hopkins away for a minute?”
“As
a matter of fact, I need to leave, anyway. We’re a little short on staff
today.”
She
gathers her purse and gives me the customary hug. Richard and I watch her go.
I’m expecting some wry comment about her figure, but in fact he’s only making
certain that she’s out of earshot. He sits at the table, hunching in an
uncharacteristic way, and rubs his eyes.
I
pretend to show some interest in my Coke. “What’s up, Dad?”
He
looks at me and lets out a half-sigh.
“Hop,
I never was much with computers. Avoided using them for years – but then I saw
how much the grandkids liked ‘em, so I figured it was a good way to keep in
touch.”
Most
of what follows gets lost in the race of my thoughts. I have several scripts
for this same conversation with Jessie, but what do you tell the father of the
bride?
“…and
there she is, spread out in her birthday suit, boinking some strange man. We
did some racy things in my day, Hopkins, but we didn’t broadcast it to the
world!”
He
places a palm on either side of his face and looks to me for a reaction. I’m
working on selective honesty.
“I
know about this, Dad.”
His
eyebrows elevate. “And… have you… done anything?”
“No.
I’m sort of stuck.”
He
rubs a hand over his mouth. “Jesus, Hop. Have the rules changed that much?
Aren’t you supposed to find this guy and kick his ass? Aren’t you supposed to…
have it out with Jessie? For God’s sake, aren’t you even pissed off?”
“I’ve
been… having an affair, too. And there’s something else. You remember when I
had those stitches under my eye?”
“Jessie
did that?”
“Yeah.
Maybe on purpose, maybe not. But she was so frantic, she was getting dangerous.
I was worried about the kids. When Jessie got better, and I found out about the
porn site, I guess it seemed like a fair trade. Also, this way, at least I know
that she’s using condoms.”
I
stop as a group of Indian students walk by, armed with Frisbees.
“I
guess you know this, Dad, but Jessie and I have had some rough years.”
Richard
kneads his forehead, trying to process ideas he never thought he’d have to deal
with in his lifetime. It’s really unfair, the load of changes we have foisted
on this particular generation of men. They were told only to work, and provide
for their families, and the rest would come out in the wash.
“I’ve
had a couple of flings myself,” he says. “I suppose you might’ve guessed, what
with the gigantic broomstick crammed up my wife’s bee-hind. I’d like to say I
regretted them – but I’m not fond of perjury. Those dear women got me through
some very trying times.
“What
can I do for you, Hop? Can I protect you somehow? I’ve seen how men get shafted
in divorce courts.”
“Dad,
I honestly don’t care. I’ll be okay. But if things do get out of hand, could
you keep an eye out for Laura and Marcus?”
He
draws a finger over his mustache. “Sure, Hop. That I will.”
Photo by MJV
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