The Dead

“As a matter of fact-”

“You mean,” Gary said, “That all these people had that Last Judgment dream?”

“Hey, it was in the paper-”

“How many people?”

“Five hundred. Called at random. And every single one of them had it.”

Max picked the paper up again.

“Well, what do you think?” Linda asked after a while.

“I think,” Max answered, “That things aren’t necessarily connected, just because they’re weird.”

“Sure. There’s just an outrageous amount of weirdness happening at once.”

“Doesn’t prove anything. I sure hope you argue more skillfully in your articles.”

“I’ve published a hell of a lot more than you,” she answered.

Max flinched.

“Who’s the one with tenure?” she pressed.

“Oww.”

“At a real university?”

Max clutched his chest. “Stabbed through the heart!”

“I know I’ve been sounding pretty nutty,” Linda admitted. “It’s just that I’ve been getting some very creepy vibes.”

“So nothing’s ever going to get better again?”

“Don’t you ever get creepy vibes?”

“Would it make you happier if I got freaked too?”

“Hell no,” she said. Getting up, she took her dishes over to the sink and put them in, then stood awhile silently, leaning on the Formica counter.

“God, I hope Mom comes back,” she said at last.

Long about one o’clock Uncle Buddy’s blue Chevy station-wagon, badly in need of a tune-up by the sound of it, pulled up in front of the house.

“Brace yourselves,” Gary said, looking out through an open front window. “Here they are.”

Out came Uncle Buddy and Uncle Dennis, together with their wives and Buddy’s gawky seventeen year-old son, Dave. They trooped up the front walk but paused midway along as Buddy, a towering beer-bellied presence, grabbed Dave and pointed a fat finger at his nose.

“Look, you little bastard,” Buddy growled, “You watch yourself. My brother’s dead, this is a very sad occasion, and if you don’t behave, I’ll beat your brains out.”

“What did I do?” Dave asked, the very question Gary was pondering.

“You know what you did!” Uncle Buddy thundered.

Looking very embarrassed, Aunt Lucy, his overripe, bleached-blonde better half, grabbed his arm and whispered in his ear.

“He’s going to learn respect,” he snapped.

“But what did I do?” Dave repeated.

Uncle Buddy put him down with a whack to the face.

Laff Riot, Gary thought, recalling Buddy’s yearbook nickname.

Having apparently not inherited his father’s sense of humor, Dave leaped back up from the ground, a knife in his hand.

Aunt Lucy stamped her foot. “David Holland, you put that down this instant!”

Dave’s response was to bound forward and jab the knife at Uncle Buddy’s neck. Gary gasped, started to run for the door-then saw the blade, obviously rubber, bend when it struck Buddy’s flesh.

“Christ,” Gary muttered, shaking his head.

“What?” Max called from the kitchen.

“Just Buddy and cousin Dave, being themselves.”

Recovering from his shock, Buddy, livid, grabbed the knife from Dave, made as if to smack him again; then a change came over him. He inspected the knife, wobbling the blade back and forth.

“Chip off the old block,” he laughed. “Scared the shit out of me for a second there.”

“Watch your language, Buddy!” Lucy cried.

“Any fuckin’ thing you say,” Buddy answered, glancing at Uncle Dennis, who gave what seemed to Gary like a forced grin. Dennis’s wife Camille looked scandalized.

Buddy straightened his suit, pocketed the rubber knife, and started forward again, the others following. Gary met them at the door.

“How you doin’, Gary?” Uncle Buddy asked.

“Okay,” Gary answered.

“Everything all set for tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

Aunt Lucy, smelling of sickly-sweet perfume, gave Gary a big smarmy hug. “Any news about your mother?” she asked.

“No.”

When all five of them were inside, Max and Linda came forward, and there was a round of embraces and introductions.

“So you’re sexy little Linda,” Buddy said.

Gary looked at her. She had a clenched smile on her face that told him very clearly that what she really wanted to say was, “ So you’re fat old Uncle Buddy the jerk-off.” But what came out was: “Uncle Buddy! I’ve heard so much about you!”

“Nothing good, I hope,” Buddy said, and kissed her on the cheek.

“Not one word,” she replied.

“When’s the viewing?” Uncle Dennis asked. Tall and late-fortyish, he looked like an older version of Max Jr.- broad shoulders, rugged face, dark hair, only a bit of a paunch.

“Three,” Gary answered. “Did you guys drive all night?”

“Almost,” Aunt Camille said. “Checked into a hotel around four.”

“Close?”

“It’s up on 35,” Dennis said.

“TV still down in the rec room?” Dave asked Gary.

“Yeah,” Gary answered.

“HBO?”

“Showtime.”

“I can live with that,” Dave said, and started for the stairs.

“David, you stay away from that one-eyed monster,” Aunt Lucy said. “Visit a while.”

Dave mumbled something under his breath and continued on his way.

“You want me to hit you again?” Uncle Buddy asked.

Dave disappeared through the door. Buddy grumbled, but didn’t pursue.

“You know, we were heartbroken to hear about your father,” Lucy told Max. “And now this terrible business about your mother…”

“She was a good woman,” Buddy said.

“Was?” Max said. “Do you know that she’s dead?”

“Relax,” Buddy answered. “Didn’t mean nothing by it.”

Just doing a little wishful thinking, right? Gary thought. Buddy had never been too fond of Mom. She was far too religious for him-being religious at all was too much, as far as he was concerned. Gary knew Buddy blamed Mom for the rift that had developed between him and Max Sr.- the Hollands had been an unbroken line of freethinkers until Dad met her.

“Gonna miss your father,” Buddy told Max and Gary. “My favorite brother gone, just like that. We had our disagreements, all right, but he was always the best.”

Gary saw Dennis bite his lip.