“Sea Oak”
George Saunders
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1. How would you define “The American Dream”?
2. The narrator works at Joysticks, a kind of Hooters for women where male
waiters put their goods on display. The narrator and his extended family live
at Sea Oak, a subsidized housing project, where there’s no sea and no oak.
How do these circumstances and settings reflect and/or challenge “The
American Dream”?
3. Saunders gives fictional names to actions, places, and television shows; he
capitalizes these labels. For instance, the narrator works as a “Pilot” at
“Joysticks,” where each shift begins with the manager announcing “Shirts
Off”; Aunt Bernie works at “DrugTown”; Min and Jade watch TV shows with
titles like “How My Child Died Violently.” Why does Saunders capitalize these
labels? By using these labels, what might Saunders be implying about
American culture.
4. Min and Jade have a certain way of speaking to each other. How does the way
Min and Jade speak differ from the way the narrator speaks, from the way
Aunt Bernie speaks? Compare the way Aunt Bernie speaks at the beginning
of the story to the way she speaks at the end of the story. What does the way
these characters speak reveal about them and their circumstances?
5.
How would you characterize Aunt Bernie’s attitude at the beginning of the
story? How would you characterize her attitude at the end? How does her
attitude change? Why does her attitude change? What does this change of
attitude have to say about “The American Dream”?
6. Are the main character’s—the narrator, his sister Min, her baby Troy, their
cousin Jade, and her baby Mac—circumstances better off at the end of the
story than in the beginning? How might the main characters’ circumstances
have improved, stayed the same, or worsened? Do you think the group will
move out of Sea Oak, as planned? Why or why not?
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home | navigation
SEA OAK
issue 20: september - october 2000
spanish translation | author bio
by George Saunders
AT SIX MR.
FRENDT comes on
the P.A. and shouts,
"Welcome to Joysticks!" Then he announces Shirts Off. We
take off our flightjackets and fold them up. We take off our
shirts and fold them up. Our scarves we leave on. Thomas
Kirster's our beautiful boy. He's got long muscles and brightblue eyes. The minute his shirt comes off two fat ladies hustle
up the aisle and stick some money in his pants and ask will he
be their Pilot. He says sure. He brings their salads. He brings
their soups. My phone rings and the caller tells me to come
see her in the Spitfire mock-up. Does she want me to be her
Pilot? I'm hoping. Inside the Spitfire is Margie, who says she's
been diagnosed with Chronic Shyness Syndrome, then hands
me an Instamatic and offers me ten bucks for a close-up of
Thomas's tush.
Do I do it? Yes I do.
It could be worse. It is worse for Lloyd Betts. Lately he's
put on weight and his hair's gone thin. He doesn't get a call all
shift and waits zero tables and winds up sitting on the P-51
wing, playing solitaire in a hunched-over position that gives
him big gut rolls.
I Pilot six tables and make forty dollars in tips plus five an
hour in salary.
After closing we sit on the floor for Debriefing. "There are
times," Mr. Frendt says, "when one must move gracefully to
the next station in life, like for example certain women in
Africa or Brazil, I forget which, who either color their faces or
don some kind of distinctive headdress upon achieving
menopause. Are you with me? One of our ranks must now
leave us. No one is an island in terms of being thought cute
forever, and so today we must say good-bye to our friend
Lloyd. Lloyd, stand up so we can say good-bye to you. I'm
sorry We are all so very sorry"
"Oh God," says Lloyd. "Let this not be true."
But it's true. Lloyd's finished. We give him a round of
applause, and Frendt gives him a Farewell Pen and the
contents of his locker in a trash bag and out he goes. Poor
Lloyd. He's got a wife and two kids and a sad little duplex on
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Self-Storage Parkway
"It's been a pleasure!" he shouts desperately from the
doorway, trying not to burn any bridges.
What a stressful workplace. The minute your Cute Rating
drops you're a goner. Guests rank us as Knockout, Honeypie,
Adequate, or Stinker. Not that I'm complaining. At least I'm
working. At least I'm not a Stinker like Lloyd.
I'm a solid Honeypie/Adequate, heading home with forty
bucks cash.
...
AT SEA OAK there's no sea and no oak, just a hundred
subsidized apartments and a rear view of FedEx. Min and
Jade are feeding their babies while watching How My Child
Died Violently. Min's my sister. Jade's our cousin. How My
Child Died Violently is hosted by Matt Merton, a six-foot-five
blond who's always giving the parents shoulder rubs and
telling them they've been sainted by pain. Today's show
features a ten-year-old who killed a five-year-old for
refusing to join his gang. The ten-year-old strangled the fiveyear-old with a jump rope, filled his mouth with baseball
cards, then locked himself in the bathroom and wouldn't come
out until his parents agreed to take him to FunTimeZone,
where he confessed, then dove screaming into a mesh cage
full of plastic balls. The audience is shrieking threats at the
parents of the killer while the parents of the victim urge
restraint and forgiveness to such an extent that finally the
audience starts shrieking threats at them too. Then it's a
commercial. Min and Jade put down the babies and light
cigarettes and pace the room while studying aloud for their
GEDs. It doesn't look good. Jade says "regicide" is a virus.
Min locates Biafra one planet from Saturn. I offer to help and
they start yelling at me for condescending.
"You're lucky, man!" my sister says. "You did high school.
You got your frigging diploma. We don't. That's why we have
to do this GED shit. If we had our diplomas we could just
watch TV and not be all distracted."
"Really," says Jade. "Now shut it, chick! We got to study.
Show's almost on."
They debate how many sides a triangle has. They agree
that Churchill was in opera. Matt Merton comes back and
explains that last week's show on suicide, in which the parents
watched a reenactment of their son's suicide, was a healing
process for the parents, then shows a video of the parents
admitting it was a healing process.
My sister's baby is Troy. Jade's baby is Mac. They crawl
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off into the kitchen and Troy gets his finger caught in the heat
vent. Min rushes over and starts pulling.
"Jesus freaking Christ!" screams Jade. "Watch it! Stop
yanking on him and get the freaking Vaseline. You're going to
give him a really long arm, man!"
Troy starts crying. Mac starts crying. I go over and free
Troy no problem. Meanwhile Jade and Min get in a slap fight
and nearly knock over the TV
"Yo, chick!" Min shouts at the top of her lungs. "I'm sure
you're slapping me? And then you knock over the freaking TV?
Don't you care?"
"I care!" Jade shouts back. "You're the slut who nearly
pulled off her own kid's finger for no freaking reason, man!"
Just then Aunt Bernie comes in from DrugTown in her
DrugTown cap and hobbles over and picks up Troy and
everything calms way down.
"No need to fuss, little man," she says. "Everything's fine.
Everything's just hunky-dory."
"Hunky-dory," says Min, and gives Jade one last pinch.
Aunt Bernie's a peacemaker. She doesn't like trouble.
Once this guy backed over her foot at FoodKing and she
walked home with ten broken bones. She never got married,
because Grandpa needed her to keep house after Grandma
died. Then he died and left all his money to a woman none of
us had ever heard of, and Aunt Bernie started in at DrugTown.
But she's not bitter. Sometimes she's so nonbitter it gets on
my nerves. When I say Sea Oak's a pit she says she's just glad
to have a roof over her head. When I say I'm tired of being
broke she says Grandpa once gave her pencils for Christmas
and she was so thrilled she sat around sketching horses all
day on the backs of used envelopes. Once I asked was she
sorry she never had kids and she said no, not at all, and
besides, weren't we were her kids?
And I said yes we were.
But of course we're not.
For dinner it's beanie-wienies. For dessert it's ice cream
with freezer burn.
"What a nice day we've had," Aunt Bernie says once
we've got the babies in bed.
"Man, what an optometrist," says Jade.
NEXT DAY IS THURSDAY, which means a visit from Ed
Anders from the Board of Health. He's in charge of ensuring
that our penises never show Also that we don't kiss anyone.
None of us ever kisses anyone or shows his penis except
Sonny Vance, who does both, because he's saving up to buy a
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FaxIt franchise. As for our Penile Simulators, yes, we can
show them, we can let them stick out the top of our pants, we
can even periodically dampen our tight pants with spray
bottles so our Simulators really contour, but our real penises,
no, those have to stay inside our hot uncomfortable oversized
Simulators.
"Sorry fellas, hi fellas," Anders says as he comes wearily
in. "Please know I don't like this any better than you do. I went
to school to learn how to inspect meat, but this certainly
wasn't what I had in mind. Ha ha!"
He orders a Lindbergh Enchilada and eats it cautiously, as
if it's alive and he's afraid of waking it. Sonny Vance is serving
soup to a table of hairstylists on a bender and for a twenty
shoots them a quick look at his unit.
Just then Anders glances up from his Lindbergh.
"Oh for crying out loud," he says, and writes up a
Shutdown and we all get sent home early. Which is bad. Every
dollar counts. Lately I've been sneaking toilet paper home in
my briefcase. I can fit three rolls in. By the time I get home
they're usually flat and don't work so great on the roller but
still it saves a few bucks.
I clock out and cut through the strip of forest behind
FedEx. Very pretty. A raccoon scurries over a fallen oak and
starts nibbling at a rusty bike. As I come out of the woods I
hear a shot. At least I think it's a shot. It could be a backfire.
But no, it's a shot, because then there's another one, and
some kids sprint across the courtyard yelling that Big Scary
Dawgz rule.
I run home. Min and Jade and Aunt Bernie and the babies
are huddled behind the couch. Apparently they had the babies
outside when the shooting started. Troy's walker got hit.
Luckily he wasn't in it. It's supposed to look like a duck but
now the beak's missing.
"Man, fuck this shit!" Min shouts.
"Freak this crap you mean," says Jade. "You want them
growing up with shit-mouths like us? Crap-mouths I mean?"
"I just want them growing up, period," says Min.
"Boo-hoo, Miss Dramatic," says Jade.
"Fuck off, Miss Ho," shouts Min.
"I mean it, jagoff, I'm not kidding," shouts Jade, and
punches Min in the arm.
"Girls, for crying out loud!" says Aunt Bernie. "We should
be thankful. At least we got a home. And at least none of
them bullets actually hit nobody."
"No offense, Bernie?" says Min. "But you call this a
freaking home?"
Sea Oak's not safe. There's an ad hoc crackhouse in the
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laundry room and last week Min found some brass knuckles in
the kiddie pool. If I had my way I'd move everybody up to
Canada. It's nice there. Very polite. We went for a weekend
last fall and got a flat tire and these two farmers with brightred faces insisted on fixing it, then springing for dinner, then
starting a college fund for the babies. They sent us the stock
certificates a week later, along with a photo of all of us eating
cobbler at a diner. But moving to Canada takes bucks. Dad's
dead and left us nada and Ma now lives with Freddie, who
doesn't like us, plus he's not exactly rich himself. He does
phone polls. This month he's asking divorced women how
often they backslide and sleep with their exes. He gets ten
bucks for every completed poll.
So not lucrative, and Canada's a moot point.
I go out and find the beak of Troy's duck and fix it with
Elmer's.
"Actually you know what?" says Aunt Bernie. "I think that
looks even more like a real duck now Because some-times
their beaks are cracked? I seen one like that down-town."
"Oh my God," says Min. "The kid's duck gets shot in the
face and she says we're lucky."
"Well, we are lucky," says Bernie.
"Somebody's beak is cracked," says Jade.
"You know what I do if something bad happens?" Bernie
says. "I don't think about it. Don't take it so serious. It ain't the
end of the world. That's what I do. That's what I always done.
That's how I got where I am."
My feeling is, Bernie, I love you, but where are you? You
work at DrugTown for minimum. You're sixty and own nothing.
You were basically a slave to your father and never had a date
in your life.
"I mean, complain if you want," she says. "But I think
we're doing pretty darn good for ourselves."
"Oh, we're doing great," says Min, and pulls Troy out from
behind the couch and brushes some duck shards off his
sleeper.
JOYSTICKS REOPENS ON FRIDAY. It's a madhouse. They've
got the fog on. A bridge club offers me fifteen bucks to oilwrestle Mel Turner. So I oil-wrestle Mel Turner. They offer me
twenty bucks to feed them chicken wings from my hand. So I
feed them chicken wings from my hand. The afternoon flies
by. Then the evening. At nine the bridge club leaves and I get
a sorority. They sing intelligent nasty songs and grope my
Simulator and say they'll never be able to look their
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boyfriends' meager genitalia in the eye again. Then Mr. Frendt
comes over and says phone. It's Min. She sounds crazy. Four
times in a row she shrieks get home. When I tell her calm
down, she hangs up. I call back and no one answers. No
biggie. Min's prone to panic. Probably one of the babies is
puky. Luckily I'm on FlexTime.
"I'll be back," I say to Mr. Frendt.
"I look forward to it," he says.
I jog across the marsh and through FedEx. Up on the hill
there's a light from the last remaining farm. Sometimes we
take the boys to the adjacent car wash to look at the cow.
Tonight however the cow is elsewhere.
At home Min and Jade are hopping up and down in front
of Aunt Bernie, who's sitting very very still at one end of the
couch.
"Keep the babies out!" shrieks Min." I don't want them
seeing something dead!"
"Shut up, man!" shrieks Jade." Don't call her something
dead!"
She squats down and pinches Aunt Bernie's cheek.
"Aunt Bernie?" she shrieks. "Fuck!"
"We already tried that like twice, chick!" shrieks Min.
"Why are you doing that shit again? Touch her neck and see if
you can feel that beating thing!"
"Shit shit shit!" shrieks Jade.
I call 911 and the paramedics come out and work hard for
twenty minutes, then give up and say they're sorry and it looks
like she's been dead most of the afternoon. The apartment's a
mess. Her money drawer's empty and her family photos are in
the bathtub.
"Not a mark on her," says a cop.
"I suspect she died of fright," says another. "Fright of the
intruder?"
"My guess is yes," says a paramedic.
"Oh God," says Jade. "God, God, God."
I sit down beside Bernie. I think: I am so sorry. I'm sorry I
wasn't here when it happened and sorry you never had any fun
in your life and sorry I wasn't rich enough to move you
somewhere safe. I remember when she was young and wore
pink stretch pants and made us paper chains out of DrugTown
receipts while singing "Froggie Went A-Courting." All her life
she worked hard. She never hurt anybody. And now this.
Scared to death in a crappy apartment.
Min puts the babies in the kitchen but they keep crawling
out. Aunt Bernie's in a shroud on this sort of dolly and on the
couch are a bunch of forms to sign.
We call Ma and Freddie. We get their machine.
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"Ma, pick up!" says Min. "Something bad happened! Ma,
please freaking pick up!"
But nobody picks up.
So we leave a message.
...
LOBTON'S FUNERAL PARLOR is just a regular house on a
regular street. Inside there's a rack of brochures with titles like
"Why Does My Loved One Appear Somewhat Larger?" Lobton
looks healthy. Maybe too healthy. He's wearing a yellow golf
shirt and his biceps keep involuntarily flexing. Every now and
then he touches his delts as if to confirm they're still big as
softballs.
"Such a sad thing," he says.
"How much?" asks Jade. "I mean, like for basic. Not
superfancy."
"But not crappy either," says Min. "Our aunt was the
best."
"What price range were you considering?" says Lobton,
cracking his knuckles. We tell him and his eyebrows go up and
he leads us to something that looks like a moving box.
"Prior to usage we'll moisture-proof this with a spray
lacquer," he says. "Makes it look quite woodlike."
"That's all we can get?" says Jade. "Cardboard?"
"I'm actually offering you a slight break already," he says,
and does a kind of push-up against the wall. "On account of
the tragic circumstances. This is Sierra Sunset. Not exactly
cardboard. More of a fiberboard."
"I don't know" says Min. "Seems pretty gyppy."
"Can we think about it?" says Ma.
"Absolutely," says Lobton. "Last time I checked this was
still America."
I step over and take a closer look. There are staples
where Aunt Bernie's spine would be. Down at the foot there's
some writing about Folding Tab A into Slot B.
"No freaking way," says Jade." Work your whole life and
end up in a Mayflower box? I doubt it."
We've got zip in savings. We sit at a desk and Lobton
does what he calls a Credit Calc. If we pay it out monthly for
seven years we can afford the Amber Mist, which includes a
double-thick balsa box and two coats of lacquer and a onehour wake.
"But seven years, jeez," says Ma.
"We got to get her the good one," says Min. "She never
had anything nice in her life."
So Amber Mist it is.
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WE BURY HER at St. Leo's, on the hill up near BastCo. Her
part of the graveyard's pretty plain. No angels, no little rock
houses, no flowers, just a bunch of flat stones like parking
bumpers and here and there a Styrofoam cup. Father Brian
says a prayer and then one of us is supposed to talk. But
what's there to say? She never had a life. Never married, no
kids, work work work. Did she ever go on a cruise? All her life
it was buses. Buses buses buses. Once she went with Ma on a
bus to Quigley, Kansas, to gamble and shop at an outlet mall.
Someone broke into her room and stole her clothes and took
a dump in her suitcase while they were at the Roy Clark show.
That was it. That was the extent of her tourism. After that it
was DrugTown, night and day. After fifteen years as Cashier
she got demoted to Greeter. People would ask where the cold
remedies were and she'd point to some big letters on the wall
that said Cold Remedies.
Freddie, Ma's boyfriend, steps up and says he didn't know
her very long but she was an awful nice lady and left behind a
lot of love, etc. etc. blah blah blah. While it's true she didn't do
much in her life, still she was very dear to those of us who
knew her and never made a stink about anything but was
always content with whatever happened to her, etc. etc. blah
blah blah.
Then it's over and we're supposed to go away.
"We gotta come out here like every week," says Jade.
"I know I will," says Min.
"What, like I won't?" says Jade. "She was so freaking
nice.
"I'm sure you swear at a grave," says Min.
"Since when is freak a swear, chick?" says Jade.
"Girls," says Ma.
"I hope I did okay in what I said about her," says Freddie
in his full-of-crap way, smelling bad of English Navy. "Actually
I sort of surprised myself."
"Bye-bye, Aunt Bernie," says Min.
"Bye-bye, Bern," says Jade.
"Oh my dear sister," says Ma.
I scrunch my eyes tight and try to picture her happy,
laughing, poking me in the ribs. But all I can see is her
terrified on the couch. It's awful. Out there, somewhere, is
whoever did it. Someone came in our house, scared her to
death, watched her die, went through our stuff, stole her
money. Someone who's still living, someone who right now
might be having a piece of pie or running an errand or
scratching his ass, someone who, if he wanted to, could drive
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west for three days or whatever and sit in the sun by the
ocean.
We stand a few minutes with heads down and hands
folded.
AFTERWARD FREDDIE TAKES US to Trabanti's for lunch.
Last year Trabanti died and three Vietnamese families went in
together and bought the place, and it still serves pasta and
pizza and the big oil of Trabanti is still on the wall but now
from the kitchen comes this very pretty Vietnamese music and
the food is somehow better.
Freddie proposes a toast. Min says remember how Bernie
always called lunch dinner and dinner supper? Jade says
remember how when her jaw clicked she'd say she needed
oil?
"She was a excellent lady," says Freddie.
"I already miss her so bad," says Ma.
"I'd like to kill that fuck that killed her," says Min.
"How about let's don't say fuck at lunch," says Ma.
"It's just a word, Ma, right?" says Min. "Like pluck is just a
word? You don't mind if I say pluck? Pluck pluck pluck?"
"Well, shit's just a word too," says Freddie. "But we don't
say it at lunch."
"Same with puke," says Ma.
"Shit puke, shit puke," says Min.
The waiter clears his throat. Ma glares at Min.
"I love you girls' manners," Ma says.
"Especially at a funeral," says Freddie.
"This ain't a funeral," says Min.
"The question in my mind is what you kids are gonna do
now" says Freddie." Because I consider this whole thing a
wake-up call, meaning it's time for you to pull yourselfs up by
the bootstraps like I done and get out of that dangerous
craphole you're living at."
"Mr. Phone Poll speaks," says Min.
"Anyways it ain't that dangerous," says Jade.
"A woman gets killed and it ain't that dangerous?" says
Freddie.
"All's we need is a dead bolt and a eyehole," says Min.
"What's a bootstrap," says Jade.
"It's like a strap on a boot, you doof," says Min.
"Plus where we gonna go?" says Min. "Can we move in
with you guys?"
"I personally would love that and you know that," says
Freddie. "But who would not love that is our landlord."
"I think what Freddie's saying is it's time for you girls to
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get jobs," says Ma.
"Yeah right, Ma," says Min. "After what happened last
time?"
When I first moved in, Jade and Min were working the info
booth at HardwareNiche. Then one day we picked the babies
up at day care and found Troy sitting naked on top of the
washer and Mac in the yard being nipped by a Pekingese and
the day-care lady sloshed and playing KillerBirds on Nintendo.
So that was that. No more HardwareNiche.
"Maybe one could work, one could baby-sit?" says Ma.
"I don't see why I should have to work so she can stay
home with her baby," says Min.
"And I don't see why I should have to work so she can
stay home with her baby," says Jade.
"It's like a freaking veece versa," says Min.
"Let me tell you something," says Freddie. "Something
about this country. Anybody can do anything. But first they
gotta try. And you guys ain't. Two don't work and one strips
naked? I don't consider that trying. You kids make squat. And
therefore you live in a dangerous craphole. And what happens
in a dangerous craphole? Bad tragic shit. It's the freaking
American way-you start out in a dangerous craphole and work
hard so you can someday move up to a somewhat less
dangerous craphole. And finally maybe you get a mansion. But
at this rate you ain't even gonna make it to the somewhat less
dangerous craphole."
"Like you live in a mansion," says Jade.
"I do not claim to live in no mansion," says Freddie. "But
then again I do not live in no slum. The other thing I also do
not do is strip naked."
"Thank God for small favors," says Min.
"Anyways he's never actually naked," says Jade.
Which is true. I always have on at least a T-back.
"No wonder we never take these kids out to a nice lunch,"
says Freddie.
"I do not even consider this a nice lunch," says Min.
...
FOR DINNER JADE MICROWAVES some Stars-n-Flags.
They're addictive. They put sugar in the sauce and sugar in
the meat nuggets. I think also caffeine. Someone told me the
brown streaks in the Flags are caffeine. We have like five
bowls each.
After dinner the babies get fussy and Min puts a mush of
ice cream and Hershey's syrup in their bottles and we watch
The Worst That Could Happen, a half-hour of computer
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simulations of tragedies that have never actually occurred but
theoretically could. A kid gets hit by a train and flies into a
zoo, where he's eaten by wolves. A man cuts his hand off
chopping wood and while wandering around screaming for
help is picked up by a tornado and dropped on a preschool
during recess and lands on a pregnant teacher.
"I miss Bernie so bad," says Min.
"Me too," Jade says sadly.
The babies start howling for more ice cream.
"That is so cute," says Jade. "They're like, Give it the fuck
up!"
"We'll give it the fuck up, sweeties, don't worry," says
Min. "We didn't forget about you."
Then the phone rings. It's Father Brian. He sounds weird.
He says he's sorry to bother us so late. But something strange
has happened. Something bad. Something sort of, you know,
unspeakable. Am I sitting? I'm not but I say I am.
Apparently someone has defaced Bernie's grave.
My first thought is there's no stone. It's just grass. How
do you deface grass? What did they do, pee on the grass on
the grave? But Father's nearly in tears.
So I call Ma and Freddie and tell them to meet us, and we
get the babies up and load them into the K-car.
"Deface," says Jade on the way over. "What does that
mean, deface?"
"It means like fucked it up," says Min.
"But how?" says Jade. "I mean, like what did they do?"
"We don't know, dumbass," says Min." That's why we're
going there."
"And why?" says Jade. "Why would someone do that?"
"Check out Miss Shreelock Holmes," says Min. "Someone
done that because someone is a asshole."
"Someone is a big-time asshole," says Jade.
Father Brian meets us at the gate with a flashlight and a
golf cart.
"When I saw this," he says." I literally sat down in
astonishment. Nothing like this has ever happened here. I am
so sorry. You seem like nice people."
We're too heavy and the wheels spin as we climb the hill,
so I get out and jog alongside.
"Okay, folks, brace yourselves," Father says, and shuts off
the engine.
Where the grave used to be is just a hole. Inside the hole
is the Amber Mist, with the top missing. Inside the Amber Mist
is nothing. No Aunt Bernie.
"What the hell," says Jade. "Where's Bernie?"
"Somebody stole Bernie?" says Min.
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"At least you folks have retained your feet," says Father
Brian. "I'm telling you I literally sat right down. I sat right down
on that pile of dirt. I dropped as if shot. See that mark? That's
where I sat."
On the pile of grave dirt is a butt-shaped mark.
The cops show up and one climbs down in the hole with a
tape measure and a camera. After three or four flashes he
climbs out and hands Ma a pair of blue pumps.
"Her little shoes," says Ma. "Oh my God."
"Are those them?" says Jade.
"Those are them," says Min.
"I am freaking out," says Jade.
"I am totally freaking out," says Min.
"I'm gonna sit," says Ma, and drops into the golf cart.
"What I don't get is who'd want her?" says Min.
"She was just this lady," says Jade.
"Typically it's teens?" one cop says. "Typically we find the
loved one nearby? Once we found the loved one nearby with,
you know, a cigarette between its lips, wearing a sombrero?
These kids today got a lot more nerve than we ever did. I
never would've dreamed of digging up a dead corpse when I
was a teen. You might tip over a stone, sure, you might
spray-paint something on a crypt, you might, you know, give a
wino a hotfoot."
"But this, jeez," says Freddie. "This is a entirely different
ballgame."
"Boy howdy," says the cop, and we all look down at the
shoes in Ma's hands.
...
NEXT DAY I GO back to work. I don't feel like it but we need
the money. The grass is wet and it's hard getting across the
ravine in my dress shoes. The soles are slick. Plus they're too
tight. Several times I fall forward on my briefcase. Inside the
briefcase are my T-backs and a thing of mousse.
Right off the bat I get a tableful of MediBen women
seated under a banner saying BEST OF LUCK, BEATRICE, NO
HARD FEELINGS. I take off my shirt and serve their salads. I
take off my flight pants and serve their soups. One drops a
dollar on the floor and tells me feel free to pick it up.
I pick it up.
"Not like that, not like that," she says. "Face the other
way, so when you bend we can see your crack."
I've done this about a million times, but somehow I can't
do it now
I look at her. She looks at me.
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"What?" she says. "I'm not allowed to say that? I thought
that was the whole point."
"That is the whole point, Phyllis," says another lady. "You
stand your ground."
"Look;" Phyllis says. "Either bend how I say or give back
the dollar. I think that's fair."
"You go, girl," says her friend.
I give back the dollar. I return to the Locker Area and sit
awhile. For the first time ever, I'm voted Stinker. There are
thirteen women at the MediBen table and they all vote me
Stinker. Do the MediBen women know my situation? Would
they vote me Stinker if they did? But what am I supposed to
do, go out and say, Please ladies, my aunt just died, plus her
body's missing?
Mr. Frendt pulls me aside.
"Perhaps you need to go home," he says. "I'm sorry for
your loss. But I'd like to encourage you not to behave like one
of those Comanche ladies who bite off their index fingers
when a loved one dies. Grief is good, grief is fine, but too
much grief, as we all know, is excessive. If your aunt's death
has filled your mouth with too many bitten-off fingers, for
crying out loud, take a week off, only don't take it out on our
Guests, they didn't kill your dang aunt."
But I can't afford to take a week off. I can't even afford to
take a few days off.
"We really need the money," I say.
"Is that my problem?" he says. "Am I supposed to let you
dance without vigor just because you need the money? Why
don't I put an ad in the paper for all sad people who need
money? All the town's sad could come here and strip. Goodbye. Come back when you feel halfway normal."
From the pay phone I call home to see if they need
anything from the FoodSoQuik.
"Just come home," Min says stiffly. "Just come straight
home."
"What is it?" I say.
"Come home," she says.
Maybe someone's found the body. I imagine Bernie naked,
Bernie chopped in two, Bernie posed on a bus bench. I hope
and pray that something only mildly bad's been done to her,
something we can live with.
At home the door's wide open. Min and Jade are sitting
very still on the couch, babies in their laps, staring at the
rocking chair, and in the rocking chair is Bernie. Bernie's body.
Same perm, same glasses, same blue dress we buried her
in.
What's it doing here? Who could be so cruel? And what
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are we supposed to do with it?
Then she turns her head and looks at me.
"Sit the fuck down," she says.
In life she never swore.
I sit. Min squeezes and releases my hand, squeezes and
releases, squeezes and releases.
"You, mister," Bernie says to me, "are going to start
showing your cock. You'll show it and show it. You go up to a
lady, if she wants to see it, if she'll pay to see it, I'll make a
thumbprint on the forehead. You see the thumbprint, you ask.
I'll try to get you five a day, at twenty bucks a pop. So a
hundred bucks a day. Seven hundred a week. And that's cash,
so no taxes. No withholding. See? That's the beauty of it."
She's got dirt in her hair and dirt in her teeth and her hair
is a mess and her tongue when it darts out to lick her lips is
black.
"You, Jade," she says. "Tomorrow you start work.
Andersen Labels, Fifth and Rivera. Dress up when you go.
Wear something nice. Show a little leg. And don't chomp your
gum. Ask for Len. At the end of the month, we take the money
you made and the cock money and get a new place.
Somewhere safe. That's part one of Phase One. You, Min. You
baby-sit. Plus you quit smoking. Plus you learn how to cook.
No more food out of cans. We gotta eat right to look our best.
Because I am getting me so many lovers. Maybe you kids
don't know this but I died a freaking virgin. No babies, no
lovers. Nothing went in, nothing came out. Ha ha! Dry as a
bone, completely wasted, this pretty little thing God gave me
between my legs. Well I am going to have lovers now, you
fucks! Like in the movies, big shoulders and all, and a summer
house, and nice trips, and in the morning in my room a big
vase of flowers, and I'm going to get my nipples hard standing
in the breeze from the ocean, eating shrimp from a cup, you
sons of bitches, while my lover watches me from the veranda,
his big shoulders shining, all hard for me, that's one damn
thing I will guarantee you kids! Ha ha! You think I'm joking? I
ain't freaking joking. I never got nothing! My life was shit! I
was never even up in a freaking plane. But that was that life
and this is this life. My new life. Cover me up now! With a
blanket. I need my beauty rest. Tell anyone I'm here, you all
die. Plus they die. Whoever you tell, they die. I kill them with
my mind. I can do that. I am very freaking strong now. I got
powers! So no visitors. I don't exactly look my best. You got
it? You all got it?"
We nod. I go for a blanket. Her hands and feet are
shaking and she's grinding her teeth and one falls out.
"Put it over me, you fuck, all the way over!" she screams,
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and I put it over her.
We sneak off with the babies and whisper in the kitchen.
"It looks like her," says Min.
"It is her," I say.
"It is and it ain't," says Jade.
"We better do what she says," Min says.
"No shit," Jade says.
All night she sits in the rocker under the blanket, shaking
and swearing.
All night we sit in Min's bed, fully dressed, holding hands.
"See how strong I am!" she shouts around midnight, and
there's a cracking sound, and when I go out the door's been
torn off the microwave but she's still sitting in the chair.
IN THE MORNING she's still there, shaking and swearing.
"Take the blanket off!" she screams." It's time to get this
show on the road."
I take the blanket off. The smell is not good. One ear is
now in her lap. She keeps absentmindedly sticking it back on
her head.
"You, Jade!" she shouts. "Get dressed. Go get that job.
When you meet Len, bend forward a little. Let him see down
your top. Give him some hope. He's a sicko, but we
need him. You, Min! Make breakfast. Something
homemade. Like biscuits."
"Why don't you make it with your powers?" says Min.
"Don't be a smartass!" screams Bernie. "You see what I
did to that microwave?"
"I don't know how to make freaking biscuits," Min wails.
"You know how to read, right?" Bernie shouts. "You ever
heard of a recipe? You ever been in the grave? It sucks so
bad! You regret all the things you never did. You little bitches
are gonna have a very bad time in the grave unless you get on
the stick, believe me! Turn down the thermostat! Make it cold.
I like cold. Something's off with my body. I don't feel right."
I turn down the thermostat. She looks at me.
"Go show your cock!" she shouts. "That is the first part of
Phase One. After we get the new place, that's the end of the
first part of Phase Two. You'll still show your cock, but only
three days a week. Because you'll start community college.
Pre-law. Pre-law is best. You'll be a whiz. You ain't dumb.
And Jade'll work weekends to make up for the decrease in
cock money. See? See how that works? Now get out of here.
What are you gonna do?"
"Show my cock?" I say.
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"Show your cock, that's right," she says, and brushes
back her hair with her hand, and a huge wad comes out,
leaving her almost bald on one side.
"Oh God," says Min. "You know what? No way me and the
babies are staying here alone."
"You ain't alone," says Bernie. "I'm here."
"Please don't go," Min says to me.
"Oh, stop it," Bernie says, and the door flies open and I
feel a sort of invisible fist punching me in the back.
Outside it's sunny. A regular day. A guy's changing his oil.
The clouds are regular clouds and the sun's the regular sun
and the only nonregular thing is that my clothes smell like
Bernie, a combo of wet cellar and rotten bacon.
Work goes well. I manage to keep smiling and hide my
shaking hands, and my midshift rating is Honeypie. After lunch
this older woman comes up and says I look so much like a real
Pilot she can hardly stand it.
On her head is a thumbprint. Like Ash Wednesday, only
sort of glowing.
I don't know what to do. Do I just come out and ask if she
wants to see my cock? What if she says no? What if I get
caught? What if I show her and she doesn't think it's worth
twenty bucks?
Then she asks if I'll surprise her best friend with a
birthday table dance. She points out her friend. A pretty girl,
no thumbprint. Looks somehow familiar.
We start over and at about twenty feet I realize it's
Angela.
Angela Silveri.
We dated senior year. Then Dad died and Ma had to take
a job at Patty-Melt Depot. From all the grease Ma got a bad
rash and could barely wear a blouse. Plus Min was running
wild. So Angela would come over and there'd be Min getting
high under a tarp on the carport and Ma sitting in her bra on a
kitchen stool with a fan pointed at her gut. Angela had
dreams. She had plans. In her notebook she pasted a picture
of an office from the J. C. Penney catalogue and under it
wrote, My (someday?) office. Once we saw this black Porsche
and she said very nice but make hers red. The last straw was
Ed Edwards, a big drunk, one of Dad's cousins. Things got so
bad Ma rented him the utility room. One night Angela and I
were making out on the couch late when Ed came in soused
and started peeing in the dishwasher.
What could I say? He's only barely related to me? He
hardly ever does that?
Angela's eyes were like these little pies.
I walked her home, got no kiss, came back, cleaned up
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the dishwasher as best I could. A few days later I got my class
ring in the mail and a copy of The Prophet.
You will always be my first love, she'd written inside. But
now my path converges to a higher ground. Be well always.
Walk in joy Please don't think me cruel, it's lust that I want so
much in terms of accomplishment, plus I couldn't believe that
guy peed right on your dishes.
No way am I table dancing for Angela Silveri. No way am I
asking Angela Silveri's friend if she wants to see my cock. No
way am I hanging around here so Angela can see me in my
flight jacket and T-backs and wonder to herself how I went so
wrong etc. etc.
I hide in the kitchen until my shift is done, then walk home
very, very slowly because I'm afraid of what Bernie's going to
do to me when I get there.
...
MIN MEETS ME at the door. She's got flour all over her
blouse and it looks like she's been crying.
"I can't take any more of this," she says. "She's like falling
apart. I mean shit's falling off her. Plus she made me bake a
freaking pie."
On the table is a very lumpy pie. One of Bernie's arms is
now disconnected and lying across her lap.
"What are you thinking of!" she shouts. "You didn't show
your cock even once? You think it's easy making those
thumbprints? You try it, smartass! Do you or do you not know
the plan? You gotta get us out of here! And to get us out, you
gotta use what you got. And you ain't got much. A nice face.
And a decent unit. Not huge, but shaped nice."
"Bernie, God," says Min.
"What, Miss Priss?" shouts Bernie, and slams the severed
arm down hard on her lap, and her other ear falls off.
"I'm sorry, but this is too fucking sickening," says Min.
"I'm going out."
"What's sickening?" says Bernie. "Are you saying I'm
sickening? Well, I think you're sickening. So many wonderful
things in life and where's your mind? You think with your lazy
ass. Whatever life hands you, you take. You're not going
anywhere. You're staying home and studying."
"I'm what?" says Min. "Studying what? I ain't studying.
Chick comes into my house and starts ordering me to study? I
freaking doubt it."
"You don't know nothing!" Bernie says. "What fun is life
when you don't know nothing? You can't find your own town
on the map. You can't name a single president. When we go
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to Rome you won't know nothing about the history. You're
going to study the World Book. Do we still have those World
Books?"
"Yeah right," says Min. "We're going to Rome."
"We'll go to Rome when he's a lawyer," says Bernie.
"Dream on, chick," says Min. "And we'll go to Mars when
I'm a stockbreaker."
"Don't you dare make fun of me!" Bernie shouts, and our
only vase goes flying across the room and nearly nails Min in
the head.
"She's been like this all day," says Min.
"Like what?" shouts Bernie. "We had a perfectly nice
day."
"She made me help her try on my bras," says Min.
"I never had a nice sexy bra," says Bernie.
"And now mine are all ruined," says Min. "They got this
sort of goo on them."
"You ungrateful shit!" shouts Bernie. "Do you know what
I'm doing for you? I'm saving your boy. And you got the nerve
to say I made goo on your bras! Troy's gonna get caught in a
crossfire in the courtyard. In September. September
eighteenth. He's gonna get thrown off his little trike. With one
leg twisted under him and blood pouring out of his ear. It's a
freaking prophecy. You know that word? It means prediction.
You know that word? You think I'm bullshitting? Well I ain't
bullshitting. I got the power. Watch this: All day Jade sat
licking labels at a desk by a window. Her boss bought
everybody subs for lunch. She's bringing some home in a
green bag."
"That ain't true about Troy, is it?" says Min. "Is it? I don't
believe it."
"Turn on the TV!" Bernie shouts. "Give me the changer."
I turn on the TV I give her the changer. She puts on
Nathan's Body Shop. Nathan says washboard abs drive the
women wild. Then there's a close-up of his washboard abs.
"Oh yes," says Bernie. "Them are for me. I'd like to give
those a lick. A lick and a pinch. I'd like to sort of straddle
those things."
Just then Jade comes through the door with a big green
bag.
"Oh God," says Min.
"Told you so!" says Bernie, and pokes Min in the ribs. "Ha
ha! I really got the power!"
"I don't get it," Min says, all desperate. "What happens?
Please. What happens to him? You better freaking tell me."
"I already told you," Bernie says. "He'll fly about fifteen
feet and live about three minutes."
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"Bernie, God," Min says, and starts to cry. "You used to
be so nice."
"I'm still so nice," says Bernie, and bites into a sub and
takes off the tip of her finger and starts chewing it up.
JUST AFTER DAWN she shouts out my name.
"Take the blanket off," she says. "I ain't feeling so good."
I take the blanket off. She's basically just this pile of
parts: both arms in her lap, head on the arms, heel of one foot
touching the heel of the other, all of it sort of wrapped up in
her dress.
"Get me a washcloth," she says." Do I got a fever? I feel
like I got a fever. Oh, I knew it was too good to be true. But
okay. New plan. New plan. I'm changing the first part of Phase
One. If you see two thumbprints, that means the lady'll screw
you for cash. We're in a fix here. We gotta speed this up.
There ain't gonna be nothing left of me. Who's gonna be my
lover now?"
The doorbell rings.
"Son of a bitch," Bernie snarls.
It's Father Brian with a box of doughnuts. I step out quick
and close the door behind me. He says he's just checking in.
Perhaps we'd like to talk? Perhaps we're feeling some residual
anger about Bernie's situation? Which would of course be
completely understandable. Once when he was a young priest
someone broke in and drew a mustache on the Virgin Mary
with a permanent marker, and for weeks he was tortured by
visions of bending back the finger of the vandal until he or she
burst into tears of apology.
"I knew that wasn't appropriate," he says. "I knew that by
indulging in that fantasy I was honoring violence. And yet it
gave me pleasure. I also thought of catching them in the act
and boinking them in the head with a rock. I also thought of
jumping up and down on their backs until something in their
spinal column cracked. Actually I had about a million ideas.
But you know what I did instead? I scrubbed and scrubbed our
Holy Mother, and soon she was as good as new. Her statue, I
mean. She herself of course is always good as new."
From inside comes the sound of breaking glass. Breaking
glass and then something heavy falling, and Jade yelling and
Min yelling and the babies crying.
"Oops, I guess?" he says. "I've come at a bad time? Look,
all I'm trying to do is urge you, if at all possible, to forgive the
perpetrators, as I forgave the perpetrator that drew on my
Virgin Mary. The thing lost, after all, is only your aunt's body,
and what is essential, I assure you, is elsewhere, being well
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taken care of."
I nod. I smile. I say thanks for stopping by. I take the
doughnuts and go back inside.
The TV's broke and the refrigerator's tipped over and
Bernie's parts are strewn across the living room like she's
been shot out of a cannon.
"She tried to get up," says Jade.
"I don't know where the hell she thought she was going,"
says Min.
"Come here," the head says to me, and I squat down.
"That's it for me. I'm fucked. As per usual. Always the
bridesmaid, never the bride. Although come to think of it I was
never even the freaking bridesmaid. Look, show your cock. It's
the shortest line between two points. The world ain't giving
away nice lives. You got a trust fund? You a genius? Show
your cock. It's what you got. And remember: Troy in
September. On his trike. One leg twisted. Don't forget. And
also. Don't remember me like this. Remember me like how I
was that night we all went to Red Lobster and I had that new
perm. Ah Christ. At least buy me a stone."
I rub her shoulder, which is next to her foot.
"We loved you," I say.
"Why do some people get everything and I got nothing?"
she says. "Why? Why was that?"
"I don't know," I say.
"Show your cock," she says, and dies again.
We stand there looking down at the pile of parts. Mac
crawls toward it and Min moves him back with her foot.
"This is too freaking much," says Jade, and starts crying.
"What do we do now?" says Min.
"Call the cops," Jade says.
"And say what?" says Min.
We think about this awhile.
I get a Hefty bag. I get my winter gloves.
"I ain't watching," says Jade.
"I ain't watching either;" says Min, and they take the
babies into the bedroom.
I close my eyes and wrap Bernie up in the Hefty bag and
twistie-tie the bag shut and lug it out to the trunk of the Kcar. I throw in a shovel. I drive up to St. Leo's. I lower the bag
into the hole using a bungee cord, then fill the hole back in.
Down in the city are the nice houses and the so-so
houses and the lovers making out in dark yards and the
babies crying for their moms, and I wonder if, other than
Jesus, this has ever happened before. Maybe it happens all
the time. Maybe there's angry dead all over, hiding in rooms,
covered with blankets, bossing around their scared,
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embarrassed relatives. Because how would we know?
I for sure don't plan on broadcasting this.
I smooth over the dirt and say a quick prayer: If it was
wrong for her to come back, forgive her, she never got beans
in this life, plus she was trying to help us.
At the car I think of an additional prayer: But please don't
let her come back again.
WHEN I GET HOME the babies are asleep and Jade and Min
are watching a phone-sex infomercial, three girls in
leatherjumpsuits eating bananas in Slo-mo while across the
screen runs a constant disclaimer: "Not Necessarily the Girls
Who Man the Phones! Not Necessarily the Girls Who Man the
Phones!"
"Them chicks seem to really be enjoying those bananas,"
says Min in a thin little voice.
"I like them jumpsuits though," says Jade.
"Yeah them jumpsuits look decent," says Min.
Then they look up at me. I've never seen them so sad and
beat and sick.
"It's done," I say.
Then we hug and cry and promise never to forget Bernie
the way she really was, and I use some Resolve on the rug and
they go do some reading in their World Books.
Next day I go in early. I don't see a single thumbprint. But
it doesn't matter. I get with Sonny Vance and he tells me how
to do it. First you ask the woman would she like a private tour.
Then you show her the fake P-40, the Gallery of Historical
Aces, the shower stall where we get oiled up, etc. etc. and
then in the hall near the rest room you ask if there's anything
else she'd like to see. It's sleazy. It's gross. But when I do it I
think of September. September and Troy in the crossfire, his
little leg bent under him etc. etc.
Most say no but quite a few say yes.
I've got a place picked out at a complex called Swan's
Glen. They've never had a shooting or a knifing and the public
school is great and every Saturday they have a nature walk for
kids behind the clubhouse.
For every hundred bucks I make, I set aside five for
Bernie's stone.
What do you write on something like that? LIFE PASSED
HER BY? DIED DISAPPOINTED? CAME BACK TO LIFE BUT
FELL APART? All true, but too sad, and no way I'm writing any
of those.
BERNIE KOWALSKI, it's going to say: BELOVED AUNT.
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Sometimes she comes to me in dreams. She never looks
good. Sometimes she's wearing a dirty smock. Once she had
on handcuffs. Once she was naked and dirty and this mean
cat was clawing its way up her front. But every time it's the
same thing.
"Some people get everything and I got nothing," she says.
"Why? Why did that happen?"
Every time I say I don't know.
And I don't.
© 2000 George Saunders
"Sea Oak" appears in the short story collection Pastoralia
(Riverhead Books, 2000). This electronic version is published
by kind permission of ICM literary agency and the author.
Book ordering available through amazon.com
This story may not be archived or distributed further without the express
permission of TBR and the author. Please see our conditions of use.
author bio
George Saunders is the author of the story
collection CivilWarLand in Bad Decline, a finalist
for the 1996 PEN/Hemingway Award and a New
York Times Notable Book for that year; and a
second collection Pastoralia (2000), from which
"Sea Oak" is reprinted. He teaches in the
Creative Writing Program at Syracuse
University.
photo © Thomas Mason
barcelona review #20
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