49:1 Spring 2003

ALISON BUNDY

Brief Family Statement

When the pater was apprehended muling hooch in his diapers our reaction was neither shock nor shame, nor even embarrassment. Rather, we were pleased the patriarch had recovered a vestige of his old ambitious spirit, and gratified to find him making creative use of the paraphernalia of his disability. We hope we do not offend when we suggest that, issues of legality aside, many among us would do well to emulate him in this regard. For the pater was nothing, before his fall, if not resourceful.
Subsequent to our delight, however, came a prolonged scuffle in and about the legal system: blandishment of lawyers, bribery of toadies, countless hours spent awaiting hearings which never took place. We were of course alarmed at the pater's immediate situation-narrow cell, enforced labor (inappropriate, dangerous even, for one such as he), depleted supply of diapers.... The incident in the kitchen, so widely reported, particularly roused our concern. Yes from the start we have experienced hourly anxiety over our pater's health, for the crumbling edifice of his body requires a degree of attention and care difficult enough to secure in what we have begun more and more to refer to as 'the free world.'
Inevitably, the pater has dismissed our worries. What is prison, he asks as he lies on his bed of straw, and he raises a long hand and sweeps the air down the length of his limbs. And when we look at him dumbly, as in our infant years, he shuts his eyes and whispers the answer: what is prison but the body, the body. And we must turn away, that he not see our tears.
This is a-excuse us-we must collect-
This is a great country and we are encouraged that so many of its citizens are presently behind bars; indeed when we add to their numbers those who, though now situated differently, were once behind bars-, and if we then include their loved ones, and add to that sum the number of people in positions of power who would be behind bars were they not in positions of power, well, when we consider these vast numbers, we feel certain to encounter everywhere we turn an embarrassment of riches in the way of sympathetic understanding.
But sympathetic understanding will not the diapers buy. Daily the pater wanes; daily he regrets his action. What is hooch-muling, he asks, raising a long hand and brushing the flies away down the length of his body, and when we look at him dumbly, as in our teenage years, he turns away, to the wall, and mutters the answer: irresponsibility, fiduciary irresponsibility. Oh if he had teeth, to hear them grind once more.
And of course we ourselves are no longer young, we have lost teeth, lost employment years ago due to ceaseless efforts on the pater's behalf (efforts that were, as he has so thoughtfully pointed out, at best bumbling, idiotic), our limbs-never as tough as our ancestor's-are weakening and our walkers seem heavier, our prostheses, our eyesight....
But enough. We are grateful to so many of you for supporting us in our struggle over the years, and we speak to you today, on the occasion of the pater's one hundred-and-sixth birthday, for the final time.
You will have heard of the pelican, that creature ungainly on land but commanding in flight. Mythology tells us the bird allows its children to gorge on its own blood and breast-meat, and though science denies this, the image depicts a truth greater than fact.
But we are not the pelican's children. Instead, in a turn no doubt familiar to some of you, we are the pelican, and the pater, our child.
Hear us out.
Without insisting on ornithological analogy, we have alerted the pater to our scheme (What are you, he asks as he writhes on his pallet, raising a long hand and forming a fist, as he punches the air, and when we look at him dumbly, as in our middle years, he meets our stare: cretins! cretins!). We have also approached the warden who long ago seemed to tire of our pleas, but like a miracle he finds our idea of interest. Some among you may suspect, when you hear our plan, that he craves notoriety, but why attribute to cynicism what may also be attributed to faith? In any case, we take it as a sign that authority is finally on our side.
And so after these, our last words spoken in the free world, we will enter the pater's cell, metaphorically sealing ourselves off from the light to begin a long demise: we will take neither food nor drink, in the hope that as we wane the pater shall by proximity wax, as we falter he shall thrive, as we subside he shall rage and in that rage be resurrected once more to mule-if not the hooch-the common burden of his days.
For the warden has agreed: if the pater outlasts us he shall be set free.
A storm of controversy no doubt gathers: we will not be present when it breaks. We will be in a quieter place. Please do not mourn us-let us eschew the keening tone of tragedy for the lilting note of joy: we go knowing fully what we do. Our fate awaits us-how many have been able to utter those words with calm?
And please, send no candy, no postcards, no lace doilies kindly tatted, for the reminder-we cannot-though you might, perhaps, prepare-for the pater....
Thank you dear friends, supporters. And now the iron bars are opening, they beckon-we bid you not au revoir, but adieu, adieu!