Uh...Fork? (V.S. 6)

...In fact, the Doberman seemed to positively relish the idea of tearing our house guest’s throat out. Deucallion (no, I am not going to go and call him Mr. Shlonski every time I refer to him. You try saying it a couple times in a row. Shlonski, Shlonski, Shlonski. Ha. See? You can’t do it either.) didn’t seem overly disturbed, however. He stepped back.1

“Down, boy! Down, Jag!” Jasper pulled at the creature, but he seemed barely able to constrain it. But, as Deucallion eyed it sternly and squarely in the eye, the animal stopped struggling. It moaned slightly, and didn’t back down, glaring at the hand it’s self-claimed rival extended. Then it sniffed it and sat down, still wary, but perfectly calm. 2

“Good Jag,” said Jasper, triumphantly patting the dog’s head. Yeah, like he’d had anything to do with it. He’d been holding on for dear life until the beast had been thoroughly intimidated. I considered applauding, but doubted he’d get the sarcasm, so I didn’t.3

“I’ll just leave you two then,” said Deucallion. Somehow, darn him, instead of being guiltily caught where he shouldn’t be, he managed to give the impression that it was he who was interrupting our private tête-à-tête. I was not amused. But then, he couldn’t exactly know about my disgust in regards to The Lutefisk Man. So I sighed with resignation. 4

“String, my desk, top drawer.” I called after him as he left, indiscreetly trying to be discreet. No reaction. I assumed he’d be able to guess that my desk was in my room, and if he followed his nose, he could surely find my room.5

Jasper was politely waiting, back in his normal state of dignity. He should be a butler when he grows up. He has the imperturbable air of one. Mildly curious, he asked, 6

“That was…your father?” 7

I choked before I could think to snatch at the cover line he so nicely provided. I’m sorry, but it was a horrible thought. My father had always worn a suit to work, for gods’ sake. Every day! And he tied his own tie, and wore cufflinks! Mr. Shlonski was permanently disreputable-looking. My father was invariably clean, respectable, and put off the feeling of peace, security, and a scent of authority. Deucallion put off a feeling of itchiness. Well, not really—-that was a touch of poetic license--but still, the two were incommensurable. Totally. 8

“Heavens, no! He’s…” Uh… “a friend, staying here for a visit.” I didn’t really want to lie directly if I could help it. Something almost always happens when you create large lies, and they get bigger and bigger, and you have to keep on denying them. It’s easier to get as close to the truth as is safe. Then you don’t feel embarrassed when you have to go back on everything you said. Jasper was probably already wondering about the fact that ‘our friend’ looked like one of the gentlemen one sees sleeping under overpasses. 9

“You came for a reason?” I said helpfully and rudely.10

“Yes, I was wondering if you could take care of my dog this evening, but I see he’s misbehaving, so I’ll not trouble you.” Good. How nice of him. 11

“Yes. That wouldn’t work very well. Deu, uh, our friend doesn’t like dogs.” Scumbubble apologized and left far more quickly than I expected him to. I think he was afraid that his dog would try to attack someone again. It was certainly a blow to his image to have a naughty pet.12

By dinner, Deucallion had found a solution to the sleeve problem. He’d rolled up the cuffs and tied string around them to hold them in place. (A passing thought: I think that if he wore an Armani suit--which I cannot imagine, even in my 20/20 mind’s eye--it would look like it had been finely tailored for someone else, and possibly had been hanging on a clothes line for a couple winters on an island off of Canada.)13

“So young Jasper’s dog did not like you?” Granny asked him conversationally. Apparently where he came from, people ate salad with their hands. I watched, thoroughly fascinated, as he selected a green bean.14

“Dogs generally don’t.” He ate the green bean, and chose a piece of lettuce. I’ve always found it difficult to eat lettuce with a fork, but the idea of eating it with my hands had never occurred to me. I resolved to try it sometime when eating somewhere where Granny wasn’t. I doubted she would approve of the novel concept. Already she was eying Mr. Shlonski’s methods with the look of one who with a little more provoking would be hard put to resist stabbing him with the salad fork to make a point. The man was oblivious, and it was a good thing Granny was a controlled sort of person; I don’t think I could have stopped her in time if she’d lost it. 15

“Why is that?” Granny was obviously ‘making conversation.’ Read: ‘snooping.’ 16

“You seem very curious.” I wondered whether he would say something interesting soon or if I had time to refill my glass of milk. I decided to wait a little. Murphy’s law states that if I left, he would say something interesting, and if I didn’t, he may or may not. Better safe than missing out. 17

“It would be easier,” he remarked, “if you just came out and asked what you wanted.” Silence reigned after that. Don’t get the wrong idea: Granny was not embarrassed or shamed, not by any means. She merely wanted to figure out which questions to ask first and how to order them in the most coherent way possible. Making sure he really meant his offer, she queried, holding back eagerness,18

“I think it would be a good night, if you feel well, to discuss things?” He gave her a look.19

“I do not feel well.” Apparently, just because we were allowed to ask what we wanted to, that did mean that he was going to answer any of our questions. I could have told him that he was pushing it a little. Granny didn’t appreciate that sort of thing. I stood and went to get more milk. 20

As I exited the room, I saw Granny meaningfully hand our guest a fork. He looked confused.21