He surveyed his heir, seated at his right hand; his second child by his third wife. What a handsome fellow, what a man made in his father's image. Smoke poured from the son's cigar, forming a haze about him that shrouded his grey suit, his Aquitaine nose, and predatory grin as he spoke to a woman on his right.
The father knew he had seen her somewhere. A centerfold perhaps.
Far along the right side of the table, his childhood priest motioned for his attention. With his free hand, the father directed the man to stand. “I give you our friend, and guardian of European ideals, Father.” The table clapped lazily as the priest slowly pushed his chair back to make room for his ample stomach. At last he stood as straight as he could, a wheezy sigh issuing from puffed lips.
“This is a great achievement,” he began, burping profusely, “and I'd like to compliment the chef on this fabulous repast.”
“Don't praise the maker, but the money that bought it,” interrupted the father's son. He looked past his date to glare at the priest. Standing in a tense silence, the family's priest's belly shuddered, as he stood quivering...
The son burst into a coarse, braying laughter, and the table erupted in merriment. Across the table the son's sister's husband cried tears of joy at the bullying.
“Bravo,” he cheered, his blue eyes glistening. “I must learn your particular style of humiliation. Where did you practice your craft?”
The son waved his hand as if to casually dissipate the praise, but his father could see his faint smile of pride. “Father has enlisted me to squeeze our renters. A hint of condescension suffices. The same trick also subdues contractors seeking fair compensation.”
“A fair share is what you can grab with both hands, stiffing the other guy in the process,” chuckled the father's brother from where he sat between the priest and his brother's third wife.
The Father glanced around, but seeing no audience for his speech, only for his mockery, sat down meekly.
The other father, who had never sat from his position at the head of the table, motioned to his wife at the other end. Silently, she stood and walked out of the room. “She's gone to fetch the entertainment.”
“Yes, Sir,” said a thin reedy voice that could barely be heard over the scratching of pen on paper. “You have such a way with words, Sir, if I may so myself. You are elegant, you are concise, you are descriptive, and memorable. You would have made a great writer, greater than myself.” The man paused to allow his pen to catch up with his thoughts. “I must jot down every insight. I'll finish my …. our ….your …. next memoir. Every word, every deed, every expression.”
“Nothing incriminating I hope,” said the head of the family.
“Oh, Sir, but you could be a comedian,” laughed the writer nervously, “having never committed a crime in your life.”
“It's easy to avoid them if you've enlisted the law on your side,” chortled a man sitting to the left of the writer, “A coterie of politicians, and an endless expenditure of campaign contributions, buys significant revisions.”
“Don't listen to them father, even in jest,” said the head's eldest child from her position at his left hand. “You've never engaged in unethical behavior. I don't understand why you associate with certain people seated here,” she said with a pointed look at the family's politician.
The Senator met her gaze easily. “Don't you go pointing fingers at your betters, don't cast the first stone. In the first place, I've never engaged in any activity I regretted.”
“You convinced the President to declare war on those poor people in....”
She stopped, staring wildly around the table as boos and hisses smothered her speech.
“Child,” said her antagonist, who smiled grimly, “those aren't our people. They are quite different than you or I. Barely civilized. They need our help, to join Western Civilization, in some lesser competency...”
“But you...”
“Let me finish. You're going to claim I profited from my votes in Congress, from my connections. I did. But I profited everyone; myself, the family, the donors, the nation, the church, the Lord, and those savages, though they'll never appreciate what I've achieved.”
“I...”
“Let me remind you,” he said, making a gesture with his right hand that knocked over the writer's drink, “that you were in quite a bit of trouble with your pit bulls, your arraignments, that money you made, and who helped you there?
“My friends, my friends,” said the father, smiling like a benevolent god from where he had remained standing, “Are we all not allies here in this room.”
“Father...” protested his first born.
The transformation, from New deity to Old was instantaneous. “I will brook no disagreement here!” She saw the storm clouds, heard the thunder, and groveled diplomatically.
“She didn't mean it father,” said the youngest child, from her spot between the writer and her sister's husband. Twirling a wine glass between her fingers, she continued, “We've all got our own peccadilloes. Sis was able to mix business with pleasure. Isn't that what family is all about?”
“I mean,” she said, waving her arms wildly in the air, like a person drowning (and something wet splashed against her and her neighbors), it's what we do.”
“That's why you bought that business, isn't it,” said her father's best friend from directly across the table. “I suppose you like to guzzle the profits.”
“I am not ashamed of how I embrace my life.”
“You could supply the Father,” the friend said, elbowing the man on his right.
The priest, hoping to spare himself from a confrontation, searched his plate for remnants of the meal. He mumbled, “I don't know one way or the other.”
“We're in the middle of a theological conversation and you've become agnostic,” said the friend, looking at his company with disdain.
The youngest child tried to stand up without pushing her seat away, fell back, and succeeded with some aid from her sister's husband.
“You mock lesser sins, ignoring your own, doesn't he Father?” her glass bobbing like the head of a drowsing child, as she held it.
“I'm not sure what you're talking about,” said the priest. “I...”
The target of her denunciation held up his hand to the uninterested participant. “I can fight my own wars, little girl, but can you?”
“We all know you hire others to fight them for you, you and him,” she said pointing back at her father's Senator.” She tried to climb onto the table, but the writer put down his tools to ease her down.
“I could regal you with stories of the millions I've sacked from the ruins of cities. They lie, cracked open like rotten eggs, once my weapons have had their way with them,” said her father's friend. “I've cackled over photos of women and children brutalized in the burning sun and the blazing cold. I even carry my favorites in this wallet,” he said, fingering a black leather billfold. “But I've never done anything wrong. I am no different than a lion or eagle, both of which dispatch their prey without a thought.”
Recoiling from his speech, the youngest daughter tried to draw a comparative link. “I think what you're doing is dangerous. I say trash everyone, for profit, but don't kill them. Don't disrupt the global order. Don't cause chaos. We profit off of order.”
“It's an old order, it seems unstable to outsiders, but it's the force of the world.”
“Like the crusades,” interjected the Father.
“Since the dawn of time, sinew is strength, strength is sanction.
“What do you think Uncle?” asked the father's son.
“You're asking,” said the bald man as he rubbed his hands over his forehead, “because you think my business disturbs the natural order. But it is the epitome of hubris to imagine I can damage God's creation. Humanity will continue on, even if instability increases, which I doubt.”
The elder daughter shifted uncomfortably in her seat, “but scientists say...”
“No doubt, someone's scientists say. But the question is, who owns them? Everyone can be bought my dear niece, as you know. We all know. But what we also know is the secret. If our enemies' scientists are correct, which I deny, and even if they are, China isn't doing anything about it either. Soros is probably behind the whole scandal. But even if they are correct, it won't harm us. It will harm other people who haven't made it their life's cause to store up wealth and power for the benefit of Western Civilization....”
The head saw his brother's speech continuing on robustly for some time, but at that moment his wife reentered the room.
“Your attention please. With our night only beginning, let us seek unity in our community. Please raise your glasses. To family, to country, to the ideals of Western Civilization!”
“And now for the main entertainment,” said his wife, “showing tonight, The Birth of a Nation.”
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