Frank came over. He was smoking Virginia Slims, which told me he'd gotten drunk, announced he was quitting smoking, destroyed his pack, then a half-hour later reconsidered and stolen some woman's cigarettes off the bar. He did it all the time.
I said, "I see your smoking Virginia Slims again."
He said, "This isn't a Virginia Slim. It's a Marlboro Virile. They're new."
This was the other thing about Frank. He was a compulsive liar. His lies were transparent, but he believed them.
We turned our attention to the football game. No better excuse for afternoon alcoholism has ever been invented. I was already halfway in the bag, because the wife had left, taking the car and a couple of suitcases and, just to be hurtful, the framed rack of the 12-point buck I shot back in '86. That's the thing about women. They know where to hit you where it hurts. Her I didn't miss yet, but every time I looked up at that blank space on the den wall I got all misty.
My daughter came home. She was a junior harlot, and in that respect the spitting image of her mom. I told her to put some clothes on before she entered the house. She snickered, and stuck her gum to the phone. For some reason this pushed my buttons. I threatened to ground her, to which she responded, "Who, you and your girlfriend there smoking Virginia Slims?"
Frank said, "For your information they're Marlboro Viriles, and I don't see what I have to do with your internal domestic disputes."
The Giants scored. I'd bet on the game, I just couldn't remember which team.
SO good. Mike, you really should (one day) try to make this kind of thing novel-length.
And if not, you should in all reality consider partnering with me in becoming the official Herman Brusselmans translator for the non-Dutch speaking world (which I also proposed to Dave, I know): this is just like him!
Posted by: Martijn | January 06, 2012 at 04:16 AM
It is an honor to be compared to Herman Brusselman, although I've never heard of him before. But I don't know hwat help I'd be, not knowing any Dutch and all. I could tinker with your translations some... Your friend, Mike
Posted by: UF MIKE | January 06, 2012 at 08:54 AM
He's a Belgian novellist who wrote more than 50 novels in 25 years but all incredible. He is perhaps the best (funny, new, worthwhile and such a joy to the troubled-of-mind sons of bitches!) author of the Low Lands of the last 25 years. And none of his books are translated. I once translated a few chapters for you, but my English is not good enough. I have a dream of translating him and then letting you (or someone else) making the English perfect... Some of his books are untranslatable though. And perhaps he doesn't WANT to be translated, I don't know why else this important and great selling man isn't translated yet.
Posted by: Martijn | January 06, 2012 at 10:33 AM
Do It Martijn! let's see it, our English is in-elegant also & who cares if Herman doesn't want to be translated, probably just Herman (& possibly his lawyers), so translate like the wind my friend.
Posted by: Dan | January 08, 2012 at 06:27 AM
Thank you, Dan. That's the encouragement I need! I like translating him, even though the results are never publisheable without the help of a true English-speaking person. I'm not afraid of lawyers, but Herman B. himself is an absolute ruthless polemic.
Posted by: Martijn | January 08, 2012 at 11:29 AM
Yeah, let's do it!
Posted by: UF MIKE | January 09, 2012 at 08:24 AM
I'll be on it.
Posted by: Martijn | January 09, 2012 at 09:27 AM