A Taxonomy of Barnacles, page 36
Bella appeared at the last possible moment, impressively mobile on her crutches, her hair so perfectly windblown that she appeared to have slid down the banister.
Barry settled into his seat and banged his fists on the table. “Let’s skip formalities tonight. Shall we? Who wants to go first?”
Benita waved her hand with frantic spastic movements as though she might slip into a seizure if she was not called upon. “I do. I do,” she clamored.
“That’s fine,” Barry said. “We’ll go youngest to oldest. If that’s all right with everyone else?” He searched the table for dissenters but finding only Beth, nodded at Benita.
Benita smiled smugly, scanning the table like a seasoned politician. Finally, she stood from her seat, clasped her hands, and pursed her lips as though she were delivering a book report. “As many of you know, I was favored to win the Chapin School talent show,” she said. “But it turns out the school’s meritocracy has fallen to the tyranny of political correctness, besides which Mary Talbot would have won anyway due to the rampant anti-Semitism in my class.” She paused here to take a breath. “Luckily, that was a fallback plan. I thought of something much better, something sure to bring honor to the Barnacle name and fill our home with love. Daddy,” she paused, “I know how much you’ve missed him over the years, so I went to the Central Park Zoo and got Harry back for you.”
Benita clapped her hands and whistled, cuing a stampede of tiny footsteps and the appearance, seconds later, of a medium-sized macaque. The monkey had the exact same features as Barry’s beloved pet, the same gray and black speckled fur, the same wide, deeply inset eyes, the same stumped tail, the same pink toes, the same resemblance to a little old man.
The family regarded the monkey in silence as he bounded into the room. Finally, Beth broke the silence with a derisive snarl.
“That isn’t Harry,” she sneered.
“I thought you would say that,” Benita said. She smiled with unflinching confidence then clapped again in two short rhythmic beats, spurring the monkey to leap to the sofa and assume the familiar position. Indeed, as they watched, he perfectly replicated the behavior Bella had witnessed years ago, clasping his hands in front of his chest and bowing his head in prayer.
Benita curtsied for the table.
“First of all,” Beth began, “any monkey can clasp his hands. Besides…” here, she invoked her mother’s argument, “everyone knows when people pray, they’re not really thinking about God. They’re thinking about what they’re going to have for dinner.”
Finally, Benita began to weaken. Excessive blinking and sniffles hearkened an imminent temper tantrum.
Bella lowered her voice to a soothing tone. “Sweetheart,” she said, “I have a confession. Harry doesn’t live in New York anymore. I sent him to Florida ten years ago. He’s in a better place.”
Benita tightened imperceptibly. Everyone at the table braced for the explosion. But instead of erupting, she only shuddered slightly, offered Bella a look of betrayal, then stood from the table and ran down the hall, sobbing. The entire table listened as her shrieking receded. Barry took the opportunity to pet the controversial guest, but he soon submitted to the general consensus that the monkey should be given back to the zoo before the day was over.
With the matter settled, Barry surveyed the group with a look of unflappable cheer. He leaned back in his chair to a ninety-degree tilt, scanned the table for the next speaker, then cleared his throat and attempted to reclaim his audience. “Beth, you’re up,” he announced. “What do you got for me?”
Beth eyed her father tentatively. It was unlike her to engage in such a blatant act of bragging. But acknowledging the benefit of the prize, she swallowed hard, met her father’s gaze, and presented her findings. “I believe I’ve figured out why Darwin gave up on barnacles,” she announced.
Cautiously, she detailed her new theory, laying out her evidence. She and Darwin, she claimed, had stumbled down twin paths. Both had journeyed across the world to find their greatest resources in their backyard. Both had realized, after tireless searches, that the thing for which they searched had always been close to home. And yet, myopia had delayed both scientists’ discoveries. Darwin’s barnacles were fixed to his shore long before the Beagle set sail, just as Beth’s lay on her father’s shelves years before she left for college. Of course, she knew that rushing to publish could prove a grave mistake, but she faced the scientist’s greatest dilemma: prudence versus priority.
Indeed, the story of Darwin offered a cautionary tale. Alfred Wallace, the barnacle to Darwin’s finch, arrived at a twin theory to Darwin’s exactly six months prior. In fact, the two scientists drew identical conclusions. But Wallace had dallied while Darwin rushed to publicize his theory. Wallace, of course, remained obscure while Darwin became unspeakably famous. And though the destinies of the two men could be attributed to timing, their story begged certain difficult questions. Was it possible, Beth asked the group, that luck shortchanged Wallace? Or was fate’s neglect a more sinister act? Either way, Beth felt it was irresponsible to avoid the more disturbing question: Might the famous contest have ended differently if Wallace had not been a Jew?
“Don’t waste your time,” Bunny scoffed.
“What do you mean?” asked Beth.
“People will laugh in your face,” said Bunny.
“But I’ve done the research,” said Beth.
“Trust me,” said Bunny. “It’s a fool’s errand.” She smiled imperiously. “Darwin had to fight the Church of England. You’re taking on every man in the free world.”
“Pfft,” Beth scoffed. Then, she added under her breath, “I guess you know all about that…”
* * *
While cattiness overtook dinner conversation, more weighty debates raged in Benita’s room. Benita lay facedown on her bed, attempting to block out her family and to discern whether pillows could be used to fashion a soundproof wall. But, finding a stack of six failed even to muffle their sound, she abandoned her bed to scope out more remote places with her telescope. Luckily, the view of Central Park comforted her somewhat, providing the illusion that the world was a green sphere and she, at its center. All hope was not lost for the contest, she decided. She was poised for a ninth inning comeback. This very night she could locate an undetected star and earn the right to name it. Encouraged, she tilted the telescope to survey the evening sky. But she quickly tired of this pastime and resorted to spying on passers-by.
Central Park provided abundant victims. A couple strolled around the Pond, arm in arm. Another pair embraced and then parted ways. A young woman struggled to pitch a tent in Sheep Meadow. Intrigued, Benita allowed her lens to rest on the stubborn girl. The girl seemed oblivious to nearby picnics and dogs, completely engrossed in her task. Sadly, she was either too small or too inexperienced for such a strenuous job. Finally, admitting defeat, she fell to the grass and lay motionless on her back. Benita lingered on this vignette, comforted by the girl’s failure and, somehow, encouraged to demand more of herself. As she stared at this distant girl, she felt suddenly very close to her. Startled, Benita stepped away from the telescope. Consciousness caught up with perception. The girl on the grass was not a girl, but rather her sister Beryl.
* * *
Yankee Stadium was at full capacity when the couples arrived, each section projecting its own personality like a family of squabbling siblings. As in any other environment, the park’s hierarchy was a delicate and complicated balance, each level indicating a different status and affording the spectator with unique prerogatives. The field-side seats offered a fan the honor of stature and proximity. The middle bleachers surpassed the volume of the lower levels, offering the best acoustics for cheering and banner waving. But even despite the obvious totem of the baseball park, the bleachers offered a unique advantage. In Billy’s opinion, the highest seats were unfairly stigmatized, since they provided the most magnificent view of the park and, despite their distance from the action, afforded the fan his best weapons: perspective and omniscience.
As usual, Blaine and Billy’s seating reflected the dynamic of their rivalry. Blaine and Bell had coveted field-side seats, while Billy and Bridget were condemned to watch from the nosebleeds. But both pairs were too nervous to be bothered with such trivialities, all four of them engrossed in the status of the game and their part in the competition. So it was with high spirits and even higher expectations that the four old friends made their way into the mobbed stadium. Just before seven o’clock, Bell stole a nervous glance at Blaine and settled into their field-side seats, taking in the pregame crowd’s unique electricity. Much farther up, Bridget and Billy climbed the stadium steps, fighting the tide of drunken fans and hot dog vendors. Luckily, both were elated by the other’s presence and so didn’t mind as they narrowly avoided collisions with oncoming traffic.
Suddenly, action on the field united all points of view as the Red Sox starting pitcher, David Wells, threw his first pitch of the night. The match-up between pitcher and batter made the moment all the more fraught. None other than Tug Johnson, the Yankees darling and lethal weapon stood at the plate, waving his bat to warm up his arms like a samurai wielding a sword. Wells’s first throw sailed through the air with less than typical bite. Johnson seized his chance and cracked the ball down the first-base line, sending in a run that made exactly half of the stadium go wild. Blaine watched the play with rapt attention, pumping his fists in the air then, catching Bell’s gaze, managed a carefree smile and tried to appear nonchalant. Billy was too busy negotiating with an usher to notice this turn of the tide, having managed, after much pleading and several dollars, to secure fifteen seconds of the camera’s attention. Depending on the fate of the Red Sox, his proposal would be broadcast on the stadium screen when they reached the bottom of the ninth inning. The scoreboard changed to reflect the incoming run just as Billy returned to his seat. Realizing the news, he threw up his arms and cheered ferociously.
* * *
Back at home, Barry persevered despite rising tension at the table. Sadly, his guests denied him the attention he craved. Beth and Bunny exchanged muffled barbs while Bella looked on with ennui. The others gave into their hunger and began helping themselves to food. Finally, a knock on the door usurped everyone’s attention. Benita entered the apartment, smug and triumphant. Beryl loitered in the doorway just behind Benita.
“Beryl!” shouted Beth.
Bella stood from her seat, overcome with relief.
Everyone rushed at Beryl at once, surrounding her in an embrace. Beth was the most overjoyed of the group since she’d silently assumed responsibility for her sister’s disappearance. Accordingly, she allowed herself to be moved and, when no one was listening, to admit that the apartment had been insufferably quiet in Beryl’s absence.
In the excitement, Beryl forgot the tiny bird cupped in her hands and, loosening her grip for a moment, allowed it to drop to the floor.
“Mrs. Finch will be so happy,” said Bella.
Beryl regarded Bella with sincere confusion.
But clarification was delayed as the front door opened once again. Belinda entered, trailed by a dirty-looking boy, her soiled clothes contrasting sharply with her neon green hair, which was the perfect complement to her tattered white veil. The Barnacles stared at the pair for several moments, as though to make absolutely sure they were not hallucinating. Finally, accepting the reality of Belinda’s rebellious act, they focused their attention on the new member of the family. Formal introductions were delayed, however, due to more pressing needs. The boy crossed the room and began greedily filling a plate from the dining room table. Belinda simply stared at her family then, though it pained her to express such kindness, confessed, “Believe it or not, I actually missed you idiots.”
This outpouring of affection was quickly cut short as Belinda greeted Benita and, much to her horror and outrage, recognized her green strapless dress.
“Take it off right now!” she screeched, lunging at Benita.
Barry reacted quickly, grabbing both girls by the elbows and guiding them toward their chairs. Finally, tiring of the chaos, he removed a fork from the table and banged it against the nearest glass. “If I could have your attention,” he bellowed, “I’ve made my decision.”
The announcement functioned as a ceasefire, muffling all bickering and fidgeting. Everyone settled into a chair, forgetting her grievances for the moment. Everyone, that is, except for Beryl, who crept to the television, muted the volume, and turned on the baseball game.
“So,” said Belinda. “Who’s the lucky girl?”
“Yes, do tell,” said Beth.
Benita indulged in a boastful grin, certain victory was imminent.
Barry scanned the room leisurely.
The girls waited, silent and expectant. And for one brief, uncharacteristic moment, the Barnacle apartment was so quiet one could have heard a teenager sneaking out the window.
“Thanks to my hard work,” Barry began, “you’ve led a comfortable life, wanting for nothing and blessed with every opportunity and privilege.” He paused to ensure everyone was listening. “But, abundance itself has a cost. In the wild, excess turns to waste. In the home, it detracts from the hunger that molds greatness.” Here, he paused to assess the impact of his last statement then continued, making the conscious choice to speak even more indirectly. “The civilized world is not wholly unlike the wilderness. The exact same forces are at work. Shortage breeds aspiration. Excess breeds complacence.” Another pause during which he attempted in vain to dislodge something from his teeth. “But complacence,” he went on, “is a terrible trait, one that will surely be left behind by evolution.”
Finally, the girls registered alarm and glanced nervously at one another.
Barry sighed and increased his volume like a teacher forced to resort to a simpler explanation. “Recently, I’d seen this very trait in you, my own daughters. Which is why I took it upon myself to cultivate a new one in its place. I am your father and therefore entitled to take such liberties.” Here, he took one last excruciating pause, during which he appeared to make some headway on the thing lodged in his teeth, first with exclusive use of his tongue and finally, his forefinger.
By this point, Barry’s audience had realized the severity of his oration. The girls braced themselves for bad news. Beryl finally abandoned the game and took a seat at the table.
“As you know, it has always been my opinion that behavior can be altered by environment. And I have essentially spent a lifetime pursuing evidence. The contest was an experiment designed to test this theory, that man is merely a well-taught monkey, or, put another way, that nature is nurture’s fool.”
Barry looked quickly to the group but they refused him the smile he craved. Everyone was too consumed with anticipation.
“My hope was that you would find a way to immortalize the Barnacle name. Notoriety, however, has a short half-life. True renown can only come from hard work, ferocious perseverance. Yes, it’s true that infamy has a certain longevity, but this was not the brand I had in mind when I conceived of the contest. So, it is with much regret that I must inform you of my findings. To my great disappointment, nature has won another round.”
A collective gasp arose from the group. Each girl looked to another.
Barry smiled with satisfaction.
“So, what does this mean?” Beryl asked.
One last insufferable pause. “Due to dishonorable tactics,” Barry announced, “every one of you is disqualified.”
No one spoke for several moments.
“This is bull,” Belinda said finally.
“Complete,” said Beth.
Benita stomped her foot. “You said you didn’t care how we did it, so long as we did.”
Barry flinched imperceptibly, acknowledging the truth of this statement. But he dismissed Benita with a flick of the wrist. “There’s nothing you can say to change my mind. You’ve done more to disgrace the Barnacle name than to perpetuate it.” At this, he lifted a napkin to his mouth for the first time maybe ever, then stood from the table as though he’d finally tired of his companions.
Indeed, Barry had left out one critical detail when he issued his curious mandate; he never specified any rules or parameters, never mentioned the words “honor” or “merit.” And yet, good intentions had paved Barry’s path from the start. He was conflicted about the life he’d provided for his girls, seeing their privilege as both the fruit of his success and the foil to their perseverance. He had hatched the plan, as fathers do, with his daughters’ best interest at heart, as a concerted ploy to motivate them, to instill a stronger work ethic. He could not be faulted, he felt, for this purely altruistic endeavor. The contest was the culmination of his lifework, an attempt to outsmart evolution.
But the girls were too enraged at the moment to appreciate their father’s logic and instead reacted to Barry’s announcement with a full-scale mutiny. As if on cue, the girls assumed position around their father, each one poised at the perfect angle to obstruct any attempts to flee their charge and to hurl pointed questions. Barry’s response to this uprising was calm and disaffected. He ignored their questions like a criminal does the press after indictment, then inched slowly out of the dining room, forcibly removing his daughters from his path. Throughout, Bella observed the scene with a mixture of affection and boredom. But suddenly she took a new interest in the proceedings. “Barry,” she said, gazing pointedly. “We’ve all done shameful things. Barry,” she said, this time louder, “we all have our secrets…”
Barry acknowledged Bella’s threat without blinking or flinching. Even after spending ten years apart, the two still enjoyed telepathy. Accepting her tacit challenge, he surveyed the raucous crowd. But, as he did, his resolve weakened. All at once, he was stilled by the presence of his daughters. All at once, he was struck by the force of their youth, the enormity of their aspirations, the weight of their hope for his approval, the burden of all this yearning. Shaken, he took a long, deep breath and shuddered ever so slightly. Then, much to his own surprise, he accepted Bella’s challenge. “Girls,” he began, “there are things you can only learn by making mistakes.” He managed a smile then furrowed his brow once again. “But oh, how I wish I could write them all down for you to keep in your pockets. It would spare you so much time.” He paused. “So much heartbreak.”
Barry settled into his seat and banged his fists on the table. “Let’s skip formalities tonight. Shall we? Who wants to go first?”
Benita waved her hand with frantic spastic movements as though she might slip into a seizure if she was not called upon. “I do. I do,” she clamored.
“That’s fine,” Barry said. “We’ll go youngest to oldest. If that’s all right with everyone else?” He searched the table for dissenters but finding only Beth, nodded at Benita.
Benita smiled smugly, scanning the table like a seasoned politician. Finally, she stood from her seat, clasped her hands, and pursed her lips as though she were delivering a book report. “As many of you know, I was favored to win the Chapin School talent show,” she said. “But it turns out the school’s meritocracy has fallen to the tyranny of political correctness, besides which Mary Talbot would have won anyway due to the rampant anti-Semitism in my class.” She paused here to take a breath. “Luckily, that was a fallback plan. I thought of something much better, something sure to bring honor to the Barnacle name and fill our home with love. Daddy,” she paused, “I know how much you’ve missed him over the years, so I went to the Central Park Zoo and got Harry back for you.”
Benita clapped her hands and whistled, cuing a stampede of tiny footsteps and the appearance, seconds later, of a medium-sized macaque. The monkey had the exact same features as Barry’s beloved pet, the same gray and black speckled fur, the same wide, deeply inset eyes, the same stumped tail, the same pink toes, the same resemblance to a little old man.
The family regarded the monkey in silence as he bounded into the room. Finally, Beth broke the silence with a derisive snarl.
“That isn’t Harry,” she sneered.
“I thought you would say that,” Benita said. She smiled with unflinching confidence then clapped again in two short rhythmic beats, spurring the monkey to leap to the sofa and assume the familiar position. Indeed, as they watched, he perfectly replicated the behavior Bella had witnessed years ago, clasping his hands in front of his chest and bowing his head in prayer.
Benita curtsied for the table.
“First of all,” Beth began, “any monkey can clasp his hands. Besides…” here, she invoked her mother’s argument, “everyone knows when people pray, they’re not really thinking about God. They’re thinking about what they’re going to have for dinner.”
Finally, Benita began to weaken. Excessive blinking and sniffles hearkened an imminent temper tantrum.
Bella lowered her voice to a soothing tone. “Sweetheart,” she said, “I have a confession. Harry doesn’t live in New York anymore. I sent him to Florida ten years ago. He’s in a better place.”
Benita tightened imperceptibly. Everyone at the table braced for the explosion. But instead of erupting, she only shuddered slightly, offered Bella a look of betrayal, then stood from the table and ran down the hall, sobbing. The entire table listened as her shrieking receded. Barry took the opportunity to pet the controversial guest, but he soon submitted to the general consensus that the monkey should be given back to the zoo before the day was over.
With the matter settled, Barry surveyed the group with a look of unflappable cheer. He leaned back in his chair to a ninety-degree tilt, scanned the table for the next speaker, then cleared his throat and attempted to reclaim his audience. “Beth, you’re up,” he announced. “What do you got for me?”
Beth eyed her father tentatively. It was unlike her to engage in such a blatant act of bragging. But acknowledging the benefit of the prize, she swallowed hard, met her father’s gaze, and presented her findings. “I believe I’ve figured out why Darwin gave up on barnacles,” she announced.
Cautiously, she detailed her new theory, laying out her evidence. She and Darwin, she claimed, had stumbled down twin paths. Both had journeyed across the world to find their greatest resources in their backyard. Both had realized, after tireless searches, that the thing for which they searched had always been close to home. And yet, myopia had delayed both scientists’ discoveries. Darwin’s barnacles were fixed to his shore long before the Beagle set sail, just as Beth’s lay on her father’s shelves years before she left for college. Of course, she knew that rushing to publish could prove a grave mistake, but she faced the scientist’s greatest dilemma: prudence versus priority.
Indeed, the story of Darwin offered a cautionary tale. Alfred Wallace, the barnacle to Darwin’s finch, arrived at a twin theory to Darwin’s exactly six months prior. In fact, the two scientists drew identical conclusions. But Wallace had dallied while Darwin rushed to publicize his theory. Wallace, of course, remained obscure while Darwin became unspeakably famous. And though the destinies of the two men could be attributed to timing, their story begged certain difficult questions. Was it possible, Beth asked the group, that luck shortchanged Wallace? Or was fate’s neglect a more sinister act? Either way, Beth felt it was irresponsible to avoid the more disturbing question: Might the famous contest have ended differently if Wallace had not been a Jew?
“Don’t waste your time,” Bunny scoffed.
“What do you mean?” asked Beth.
“People will laugh in your face,” said Bunny.
“But I’ve done the research,” said Beth.
“Trust me,” said Bunny. “It’s a fool’s errand.” She smiled imperiously. “Darwin had to fight the Church of England. You’re taking on every man in the free world.”
“Pfft,” Beth scoffed. Then, she added under her breath, “I guess you know all about that…”
* * *
While cattiness overtook dinner conversation, more weighty debates raged in Benita’s room. Benita lay facedown on her bed, attempting to block out her family and to discern whether pillows could be used to fashion a soundproof wall. But, finding a stack of six failed even to muffle their sound, she abandoned her bed to scope out more remote places with her telescope. Luckily, the view of Central Park comforted her somewhat, providing the illusion that the world was a green sphere and she, at its center. All hope was not lost for the contest, she decided. She was poised for a ninth inning comeback. This very night she could locate an undetected star and earn the right to name it. Encouraged, she tilted the telescope to survey the evening sky. But she quickly tired of this pastime and resorted to spying on passers-by.
Central Park provided abundant victims. A couple strolled around the Pond, arm in arm. Another pair embraced and then parted ways. A young woman struggled to pitch a tent in Sheep Meadow. Intrigued, Benita allowed her lens to rest on the stubborn girl. The girl seemed oblivious to nearby picnics and dogs, completely engrossed in her task. Sadly, she was either too small or too inexperienced for such a strenuous job. Finally, admitting defeat, she fell to the grass and lay motionless on her back. Benita lingered on this vignette, comforted by the girl’s failure and, somehow, encouraged to demand more of herself. As she stared at this distant girl, she felt suddenly very close to her. Startled, Benita stepped away from the telescope. Consciousness caught up with perception. The girl on the grass was not a girl, but rather her sister Beryl.
* * *
Yankee Stadium was at full capacity when the couples arrived, each section projecting its own personality like a family of squabbling siblings. As in any other environment, the park’s hierarchy was a delicate and complicated balance, each level indicating a different status and affording the spectator with unique prerogatives. The field-side seats offered a fan the honor of stature and proximity. The middle bleachers surpassed the volume of the lower levels, offering the best acoustics for cheering and banner waving. But even despite the obvious totem of the baseball park, the bleachers offered a unique advantage. In Billy’s opinion, the highest seats were unfairly stigmatized, since they provided the most magnificent view of the park and, despite their distance from the action, afforded the fan his best weapons: perspective and omniscience.
As usual, Blaine and Billy’s seating reflected the dynamic of their rivalry. Blaine and Bell had coveted field-side seats, while Billy and Bridget were condemned to watch from the nosebleeds. But both pairs were too nervous to be bothered with such trivialities, all four of them engrossed in the status of the game and their part in the competition. So it was with high spirits and even higher expectations that the four old friends made their way into the mobbed stadium. Just before seven o’clock, Bell stole a nervous glance at Blaine and settled into their field-side seats, taking in the pregame crowd’s unique electricity. Much farther up, Bridget and Billy climbed the stadium steps, fighting the tide of drunken fans and hot dog vendors. Luckily, both were elated by the other’s presence and so didn’t mind as they narrowly avoided collisions with oncoming traffic.
Suddenly, action on the field united all points of view as the Red Sox starting pitcher, David Wells, threw his first pitch of the night. The match-up between pitcher and batter made the moment all the more fraught. None other than Tug Johnson, the Yankees darling and lethal weapon stood at the plate, waving his bat to warm up his arms like a samurai wielding a sword. Wells’s first throw sailed through the air with less than typical bite. Johnson seized his chance and cracked the ball down the first-base line, sending in a run that made exactly half of the stadium go wild. Blaine watched the play with rapt attention, pumping his fists in the air then, catching Bell’s gaze, managed a carefree smile and tried to appear nonchalant. Billy was too busy negotiating with an usher to notice this turn of the tide, having managed, after much pleading and several dollars, to secure fifteen seconds of the camera’s attention. Depending on the fate of the Red Sox, his proposal would be broadcast on the stadium screen when they reached the bottom of the ninth inning. The scoreboard changed to reflect the incoming run just as Billy returned to his seat. Realizing the news, he threw up his arms and cheered ferociously.
* * *
Back at home, Barry persevered despite rising tension at the table. Sadly, his guests denied him the attention he craved. Beth and Bunny exchanged muffled barbs while Bella looked on with ennui. The others gave into their hunger and began helping themselves to food. Finally, a knock on the door usurped everyone’s attention. Benita entered the apartment, smug and triumphant. Beryl loitered in the doorway just behind Benita.
“Beryl!” shouted Beth.
Bella stood from her seat, overcome with relief.
Everyone rushed at Beryl at once, surrounding her in an embrace. Beth was the most overjoyed of the group since she’d silently assumed responsibility for her sister’s disappearance. Accordingly, she allowed herself to be moved and, when no one was listening, to admit that the apartment had been insufferably quiet in Beryl’s absence.
In the excitement, Beryl forgot the tiny bird cupped in her hands and, loosening her grip for a moment, allowed it to drop to the floor.
“Mrs. Finch will be so happy,” said Bella.
Beryl regarded Bella with sincere confusion.
But clarification was delayed as the front door opened once again. Belinda entered, trailed by a dirty-looking boy, her soiled clothes contrasting sharply with her neon green hair, which was the perfect complement to her tattered white veil. The Barnacles stared at the pair for several moments, as though to make absolutely sure they were not hallucinating. Finally, accepting the reality of Belinda’s rebellious act, they focused their attention on the new member of the family. Formal introductions were delayed, however, due to more pressing needs. The boy crossed the room and began greedily filling a plate from the dining room table. Belinda simply stared at her family then, though it pained her to express such kindness, confessed, “Believe it or not, I actually missed you idiots.”
This outpouring of affection was quickly cut short as Belinda greeted Benita and, much to her horror and outrage, recognized her green strapless dress.
“Take it off right now!” she screeched, lunging at Benita.
Barry reacted quickly, grabbing both girls by the elbows and guiding them toward their chairs. Finally, tiring of the chaos, he removed a fork from the table and banged it against the nearest glass. “If I could have your attention,” he bellowed, “I’ve made my decision.”
The announcement functioned as a ceasefire, muffling all bickering and fidgeting. Everyone settled into a chair, forgetting her grievances for the moment. Everyone, that is, except for Beryl, who crept to the television, muted the volume, and turned on the baseball game.
“So,” said Belinda. “Who’s the lucky girl?”
“Yes, do tell,” said Beth.
Benita indulged in a boastful grin, certain victory was imminent.
Barry scanned the room leisurely.
The girls waited, silent and expectant. And for one brief, uncharacteristic moment, the Barnacle apartment was so quiet one could have heard a teenager sneaking out the window.
“Thanks to my hard work,” Barry began, “you’ve led a comfortable life, wanting for nothing and blessed with every opportunity and privilege.” He paused to ensure everyone was listening. “But, abundance itself has a cost. In the wild, excess turns to waste. In the home, it detracts from the hunger that molds greatness.” Here, he paused to assess the impact of his last statement then continued, making the conscious choice to speak even more indirectly. “The civilized world is not wholly unlike the wilderness. The exact same forces are at work. Shortage breeds aspiration. Excess breeds complacence.” Another pause during which he attempted in vain to dislodge something from his teeth. “But complacence,” he went on, “is a terrible trait, one that will surely be left behind by evolution.”
Finally, the girls registered alarm and glanced nervously at one another.
Barry sighed and increased his volume like a teacher forced to resort to a simpler explanation. “Recently, I’d seen this very trait in you, my own daughters. Which is why I took it upon myself to cultivate a new one in its place. I am your father and therefore entitled to take such liberties.” Here, he took one last excruciating pause, during which he appeared to make some headway on the thing lodged in his teeth, first with exclusive use of his tongue and finally, his forefinger.
By this point, Barry’s audience had realized the severity of his oration. The girls braced themselves for bad news. Beryl finally abandoned the game and took a seat at the table.
“As you know, it has always been my opinion that behavior can be altered by environment. And I have essentially spent a lifetime pursuing evidence. The contest was an experiment designed to test this theory, that man is merely a well-taught monkey, or, put another way, that nature is nurture’s fool.”
Barry looked quickly to the group but they refused him the smile he craved. Everyone was too consumed with anticipation.
“My hope was that you would find a way to immortalize the Barnacle name. Notoriety, however, has a short half-life. True renown can only come from hard work, ferocious perseverance. Yes, it’s true that infamy has a certain longevity, but this was not the brand I had in mind when I conceived of the contest. So, it is with much regret that I must inform you of my findings. To my great disappointment, nature has won another round.”
A collective gasp arose from the group. Each girl looked to another.
Barry smiled with satisfaction.
“So, what does this mean?” Beryl asked.
One last insufferable pause. “Due to dishonorable tactics,” Barry announced, “every one of you is disqualified.”
No one spoke for several moments.
“This is bull,” Belinda said finally.
“Complete,” said Beth.
Benita stomped her foot. “You said you didn’t care how we did it, so long as we did.”
Barry flinched imperceptibly, acknowledging the truth of this statement. But he dismissed Benita with a flick of the wrist. “There’s nothing you can say to change my mind. You’ve done more to disgrace the Barnacle name than to perpetuate it.” At this, he lifted a napkin to his mouth for the first time maybe ever, then stood from the table as though he’d finally tired of his companions.
Indeed, Barry had left out one critical detail when he issued his curious mandate; he never specified any rules or parameters, never mentioned the words “honor” or “merit.” And yet, good intentions had paved Barry’s path from the start. He was conflicted about the life he’d provided for his girls, seeing their privilege as both the fruit of his success and the foil to their perseverance. He had hatched the plan, as fathers do, with his daughters’ best interest at heart, as a concerted ploy to motivate them, to instill a stronger work ethic. He could not be faulted, he felt, for this purely altruistic endeavor. The contest was the culmination of his lifework, an attempt to outsmart evolution.
But the girls were too enraged at the moment to appreciate their father’s logic and instead reacted to Barry’s announcement with a full-scale mutiny. As if on cue, the girls assumed position around their father, each one poised at the perfect angle to obstruct any attempts to flee their charge and to hurl pointed questions. Barry’s response to this uprising was calm and disaffected. He ignored their questions like a criminal does the press after indictment, then inched slowly out of the dining room, forcibly removing his daughters from his path. Throughout, Bella observed the scene with a mixture of affection and boredom. But suddenly she took a new interest in the proceedings. “Barry,” she said, gazing pointedly. “We’ve all done shameful things. Barry,” she said, this time louder, “we all have our secrets…”
Barry acknowledged Bella’s threat without blinking or flinching. Even after spending ten years apart, the two still enjoyed telepathy. Accepting her tacit challenge, he surveyed the raucous crowd. But, as he did, his resolve weakened. All at once, he was stilled by the presence of his daughters. All at once, he was struck by the force of their youth, the enormity of their aspirations, the weight of their hope for his approval, the burden of all this yearning. Shaken, he took a long, deep breath and shuddered ever so slightly. Then, much to his own surprise, he accepted Bella’s challenge. “Girls,” he began, “there are things you can only learn by making mistakes.” He managed a smile then furrowed his brow once again. “But oh, how I wish I could write them all down for you to keep in your pockets. It would spare you so much time.” He paused. “So much heartbreak.”
