The Moron

By David Halliday

A life of ambition leads a great man to destroy everything around him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Halliday
• Release date: Dec 28, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458070234

David Halliday

I have published poems, short stories, plays, art works in reviews and publications across the United States and Canada. I have several published books:murder by Coach House Press. This book is a series of poems and illustrations set up like scenes in a movie, describing the murder, trial, and mob execution of an innocent man. Winner of the 2001 Eppie for poetry.The Black Bird by. The Porcupine’s Quill. This is a book of poems, illustrations and short prose pieces describing the fictional making of the John Huston film, The Maltese Falcon.Making Movies by Press Porcepic. This is a book of long poems, interviews, short fiction pieces about a fictional BBC documentary about a fictional Canadian film maker, Samuel Bremmer and his company of actors and colleagues. It follows his career through the creation of a series of his movies.Church Street is Burning, a book of poems, was a finalist in the 2002 Eppie for poetry.The God of Six Points, published by Double-dragon-ebooks. A man who believes he is a god believes he has murdered one of his subjects.Sleeping Beauty, published by LTD ebooks.com is a murder mystery. A woman lands in a small village where the only escape is to be murdered. Finalist in the 2003 Dream Realm Awards. Winner of the 2004 IP Book Awards.The Hole, published by LTD ebooks is one in a series of cop stories. There are unusual happenings in the quiet suburb of Islington. People have begun to disappear. And they have been disappearing for generations. For the soon to retire Sam Kelly, this is his last case as a detective. All the clues point to a mysterious hole, which appears to have no bottom.In 2007 I was short listed for the C.B.C. Literary Contest in poetry.

Book preview

The Moron

by David Halliday

The Moron

Published by David Halliday at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 David Halliday

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

Chapter One

A Son’s Story

My father said that we’d all end up in a box. Buried in memories. Death is no mistake. Life was an explosion that we live in. Everyone was headed in different directions with a common goal. Nothing makes sense in the unexamined life. What counts are the lies you get away with. Father was one of those young men called the baby boomers who never had to prove their metal in war or desperation, and thus remained eternally angry. And their anger ate them up inside, made them hungry and dissatisfied. I hated my father. He never thought I existed.

1.The Remote

I was nine years old standing in the middle of the living room in front of the television.

Don’t stand so close to the set! my father barked. He took a seat on the couch. I stood in front of the set.

You seen my cigars?

I shrugged. I was nine years old. What did I want with cigars?

Where are my cigars?

I don’t know where your bloody cigars are, I cried. I just wanted to watch my program.

I don’t want to hear that kind of language young man. Now I asked you a simple question and I expect a civil response. What are you watching?

Heman, I responded.

Get back from the couch. You’re going to ruin your eyes.

I moved back to the couch.

What else is on?

Nothing, I replied.

You’re too old for this program. Heman is for little kids. There must be something else on. Where’s the remote?

I want to watch Heman, I said.

Give me the remote.

I don’t have it.

Who had it last?

I shrugged and sat down. My father stood up and fumbled through the cushions looking for the remote. He made me stand up. Unsuccessful he got down on his knees and looked under the couch.

Where the hell… he cried.

Mom said I could watch Heman, I said taking my place back on the couch.

Your mom’s not here.

I was here first, I declared.

On the planet? he asked then roared with delight as he pulled the remote from beneath the armchair.

He turned and pointed it at the television like it was a laser gun from a sci-fi film. Nothing happened.

Mom took the batteries out, I grinned. Mom hated the remote. Said that it was impossible to watch television when father was touring through the stations. It was like watching clothes in a tumble dryer, she said.

He left the room. I knew it was only a matter of time until he returned with batteries. I wished that I had a remote to turn him off.

***

He was always trying to the right thing, like he had read how to raise children in a manual. He trusted manuals. My father had no interest in sports but he’d read that physical activity was necessary to raise children. He put up a basketball net hoping that through osmosis I would take an interest. I was signed up for hockey but was never allowed to go to practices. It was a waste of time. Father argued that sports were the opiate for young restless men. The male sex was created to mate and kill.

2. Fishing

Father handed my rod and tackle box to me. We stepped out of the cabin and headed down toward the dock. In the distance we could hear the roar of the Chalner’s outdoor motor. The mist was too heavy to see the boat.

Sounds like old man Chalner is up, I said with a smile.

Mr. Chalner, my father corrected. He hated to hear children expressing such informalities with adults. "I’ll bet that the Chalner’s will try skiing through this soup.

Jimmy Crockett told me that his family spotted a UFO last week at their cottage.

Is that so? father said. You realize Allan, that there are no such things as UFOs. It’s another form of social delusion.

I nodded, but I still liked the idea of aliens flying in ships over our heads. It made the skies seem friendlier. Like fish in a lake. A lake without fish seemed terribly depressing.

Jimmy said it was like a bright star. He said it moved kind of jerky like a firefly.

We moved along the shore.

A long time ago in Holland they traded tulip bulbs like we would money. People paid a lot of money for rare bulbs. One collector sold his house and all his belongings for one particular bulb. He invited a friend over to have a look at it. Leaving it on the kitchen table he went upstairs to change. In the meantime his friend entered his house and mistaking the tulip bulb for an onion, ate it.

What did the owner of the tulip do? I asked.

He sued his friend. The point is that there are social delusions in every age, things that people put great value in which, have little value at all. UFOs are our brand of madness.

Ya. But what did Jimmy see then?

Father looked disappointed. I had misunderstood the lesson in his story. I kicked a stone then kicked it again. It went off the side of my foot and into the underbrush.

You don’t like fishing? I said.

I’m not very good at it.

Is that why we never catch anything? I asked.

I wouldn’t doubt it.

Then why do it? I asked.

Father sighed. It makes your mother feel good that we are doing things together. She believes it will bind us together. Make us closer. Another one of our social delusions.

You think mom is mad?

I think she wants to believe things very passionately.

I kicked another stone. A fish leaped out of the lake and made a large splash in the mist. Father stopped and put his tackle box and rod down. He took out a package of cigarettes and lit one up. I wouldn’t mind trying a cigarette but one was never offered. I picked up a stone and skipped it across the water into the mist hoping that it might strike old man Chalner’s boat.

Father said, Women have a picture of the way life should be. Like a puzzle. And they want all the pieces to fit together.

Two trails of smoke like car exhaust slid out of father’s nostrils.

Maybe we could do something else, I said.

You got any ideas?

I thought for a moment.

We could go hunting. I’d like to shoot a gun. Jimmy Crocket’s dad bought him a pellet gun. He hunts squirrels.

Your mother would never go for that. She’d be afraid that we’d shoot each other.

We picked up our equipment and headed for the dock. Our boat was tied up, banging lightly against the planks. We sat on the edge. Father baited our hooks and we dropped the lines over the edge. Father flicked his cigarette into the water. An image of a fish smoking a cigarette made me smile.

You ever killed anything? I asked.

Father thought about that for a while.

Not that I can remember.

***

My parents had secrets. We lived in an old house. There were air vents in the floors. Upstairs in my room, you could hear people talking in other rooms. Sometimes I invited my sister to listen but the idea of listening to my parents without their permission made her giggle. They’d hear us. Some conversations I wish I had never heard.

3. Breakdown

Kids are asleep, father said. My parents were in the living room watching television.

Why was she upset? mother asked.

The story I read. Children being eaten by their step-mother. I think she’s afraid you’ll die and I’ll remarry. What are you watching?

I don’t know. It was on when I sat down. Strange program. No commercials. It’s not listed so don’t bother looking in the TV guide. Something wrong? You seem out of sorts.

I’m getting to hate teaching.

You’re angry at me, mother responded.

There was no response.

I’d like you to spend more time writing. But we have to pay bills. I should never have married.

That’s great to hear, mother sighed.

You wanted me to tell you what was on my mind.

I could hear my mother sniffle. I guessed that she must have started to cry.

It’s not easy for me either, Matthew.

Father sighed. Don’t start that.

I can’t help it, mother sniffled.

I can’t take much more failure.

You’re not a failure. You provide for your family. You’re a good father.

I don’t know. Allan seems so detached from me. I can barely get a hug out of him anymore.

He’ll be a teenager next year. It’s normal. Affection embarrasses kids at his age. What’s really bothering you?

I have this overwhelming ambition and I feel like you and the kids are slowing me up. I know… it’s a terrible thing to say.

Don’t blame us because you can’t get your work accepted. You’ve got to write things that appeal to the general population. I love your stories, Matthew. I think they’d make great television programs but sometimes I think they’re too different. People don’t want to think when they’re watching television.

You think they’re boring.

I didn’t say that.

I can read between the lines, Martha.

There was a long pause. I could hear laughter on the television.

Are you having an affair? mother asked.

Father didn’t respond. I heard him get up from his chair and leave the room. Over the sounds of television laughter, I heard my mother weeping.

***

People told me that my parents had been very much in love. I don’t remember that. I remember that there were fights and I was usually the battleground. When my parents separated I felt as if I was the cause. My mother kept the house and we stayed with her. I was never sure where my father lived. Occasionally he showed up to take me to a movie or a baseball game. He hated kids movies and we always left during the seventh inning of a ballgame.

One weekday evening my father was called over to the house. It had to be about me. My sister never did anything wrong. They sat down at the kitchen table over coffee. I listened through the air vents. I could smell my father’s cigarette smoke. I had missed the fragrance.

4. Child Support

I didn’t know you smoked, my father said.

I’ve been having trouble with Allan. He simply is not adjusting to our separation. Miss Belanger has sent notes home to me. He isn’t doing his homework, forgets to hand in assignments, doesn’t participate in class discussions.

Give him time.

I found these under his mattress.

Oh shit! I thought.

Swank, Gallery, Playboy. They’re certainly not in very good shape. He must have found them someplace.

Look at them!

The boy is curious.

Do you see the way they portray women? Do you see how they photograph them? Like pieces of meat. They make women look like they enjoy pain. How can you sit there so calmly when your son is reading this kind of trash?

I had trouble controlling my breathing. I wanted them to stop. I’d promise never to look at the magazines again if they would just forget about it.

What are you going to do? my mother asked.

What would you have me do?

"Talk to your son. Tell him that this… this is a sickness. Pornography in my own house. I can’t believe that my son is looking at smut like this.