~~~~~> The Father's Estate <~~~~~

By Mike Meginnis and Matthew Simmons

mm: You are riding in a horse-drawn carriage with your brother and your sister. It has been a long time. They have both changed. They sit on the opposite bench in the carriage. The man who drives the horses lashes them often, as if there is a great rush to reach the end of this winding country road. You cannot yet see through the windows your father's home, empty now in one sense and quite full in another, but you know that it is coming -- from the north. "Brother?" says your sister. She does not mean you, but your brother. He may not know that, however; he doesn't answer. Or you might be wrong; she could mean you. The whole carriage smells of your brother's perfume. Exits are west (on your left hand, out the carriage and into the muddy country road) and east (on your right hand, out the carriage and into the muddy country road, and the light of the rising country sun).

ms: >IDENTIFY elements that make up my brother's perfume

mm: There is vanilla. There is cardamom. There is chili juice. There is poodle musk. There is rabbit spit. There is honey and honey and honey. There are crushed thorns.

ms: >INVENTORY pockets

mm: There is the document describing what your father meant for you to have, folded. You suspect the document is worthless -- that there are significant overlaps between what he left to you and what he left to your siblings, or that there are no such overlaps but you will nonetheless never get what it is you really want. There is some money. (Not much.) There is a key to your home, which is states away from here. There is a small moth preserved in a sphere of glass. There is a telegram worn out from too much reading and handling. But you remember the words. They were your father's last to you. The telegram said:

ms: >REMEMBER words "Hold out, child" & >REMOVE preserved moth & >USE to distract siblings while taking >INVENTORY of complex feelings about siblings

mm: "Oh!" says your sister. "What a pretty moth!" But your brother disagrees. He waves it away. "It's quite remarkable," says your sister. Your complex feelings concerning your siblings mainly relate to their long absence from your life, and your father's life. (Admittedly, you had grown distant from him yourself, but it was a longer, smoother process, whereas they disappeared abruptly, your sister one year, your brother the next.) You suspect them of greed and of poor character, and you believe they have become decadent in the city, and you believe that one or both should already be married, though neither is, (and nor are you, the eldest brother, perhaps due to your Infirmity), and yet you love them both very dearly, and you wish that they would treat you with the same regard they do their fine, lavender clothing.

ms: >RECALL Infirmity & >DETAIL symptons of said to self & >COMPARE relative health of carriage companion relatives & >EXAMINE how relationship to personal infirmity might be coloring feelings toward siblings

mm: The Infirmity is of a private nature. You are hesitant to recall it even to yourself. Suffice it to say that it would compromise your ability to participate in the marital duties of a husband. The symptoms, apart from the primary one that we needn't name here, are feelings of reduced self worth, excessively competitive conduct in meaningless card games, and an inability to meet the eyes of any beautiful woman, your sister included. There is little doubt that this leads you to resent your siblings, who show no signs of such Infirmity at all, more than you might otherwise. ... You feel the carriage slow, and from the quality of the grass that you see out the window (poor, brown, sparse) you know that you are nearing your father's home. Your sister yawns.

ms: >SPEAK to sister about current events & >TRY desperately to be nonchalant about it [try::try::try::try]

mm: Your sister loathes all current events as a matter of principle. "Especially the very current ones," she says. "I hate those the most." Your brother sighs. The carriage comes to a stop. You still cannot see your father's home out the window. You can feel its presence, however.

ms: >EAST out of carriage & >ASSIST sister as she descends from the carriage & >IGNORE the sudden sneaking suspicion that the true nature of the Infirmity is that it, in fact, has a cause located in the depths of my own subconscious mind [perhaps::you'd::have::been::better::off::jumping::from::the::carriage]

mm: You stand in the mud and the sparse brown grass outside your father's home. As has always been the way of the mud outside your father's home, it seems firm enough at first but if you stand still in it too long you begin to sink, which forces you to shuffle this way and that to keep your shoes and cuffs relatively clean. Your father's home is very large. Your father's home is built with brown handmade bricks, with several heavy wooden doors. Your father's home has thirteen windows on its south-facing side (the one that faces you). Your father's little trees have been neglected. The windows are dark; no one has lit the candles. The adjoining servants' quarters on the east side of the house are collapsed, laid to waste by the servants, who are long gone. Those quarters had always looked to you like an oven.

ms: >CLUCK at the condition of the trees & >FEEL a mostly insincere feeling of regret about not being there to take care of themselves & >IGNORE the servants quarters because of class-based bias instilled in me during privileged upbringing & >ASK sister if she needs help moving through the mud [hail::the::return::of::the:conquering::fucking::hero]

mm: Your sister jumps on your brother's back as if to spite you. (Well, pretty much definitely exactly to spite you.) Your brother snorts with irritation, or in imitation of a horse, and in any case carries her through the mud fields to the house, wiping his feet just enough to seem as if he has made the barest necessary effort before walking inside through the central and largest heavy wooden door, which he leaves open. You choose to see this as an act of kindness and consideration. Exits are north (the house), west (the carriage), and anywhere else (the mud fields, the sparse grass).

ms: >TASTE mud before entering >NORTH [seriously::that's::what::we're::doing] {must||we||do||this||now}

mm: The mud is just as you remember it. Bittersweet. Gritty, but soft. Sort of wonderful, really. As you walk through the door, you realize there is still some on the corner of your mouth; you wipe it away quickly. If your siblings saw you were eating mud again you'd never hear the end of it. In the foyer, there are the umbrella stand, the hat rack, the coat rack, the open coat closet, and thereon and therein the accumulated forgotten coats and hats and furs and so on of several dozen years worth of upper-class parties. North is the living room. East is the east wing. West is the west wing. A flight of stairs to the northeast leads up to the second floor and eventually the third. You can't remember where your room is no matter how you try. Your father's room is on the third floor. Your brother and sister are out of sight, but you can hear them wandering the premises, handling your father's things.

ms: [no::memory::of::your::own::room] >CALL OUT to brother and sister [because::they::have::not::been::dismissive::enough::already::apparently] {shh} & >CLIMB stairs to third floor to >FIND father's room

mm: Your brother and sister call back. "POLO!" they shout. (You don't get the joke.) To reach your father's room, you must first pass through a long hallway featuring portraits of men your father admired. The hallway is so long both because your father admired so many men, and because most of the third floor is devoted to said hallway, which winds and twists and turns as it gradually meanders toward the center, where your father slept. As you walk through the hallway, one of the portraits in particular draws your eye, because:

ms: [oh::that::one] {quiet} [no::it's::just::again::with::that::portrait] {i'm||trying||to||fall||into||a||revery} >REMEMBER the individual in the portrait, the inventor of a process that sifted through masses of earth to find bone particulate which could be further powdered and reconstituted to create flawless false bones and teeth for prosthetic use {bones||for||the||hands||and||the||faces||and||legs|| and||feet ||of||soldiers||back||from||war} [and::now::you're::a::patriot] & >WALK on to my father's room

mm: To reach your father's room, you must also first walk through your mother's room, which is smaller, with white sheets over everything, including all the lamps and fainting couches and the little tables. When finally you reach your father's room itself, you find it in disarray. The elephant gun is not where it should be. The dresser drawers are open, and only half full. Piles of clothes under the bed. A mirror turned to face the wall. The curtains only partly drawn on the window (the window into your mother's room). The easy chair tipped over. When you light the candle on the dresser, you see a glint of gold in the open closet, amidst a disorderly pile of his favorite records.

ms: >TURN the mirror & >FACE it

mm: Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear oh dear oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

ms: [well::there::it::is]{i||don't||understand}[of::course::you::don't:: honestly::where::would::you::be::without::me::

now::look::deeply::into::the::mirror::and::tell::mm::what::you::see] >LOOK deeply into the mirror and examine face & >CONFRONT the absence {the||absence||oh||god||the||absence} [yes::well::you::don't::know::the::half] >IGNORE the absence [no::don't::do::that] >IGNORE the absence & >IGNORE the sound

mm: You hear one of your siblings coming up the hall. If there's anything you want to take, anything on your list or not on your list, then you'll need to work fast. Or perhaps you should let them take it all. Perhaps that's what you really want.

ms: [take::the::mirror] {i||don't||want||the||mirror}[go::on::take::it] >CALL out to brother and ask him how he feels about father's records [take::the::mirror}

mm: You take the mirror and secret it in your jacket pocket. Your brother calls back, as he walks the winding hallway, "MOSTLY CRAP!"

ms: [we::have||the::mirror||maybe::we||should::leave} >SEARCH father's dresser for false teeth and bones [why::do||we::need||those}

mm: You find your father's spare jaw bone, off-white, over-smooth, as was the way of that much-admired man's sculpted bones. Your father slipped this one in when his real jaw bone needed a break, which was often. There are also some assorted fingers and toes, (bones), (all somewhat disintegrated, so that you are not sure which is which, and there are no whole fingers or anything in sight, and they look more like dice than anything). Your brother knocks at the door; you didn't know you had closed it. And locked it.

ms: >POCKET the spare bones of my father for reasons of nostalgia & >UNLOCK door to let in brother & when he has entered >FRISK brother to search for any other spare false bones {the::scent||of::vanilla||and::cardamom} [[what::::of::::it]] [how::dare||you::splinter||further}

mm: Your brother seems to have expected the frisking. He dutifully raises his arms and waits for you to find what you are looking for. There are no bones, however: only jewels, watches, bracelets, fine silverware, and several very small bottles of very fine wine, as well as selections from the stamp collection (all featuring cars).

ms: [[why::::don't::::we::::have::::this]] {because::we||don't::want||it} >LEAVE brother his loot & >ATTEMPT to seem like you don't resent it & >CALL for sister to join us so I can >RELAY to them the message from the final telegram [[why::::do::::we::::deserve::::this::::letter]]

mm: After a long wait, during which your brother rifles through the record collection and takes a few highlights (as well as the golden statuette that was there among them, the statuette being cast in the shape of a very large canine tooth), your sister arrives in the room, wearing one of your father's prized African tribal masks. "OOGA BOOGA," she says.

ms: >IGNORE difficult relationship family has with race and >RISE above upbringing {{proud||||of||||you}} [oh::dear||another::one] & >RECITE final words from father to siblings {{you||||are||||the||||good||||son}} [[who::::says]] {{mother||||always||||said}} [[she::::lied]]

mm: Your siblings do not appear to be overwhelmed by the gravity of the moment. Though it is hard to tell where your sister's concerned, due to the mask. They wait for you to say something that will help them understand the import of what you have said.

ms: >IMPART wisdom [[what::::wisdom::::do::::you::::have]] {{i'm||||certain||||there||||is||||some||||within}} [speaking::from||within::we||can::assure||you::there||is} & >WOW siblings with said wisdom [[i::::ask::::again::::what::::wisdom]] [the::wisdom||passed::down||the::wisdom||of::the||father} [[well::::don't::::keep::::stalling::::impart]] & >EXPLAIN to them the way the family fell apart and the way the father crumbled and the way said crumbling is here, around them, in this room, and in this game, and in this narrative, and in this response & >EXPLAIN to them the interesting way the player and the character merged a couple hours ago when the player was confronted with a series of choices and saw a choice called "The Father Estate," and it occurred to the player that sometimes his own father's mortality is a thing he thinks about and a thing he wants to find a way to confront and use it maybe to confront his own and there he goes picking "The Father's Estate," and how the way the sibling characters seem indifferent is sometimes the way he feels indifferent and the way those around him feel indifferent, and there are the bones, and the teeth and the cat on his lap and >EXPLAIN what you can about whatever you can't [[hmmmm]]

mm: Your sister lowers her tribal African mask. She begins to explain how she is really a young woman playing a game with me, and how she chose to play this game called The Father's Estate because she has always wanted to loot someone's home, and how the loot so far has not met her expectations, but it has still been pretty fun, and this meta element is an interesting twist. Your brother, having listened attentively to other people speaking for the first time since he was reintroduced into your life by the tragedy of your father's death, explains that he is actually a fictional character, apparently unlike you and your sister, and so he has perhaps the strongest claim on the loot of your father's estate, because to him it is real, and his desire is real, and the things he can buy with the money he'll make by hawking the jewels is real, whereas no matter how you and the other player character, (your sister), divide the booty it will do you no good at all, and so the moral situation is for once unambiguous, and for once indicates that everything should be his.

ms: >BEG fictional brother to peer into his soul and explain to me what he sees within & >AGREE to allow him the loot from the father's estate

mm: He closes his eyes. He says, "I don't see anything." He says, "But then, I am only a pretend person. So perhaps not all is lost." He says that you should close your eyes, too.

ms: [[don't::::do::::it]] {{do||||it}} [we::aren't||sure::what|| the::best||course::of ||action::is||here] >CLOSE eyes

mm: .

ms: >SWALLOW emptiness as emptiness swallows self [.}

mm: Now what?

ms: >SAVE "The Father's Estate"

Bio: Matthew Simmons lives in Seattle with his cat Emmett. His next book, HAPPY ROCK, will be out in 2013.

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