Wellington Napoleon Dowd - 9. Chapter 9 - Called Home

I had only been back at college for three weeks when Mrs. Cooke called. She shared the sad news that my mother had ‘moved on’ and I needed to return. I still had one final and a paper to finish. The course professors were very understanding and arranged for me to complete the courses with a delay.

On arriving back at the Dowd Mansion, I was greeted at the door by Kevin. He embraced me, I think expecting stronger emotions than I displayed. My mother’s relationship with me had always been remote, noted in preceding chapters. In many ways she had left the world long ago.

In the virtual absence of my father, also explained above, it fell to me to arrange for the obsequies. My mother’s remains remained ‘in state,’ pending the arrival of the coroner and at least six strong men. The cause of death was identified as coronary failure likely contributed to by profound obesity. Fortunately, the doorways of the Dowd Mansion are generous and while making the doors themselves nearly too heavy to open, were sufficiently ample to remove an ample body.

I informed my father of the death of his wife. He seemed confused rather than concerned and fell back into the reverie from which I had distrubed him

The service in the Wellington Memorial Chapel was dignified, if sparsely attended. In other words, it was Mrs. Cooke, Gardener, Kevin and me. The Right Reverend Whomever intoned for the requisite duration followed by interment into the family crypt. Several ancestors were relocated to make room for Mother.

I think I was most sad at not knowing this woman and how she eschewed life. A lesson for me. I embraced Kevin all the harder.

***

I made desultory efforts to finish my school work and slowly reached an acceptable level of completion. Kevin tried to keep me focused, but whenever he entered the room, he was a distraction. Of course, he was a distraction when he stayed away, too.

Mourning passed, though put a damper on Christmas festivities, such as they are observed in chez Dowd. My father looked distinctly pale when I visited him in his studio on Christmas morning to deliver a holiday toddy. I suggested a visit by a doctor. He declined. Over the next few days he declined further. I imposed on a doctor to make a house call, explaining that my father suffered from agoraphobia, feeling guilty at not interfering with my mother’s health. The doctor assessed that little could be done. A lifetime of dissipation had taken its toll. My father left us two days later.

I was not prepared for the emotion that overwhelmed me. Kevin took events in charge, duplicating my mother’s funeral proceedings, though with reduced scale, of the casket, at least. The funeral service was much the same, bleak and sparely attended.

It was toward the end of the Right Reverend’s observations on ‘passing from this mortal coil’ that I became aware of a quiet sobbing in the back of the chapel. My own grief forgotten, I walked toward the forlorn figure of a man, kneeling. I sat next to him, putting my arm around him in an attempt to offer comfort. He raised his face to me. It was Tony, the man who had been my father’s barber, coming every Wednesday. This had happened from before my time. Tony was a fixture in the Dowd Mansion calendar.

By his expression, I understood there was more than cutting hair involved. “Dear Master Wellington. You are the very image of your father from long ago, an image I will always carry in my heart.” He sobbed again. I offered my handkerchief, he used his own. In time, he composed himself. “Come to my home soon, it is above the barbershop. We will talk.”

I helped him to rise and walked with him to the chapel door. I paused on the threshold. Kevin joined me a moment later. His expression posed a question.

I replied. “I’m not sure. Tony was my father’s barber, though I begin to suspect there may have been more to it than cutting hair and an occasional shave. He invited me to talk with him. Do you want to come along?”

Now Kevin’s expression made it clear that there was no doubt that Kevin was as curious as I.

I maintained my patience until the following Wednesday, the traditional day of Tony’s weekly visit to the Dowd Mansion. On reflection, I became aware that it took Tony only a few minutes to cut my hair but spent many hours, often well into the evening, with my father. Kevin withheld any speculations he may have had from me as I shared my thoughts, saying that he hoped all would be made clear with our visit to Tony.

Tony met us in the barbershop. Despite his having exclusive maintenance of my coiffeur since birth, I had never set foot in his business establishment. It occupied a storefront in the Dowd Building on Main Street. Tony was a barber, not a hair stylist. His shop was a tonsorial parlor unchanged by a passing century, exclusively male, smelling of bay rum with dated magazines concealing others with girlie pictures. A small knot of men sat along the wall ostensibly reading the magazines while waiting for Tony’s partner to signal the next haircut.

Tony gestured that Kevin and I should follow him. He led us to a back stairway and up to a comfortable apartment, gesturing for us to be seated.

“Dear Master Wellington, it is time I explained. You see, I did more than cut your father’s hair. I don’t mean to shock you or to speak ill of your late father, but he and I were lovers.”

He paused, observing us for any sign of surprise.

I volunteered, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Kevin and I are involved.”

Tony nodded knowingly then continued. “We met when we were very young, he the son of the wealthiest family, me the son of an immigrant. He had accompanied his father to a business meeting and was ejected for being impatient. His bored wandering led him to the back alley where I was playing with my brothers. My god, even at age twelve he was handsome. My brothers were put off by his fancy clothes but I convinced them to let him join us. We were playing handball off the back of the building. Your father, Oscar, he had never played before though he tried hard, too hard. In frustration, he threw the ball too high, smashing through a window. His father’s angry face appeared through the broken glass, seeking the culprit. Oscar stood his ground and admitted to the fault. My heart was his from that moment. By then my brother’s had scattered and only Oscar and I remained to take on the wrath of the senior Mr. Dowd.

“To my surprise, instead of punishment, I was invited to come to the Dowd Mansion to play with Oscar on Wednesday afternoons. Our time together was innocent, though I loved him completely. Our friendship was tolerated I think because your father seemed to get into less trouble when we were together. Our weekly play dates continued when he was in a nearby prep school. When the time came, Oscar was sent off to college.

Your grandfather saw me at the station waiting for your father to come home one Wednesday. I think he was impressed by my loyalty to his son. Your grandfather took me aside and asked if I had any ambitions. I explained that my family had been barbers in Italy before emigrating and that I would like to take up that profession. A scholarship at a barber college appeared shortly thereafter, followed by an invitation to join a shop, this shop in Millsville. Eventually the shop became my own. My Wednesday’s always belonged to your father.

“He was more worldly when he returned from college, aware of being a man, a man’s desires and how they are met. I lost my innocence and fulfilled my dreams that first Wednesday and every Wednesday thereafter.”

I sat quietly for a time, taking in the gentle words, feeling this sweet man’s sorrow.

“You knew my father before he was married?”

“As is clear from my earlier words, yes, I knew him, in every way. And I knew you from your first beginnings.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Your father was from another time, one where family obligations and expectations were taken very seriously. His duty was to marry appropriately and produce an heir. Your mother, I suspect for practical reasons rather than romantic ones, was identified as an appropriate wife. The arrangements were made and the marriage performed. They embarked on a two-month honeymoon to Europe. It was the first time your father and I did not share our Wednesdays.

“It was not an idyllic couple that returned, rather two shame-faced and withdrawn individuals got off the train from New York, though your father managed a slight smile at me when he spotted me among those waiting for them. What was plain to me was that the newlyweds were ill matched. I learned in private talks with your father that some effort was made to consummate the marriage, his wife was naïve and apprehensive and your father only wanted to be with me. I felt shame for my part in this sad situation.

“I had never known your father to be wanting during our lovemaking, so suggested that perhaps I could assist in preparing him. Your father was desperate to please his family and even to please his wife. Wednesday came. I did my best to arouse your father and hid in their bedroom in case he needed additional help. His new found manhood surprised and shocked your mother. You see, your father was, well, he was a very manly man.”

Kevin chimed in, “That certainly runs in the family.”

Tony blushed then continued. “Your father and mother managed to complete the act. The following Wednesday I came again to cut your father’s hair. I ran into your mother on the stairs and was concerned about how her appearance had changed. You see, your mother was a great beauty, tall, slim, statuesque. She was famous for her composure and poise. On this day, however, her face was a mask of nausea. She might not yet be aware, but I was. Their one coupling had accomplished the task.

“The pregnancy and childbirth were humiliatingly normal. I fear your mother’s self-image was destroyed. You see, you were a very large baby. It was then that your mother began to gain weight. Her imagined life of fashionable soirees was dashed as she left her girl-hood shape behind. She never emerged from her seclusion.

“I was there to console your father, on Wednesdays at least. Master Wellington, it must be difficult for you to hear all this.”

“Tony, you have answered questions I have had all my life. You must know about my father, why he struggled.”

“I only have my own suspicions. I knew him better than anyone else, but he had a brooding side to him. I did my best to take him out of it. For a time each Wednesday I succeeded. My efforts were nothing compared to how he cherished you. In your infant years you were his greatest joy. The nurse would bring you to the studio. On those days, we were both delighted to just play with you. Your grandmother put a halt to that, insisting that it wasn’t right for a man to enjoy his child. There may have been other suspicions, as well. But he loved you Master Wellington.”

“But why did he withdraw?”

“I think your father feared that he was a failure. While he had accomplished his one obligation, siring you, he had done little else. The family wealth was as much a curse as a blessing. He had been told that he was artistic from a young age, mostly by your grandmother. He dabbled, as you know. I often wondered if he had the chance to be in the world if he wouldn’t have done better, found his own way. I’m more sure of that having seen you and all that you are.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“Dear boy, everyone in this town has been watching you, watching you overcome and achieve. The first time you drove that wonderful car down Main Street, I cheered and cried. I knew you had stepped out of the shadows of the Dowd family. You had all the responsibility of the family image and none of the resources.”

I was shocked that anyone knew of my true circumstances.

Tony continued. “You see, Gardener has always kept me informed. There are no secrets about this family from Mrs. Cooke and him. They are also very proud of you. Proud of how you’ve worked in the summers, prouder yet for being the man who made decisions that have benefited the whole town. I think you’re the man your father would have been had his life allowed it.”

I was weeping now. Kevin embraced me.

“A word, Master Wellington. Alcohol was part of the downfall of both your parents. Be careful there.” Tony spoke to Kevin. “Take him home. Care for him. I’ll stop by next Wednesday, you both need a haircut.”

***

Many mysteries of my life had been explained by Tony. I was grateful for all he had given to my father. I felt better knowing that he had been loved. I missed him a little less.

I looked ahead to the coming months. One more semester at college. Then what? I had no particular direction, no destination for my life. Kevin reminded me that I was the president of a construction company with a major project to complete and now responsible for forty or so employees. He would provide all the expertise he could, but the decisions were mine to make, not his, not Mr. Selwen’s. That felt heavy. I would have brooded on it except Kevin diverted me with a saucy smile followed by several hours of lovemaking.

“So you take after your old man?” he teased, playing with my cock.

“I think I should quit school.”

“We’ve already had that discussion. As long as I’m around, you’re going to finish everything you start. Well, I wish you could see yourself as I do. You’re smart and handsome. Perhaps a little too stylish. But you do things, you don’t sit back. Keep at it, my man. Now you need to finish what we’ve started.”