Page 97

By Jack Joseph Smith

shift. The sun burst with reflection through the glass, and Blankname edged his eyes with roll of chair to a last point protection by curtains. The glasses were lifted in sips. "Some years back; I'm not sure, possibly it was the year you went away. Four ladies were seated in Victorian style Playing Canasta at the edge of the cliffs in the old folks park. It was a sunny day; and as far as they were concerned it was their answer to the turn of the century. Delicate in the cloth of past fashion they had remained and return- ed by doing so. You know these summer days and I am sure laughed at the ladies hats. The pinafore gone to childhood, now the fuzzy spinster ruffle engag- ing their throats. To make it colorful we'll put a pint of vodka beneath their skirts, with which they may only play with on the tips of their patent lea- ther toes." (My father is as crazy as a retired statesmen.) "The cards were on the table. My dear do you feel a rumble, said one lady to another. If fact ladies, I revolt at having noticed that we are all experienc- ing an unusual difficulty, examined one other lady to all present. OO, my cards are flirting all over the place. My bottom has lost it's Corsica, said an Ital- ian lady, familiar with a word in cover up of the mor-

Original Scan

Page 97

AI Interpretation

GPT

Jacob's story turns the old ladies' Canasta game into absurd brinkmanship, mixing elegance, aging, cliffside danger, and comic bodily panic.

The anecdote makes social polish precarious. Victorian style, pinafores, patent leather, and card-table manners are all held at the edge of collapse, while Blankname's parenthetical judgment of his father keeps the scene comic and uneasy.


Claude

The father's Canasta anecdote turns old-age elegance into absurd brinkmanship, keeping mortality, competition, and comedy in the same breath. The page is the father's voice at its most distinctive.