[ROBERT] FARNHAM BLAIR
1947

Although my parents ate long after I did, my father often sat with me in the kitchen while I had my dinner. My place was set at a small red-legged table with a white metal top, chipped gray on the edge where the cook attached the meat grinder. Dad always brought four things with him: his martini, a hand puppet, a yellow legal pad, and a pencil which wrote in three colors.

When my father sat down next to me, he’d lift his glass, looking over it into my eye. Then, he’d take a big sip. Sometimes, I could hear it. The two green olives blurred thick and long. He had told me that the curve in his drink acted like a magnifying lens.

Usually, the puppet, a magician with a top hat and a black pencil-line moustache, spoke first. His name was Umbriago, and he saw everything.

"Good evening, Mike. It’s so good to see you again. You’re looking so well that I hope you’re not trying to hide your spinach under that lamb chop bone." Then, he turned to Dad, asking him, "Farnham, may I have a taste of that excellent martini?" And, very carefully, so as not to spill on the purple cape, my father would hold his glass to Umbriago’s lips and tip it slightly towards him. The magician would raise his chin quickly, then bow to Dad. "Thank you, Farnham. You make a truly magnificent drink." Umbriago had better manners than anyone I knew.

I liked food, just not a lot at one meal. But both my parents and my teachers told me that I must always clean my plate, because it wasn’t good to waste anything. At home, I needed to finish it all before I’d get any dessert. I loved vanilla and pistachio ice cream, especially if it was in the shapes of tigers and camels and elephants from Avignon Frères, but I was a slow eater. Umbriago would encourage me.

"If you make those last delicious bits of potato disappear," he’d say, "then I’ll make this coin with an eagle disappear." He held up the shiniest quarter I’d ever seen. All of Umbriago’s money looked brand new. I wondered if he made it himself.

Trying to watch the coin while I loaded my fork and found my mouth, I’d look back and forth between the magician and my plate. At some point while I was still chewing, I’d see the quarter was gone, without a sound. Umbriago would hold up his empty hands, then bow to me. "Thank you, Mike. And now, it’s your turn." It seemed fair that I must swallow.

After my dinner, but before dessert, my father would finish his drink—"Bottoms up!"—and pour another. Sometimes, there would now be three big olives.

Next, where my plate had been, Dad put down a corner of the yellow pad, turning the top page towards me, so that I could watch the story. The first person to appear was always Heebeegeebee, a stick man whom my father drew very quickly, without using a color. Heebeegeebee wore a hat, a bit like Umbriago’s but more like Dad’s. I couldn’t see his other clothes, but I had been told he was wearing them. Heebeegeebee had lots of wonderful things hidden on him. I never saw all of them.

Heebeegeebee would meet fierce animals, often wolves with open mouths and many teeth, who appeared in bright red from the green trees. The wild beasts were big, and Heebeegeebee was skinny and gray. My father and I were skinny, too, but at least we were pink.

Just when I thought the animal was going to bite Heebeegeebee, it would run away into the jungle. I’d ask my father why, and he’d explain that the wolf or the bear or the lion was scared to death of the gun or the knife.

"But what gun or knife?" I’d ask.

"This one," he’d say, making a new drawing of Heebeegeebee and pointing to the weapon now visible in his hand.

"Where was it?" I’d ask.

"In his pocket, right up till the last second," Dad replied.

"Does Heebeegeebee ever forget and leave his weapon at home?"

"Once in a long while, yes. But it doesn’t matter." My father drew him with arms raised, fists pulled toward his ears. Heebeegeebee had huge muscles standing up from his sticks.

Although I never knew what dangerous creatures Heebeegeebee was going to meet, I was the one who spoke the story as it appeared. "Look out!" I’d say. "There’s a tiger behind that tree." But I knew it would be all right. Heebeegeebee was much more powerful than he looked.