Staircase Wit

“A sensitive man, such as myself, overwhelmed by the argument becomes confused and can only think clearly again when he reaches the bottom of the stairs.”

- Denis Diderot

The clock struck six, and the table was set. On its surface lay meticulously the finest arrangement of silver, crystal, bone china, porcelain, stoneware and earthenware. Positioned in front of each damask upholstered chair laid flawlessly the settings. To the left, the fish fork, dinner fork and salad fork. To the right, the dinner knife, the fish knife and soup spoon. Above that, the white wine glass, red wine glass and the water glass. Followed by the dessert spoon, dessert fork, bread plate and bread knife. In the middle, the soup bowl, which aligned perfectly as centerpiece to each of these assortments.

As each of the house guests settled, Benjamin expertly pulled up on the lever of the steel wine screw, and with it, popped the cork open to a bottle of Spanish Malbec. The aroma filled the noses of the guests as he poured each half a glass full, save the children. He then gently placed the bottle back down onto the table, and stepped back to admire his work.

Mozart’s "Piccola serenata notturna” played from a speaker nearby, as everyone but Catherine took a sip from their wine glasses. Side conversations unfolded amongst the guests, and they all but surely and slowly began to warm up to one another. Aunt Debra talked with Edward’s granddaughter, Fiona. While Edward sat back and sipped his wine and watched. Richard struck up a conversation with Brad. As his wife, Cynthia, cursed under her breath at her children, Margaret and Henry, who continued to kick at each other from under their seats. Benjamin waited nearby, periodically filling the guests’ crystal glasses with filtered water and wine.

“You know, I am the only family she has left,” whispered Debra, as Fiona listened on, swirling the wine in her glass in clockwise motions. “Unless you count my nephew, Theo,” she continued. “But poor Catherine hasn’t spoken to him ever since they received the news about their parents.”

Catherine's eyes bounced around the table.

“Sudan,” marveled Brad. “Of all the places in the world, what brought you to Sudan? Aren’t you afraid of getting shot, or kidnapped, I mean…”

Richard smiled humbly back, taking a light sip from his water glass. “Well,” he spoke frankly. “It’s not all as glamorous as it seems.”

Benjamin looked up to the grandfather clock that stood adjacent to the dining table. The hands read six-fifteen, and he gauged the mood of the assembly. “A crest of bread and butter should tie them over for now,” he thought to himself, and made his way under the archway of the room and through the swinging doors of the kitchen.

Inside, a cacophony of bubbling, dinks, splashes, chops, and curse words quickly made their way into his ear. The scent of garlic and rosemary wafted under his nose as he made his way over to the kitchen’s head chef, Anthony. He wore a brown cotton skull cap and apron and seemed utterly mesmerized by the girth of the carrots that lay across him on one of the kitchen’s wooden cutting boards.

“Will you just look at the size of these things, Benji?” Marveled Anthony. “They’re unnatural, I tell you.”

Benjamin looked down at the brightly colored orange vegetables, and couldn’t help but agree with him. However, he had much more important matters to attend to. “How are we doing on the soup?” he asked.

“A creamy, rich, and sophisticated crab bisque,” Anthony began, motioning to the large cylindrical stockpot across from him. “But it’s absolute garbage if you ask me,” he added. Benjamin quickly shrugged at the sentiment. “It’s ready when you want it” Anthony finished, and went right back to awestrucking the carrots.

With the help of one of the kitchen staff, Benjamin lifted the large stockpot up and onto a simple stainless steel food trolley. He grabbed one of the kitchen ladles, gave a quick look back at the peculiarness of the headchief, and made his way through the doors and back into the dining hall. He began counter clockwise, dipping the ladle into the pot and releasing its contents into each of the guests' soup bowls. They hardly noticed him, and continued on with their aspiring table crosstalk.

“Now tell me,” Debra blurted out to Brad across the table from her. She quickly downed the rest of what was left in her wine glass, eyeballing the waiter for another pour, before finally speaking again. “How is family life treating you?”

Brad forced a smile, dipping his soup spoon into the creamy orangy-pink liquid in front of him. He took his time, slurping up a half-mouthful, and setting the spoon back onto the table. “Can’t complain,” he finally said. “Maggy here has just made the lead in the school musical.”

“Incredible,” Debra expressed overenthusiastically, and held up her wine glass. Benjamin briskly set down the ladle, and swiftly came around the table to give her another pour. “And how about you Henry, how is school going?”

Henry looked around the table as a handful of eyes quickly made their way over to him. “It’s fine,” were the only words he could gather. He then looked back to his mother, Cynthia, who was far from amused.

“Oh, that’s alright,” said Debra, taking another sip of her now full glass of wine. “I never liked school myself. A waste of time if you ask me.”

Cynthia winced. “A forty thousand dollar a year waste of time, I beg your pardon.”

Debra stoically remained unreactive, and took another sip from her wine glass. Henry smiled in her direction, giving notice to her as someone who finally gets it. While his mother, on the other hand, had always expected a certain level of gratitude, Debra seemed to attain it before they even started the main course.

“Well, I’m sure it will all pan itself out," said Edward, interjecting. “I myself went to a private school, and look at me. I turned out alright.”

“I’m sure things have changed a bit since then,” Brad added. “I mean, what year did you graduate?”

“Class of nineteen sixty-eight,” Edward chuckled.

“Sixty-eight?” said Richard, chiming in. “I’ve got you beat!”

“Is that right?” Edward shot back.

“I graduated with the class of sixty-six,” said Richard, dating himself.

Debra took another sip of her wine. “I didn’t realize that being closest to the grave was something to boast about,” she humored.

Catherine flashed a quick disapproving look. Debra shrugged. Henry was just happy that it wasn’t about him anymore.

“Survival of the fittest!” Edward laughed, and raised his wine glass.

Yet as soon as he did, the doorbell unanticipatedly rang. The sound of the chimes moved full tilt past the foyer, bouncing off the high walls of the hallway corridor, into the dining hall, and across the dinner table where Catherine anxiously sat. She knew precisely who the late arrival was, but half of her hoped she was mistaken.

“Shall I answer?” asked Benjamin.

Catherine dotted her face with a napkin, and quietly pushed her chair backwards. “No need,” she said, slowly standing up and excusing herself. “I’ll go and see.”

She made her way down the hall and into the foyer, catching a brief glimpse at herself in the mirror. Giving herself a quick up and down, she tossed her hair to and fro, straightened her dress, and took a long, deep breath in, and an even longer exhale out. She turned the knob to the front door, and opened it.

Leaning diagonally against the support beam of the wood-framed canopy outside, stood none other than Theo, Catherine’s brother. He was picking at something in his nails the moment she saw him, in what must have been over a year since they last met. As he looked up from his perfunctory self-grooming, his eyes finally met with hers. He was a spitting image of their late father.

“Hello Cat,” he said, keeping his distance. “What a pleasant surprise. I was expecting old Benjamin to come and greet me.”

Catherine’s eyes darted all around him, taking in the informality of his dress, the flakes of grey in his unkempt brown hair, and the subtle smell of tobacco that still lingered on him. “He’s a bit busy at the moment with our dinner guests,” she answered back. She then hesitated for a split second, before quickly taking a step back and opening the door wide. “Please,” she half-smiled, “come inside.”

Theo obliged, slowly removing his coat as he entered. He hung it up with all the others, and harked back to the busts, pictures, and paintings that adorned the house entrance. Catherine hadn’t changed much to the decor since inheriting the place, and felt a tinge of pride for her ability to preserve her parent’s legacy.

“I’ve always hated this painting,” recalled Theo, staring up at the ornate framed portrait of their departed great-grandfather. He glanced around at the other wall items. “Not much has changed, I see.”

Catherine ignored him, and instead, led them down the hallway and into the dining hall. A crescendo of voices grew as they walked. Theo immediately recognized a quarter of them.

At the precise moment the pair had walked into the room, everyone stopped what they were doing, and quickly turned their heads. Mozart continued to play, but the silence was dreadfully obvious. Of course Aunt Debra, who was already halfway into tomorrow’s hangover, was the first one to break it.

“Is that my vagabond nephew, Theo?” she blurted out, and stood up. “Come my boy. Let me get a closer look at you,” she rambled, stumbling her way towards them, nearly spilling her wine glass, and tripping over the edge of the flat-woven Anatolian rug along the way.

“Aunt Debby,” acknowledged Theo, forcing a smile. A brief moment later, and he was chin deep in the fat of her bosom.

Debra quickly pushed him back from the unsolicited embrace in order to get a better look at him. “How long has it been?” she asked. “Nearly a year, I think?” She gestured to one of the empty seats, “Come, sit. I want stories.”

Theo parked himself near Debra at the far opposite end of the table across from his sister, Catherine, who wordlessly made her way back over to her own seat. Debra turned in to talk her nephew’s ear off. The remaining dinner guests naturally went back to their own conversations. Benjamin took a brief moment to catch the new guest up to speed with a glass of wine, before quietly working his way back into the kitchen.

“How’s it coming along?” queried Benjamin, making his way over to the head chef, Anthony. A drop of sweat dripped down from his brow, as he nonchalantly held the spine of an Alaskan King Salmon up in front of him.

“Just dandy, my dear Benji,” he said, carefully placing the bones of the fish into a bin nearby. “The main course is in the oven. Your appetizers are ready to go,” he added, pointing to the serving trolley near the kitchen exit.

Benjamin cordially nodded, and moved slowly over to the trolley. He lifted each of the stainless steel cloches to investigate what was hiding underneath. The smell of shrimp and grits, parmesan dip, crab cakes, and broiled garlic butter prawns with lemon aioli made their way up and into his nostrils, causing him to salivate slightly. He then placed the lids back over each of the morsels, and quietly pushed his way back out into the dining hall.

“So are you seeing anybody?” Aunt Debra pried, quickly cutting to the chase. She twirled the tips of her hair as she spoke. Theo sipped and savoured his wine for a moment before responding.

“Not at the moment,” he entertained. “But I’m sure the right one will fall into my lap any time now.”

Benjamin set the appetizers down on the table, opened the lids, and let the aroma of sea food make its way into the nostrils of his guests. A series of hands reached over the table. He popped the cork to another bottle of wine.

“The damn thing nearly took my whole arm off,” laughed Richard, as he showed his new friend Edward the four-inch aging scar along his left bicep. “But I saved the boy’s life.”

Richard and Edward continued to date themselves, comparing aging scars as Henry and Margaret looked on in terror, listening to their stories unfold. Brad and Cynthia blissfully ignored them, pressing on with their fake smiles as they loaded up on seafood. Catherine continued to eye her brother, Theo, as he slowly fell prey to Aunt Debra’s inebriated charm.

“So tell me my dear boy,” Debra continued to interrogate him. “Why is it that you decided to stay away for so long?”

After asking the question, Aunt Debra, not so subtly, brought her attention over to Catherine across the table, who pretended not to notice. She instead held up her wine glass, as Benjamin quickly came around and poured from the new bottle of Chilean Pinot Noir. Theo took the hint, and coyly glanced over at his sister before voicing back to his aunt.

“It’s, uh, complicated,” Theo began, and looked back again to his sister, who sat with one eyebrow raised, smugly sipping wine. “You see, everything just reminded me of them…” he continued, pausing for a moment. Catherine was now laser-focused on every word that fell from his lips. “I just couldn’t bear the weight of it all.”

Catherine winced.

She could feel a tingle, like some pesky insect was crawling up her neck. As much as she wanted to tell her brother otherwise, she instead remained stoic, and plated herself a share of the broiled prawns. No one seemed to pick up on the tension that clearly existed between the two of them. Everyone seemed happy and tipsy enough anyhow, so she decided to do what she did best, by pushing down on her past and carrying on.

Benjamin poured a couple more glasses of wine, eyed the dissipating plates of starters, and made his way back into the kitchen. “You’re back too early!” shouted Anthony, as he pulled the King Salmon from the oven, with one hand, and with the other, he pointed across the mess in the kitchen to the trolley. “Serve those greedy bastards the caprese over there,” he added, and cursed under his breath after some random part of the oven singed some random part of himself.

An eruption of laughter found its way into Benjamin’s ears as he made his way back out to the dining hall. “Ha!” laughed Brad. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” His wife, Cynthia rolled her eyes. “What are the chances?”

Henry leaned in as Edward and his old man rolled up their sleeves and compared vastly different tarantula tattoos. Maggy took sides with her mother’s sentiment. Benjamin served the salad.

Theo and Debra were now speaking at a whisper, forcing Catherine to lean in slightly more than she wanted to. “You can’t blame yourself, my dear,” said her aunt. “You had to do what you had to do.”

Catherine leaned in further.

“I just feel like I’m all alone with all of this,” Theo muttered.

“You’re all alone?” Catherine quickly interjected. Upon hearing this, the rest of the dinner guests immediately fell silent, and directed their attention towards the siblings. “And how alone do you think I felt being left to sort this whole mess out myself? Where were you then, huh?”

“Listen, Cat, can we not get into this right now?” said Theo, trying to brush it off.

Catherine took a large gulp of her wine, nearly emptying the glass completely, before setting it back down harshly onto the dinner table. “And why not, Theo?” she asserted. “I think now is as good a time as any,” she said, holding onto her fake smile. She patted the small drip of wine from the corner of her mouth and waited for a response.

“Look,” Theo started, his eyes darting around the room. “I did the best I could given the circumstances.”

“You did the best you could?” Catherine echoed, and lifted her wine glass for a refill.

“Now, now, everything aside, at least you two still have each other,” Aunt Debra chimed in.

Benjamin approached and filled Catherine's glass. He then bent down and whispered in her ear, letting her know that the main course was finally ready. She nodded, and he quickly made his way back into the kitchen.

“Yes,” said Catherine, her eyes now locked in on Theo’s. “Nothing says ‘close,’ like a year's worth of silence.”

As much as he wanted to retort, Theo opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Then after a moment of pregnant pause, the quiet was suddenly broken, when Benjamin quickly swung his way back into the dining hall. He pushed and parked the main course along the inner wall of the room, right under another one of the old Carver estate paintings. The smell of dill and lemon wafted into the guests nostrils, and any tension that was felt at the table before, all but disappeared.

“Dinner is served!” Benjamin announced excitedly.

The guests happily pressed on. Wine was again poured. Forks and knives clanked against the dishware. New conversations erupted. Catherine’s brother turned to her and raised his wine glass. She obliged, and did the same. They both took a sip, and settled their glasses back down in front of them. Although he had already lost his chance, Theo whispered gracefully under his breath, “Then maybe we were never as close as I thought.”