Nonfiction | May 10, 2012
My Father’s Women
When I drove my sisters back to town from the lawyer’s three days after our father’s death, it took a while for us to arrive at the subject of his women. The lawyer had given us a rundown on the will—no surprises, 20 percent to each of us, a little more to his final companion and a little less to his two stepdaughters from his second marriage. We knew that his estate, which included a parking lot in a commercial district in Tokyo as well as a summer house near Mount Fuji, was considerable. Yet none of us had any idea where the right documents were, and for some time our conversation shuttled from where to look for them to what kind of service to hold to how to clear the house of its clutter to when to see the body and how best to lay it to rest.
This essay is not currently available online.
If you are a student, faculty member, or staff member at an institution whose library subscribes to Project Muse, you can read this piece and the full archives of the Missouri Review for free. Check this list to see if your library is a Project Muse subscriber.
Want to read more?Subscribe Today
SEE THE ISSUE
Sep 29 2020
On Hearing/On Listening
I play the tenor sax, and at sixty-five, I’m usually the youngest in this band. We play the oldest of old standards—very little from after the War, plus novelty tunes,
Sep 28 2020
In Noise, Feeling
I sat in a chair, the legs of my jeans pulled up to my knees, as a neurologist poked my leg with a pin. “Can you feel that?” he asked
Jun 19 2020
Exile in the Desert with Sarmi Moussa
In the end, it is the reality of personal relationship that saves everything. —Thomas Merton It was past midnight, and the bench I sat on in the small mud-brick airport