bananafish revisited...

If you haven't read JD Salinger's A Perfect Day for Bananafish, I urge you to do so as soon as you are physically able. (That's right. I'm giving you homework. Deal with it.) There is a fair amount of controversy surrounding this short story, but I've always had questions about the more ambiguous background and untold part of the story with which Salinger teases the reader.

Much like the hacky stand-up comic that begins a bit with "What if Jack Nicholson worked at McDonald's? I think it'd go something like this...", I tried to answer some of my own questions about Bananafish. This is what I came up with...

Bananafish Revisited

“Something smells good,” Seymour smiled. Mrs. Fedder backed into the dining room through the swinging door from the kitchen. She turned carefully to avoid disturbing the platter displaying the roast with carrots and potatoes. He continued, “We didn’t get many home cooked meals in the Army.”

“I suppose not,” Mr. Fedder joked, “Probably aren’t any stoves left in Germany that are big enough for a roast.” Seymour’s smile fell from his pale, gaunt face and was replaced with a distant, pained expression.

Quickly changing the subject, Muriel noted, “Well it sure is nice to have everyone together, finally. Father, why don’t you carve that roast? Would you like some peas, Seymour?”

“I didn’t mean anything by – “

“Make sure you don’t slice it too thick for Granny. Otherwise it’ll be too much for her teeth.”

“What I was saying is that –“

“Isn’t it nice that Seymour’s home, Granny?” Granny nodded, although she didn’t actually hear the question.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Mr. Fedder carved the roast and placed a single slice on each plate that Mrs. Fedder set before him. She used a serving spoon to add potatoes and carrots, and asked each person at the table, “Au jus?”

They ate in awkward silence until, snapping out of his trance, Seymour cleared his throat and broke it with, “So Granny, you’re looking fine. It’s good to see you. What’s new?”

“Eh?” She held a cupped hand to her ear.

“What’s new? What’s on the program?”

“Mother’s been making funeral plans. Haven’t you, Granny?” Mrs. Fedder almost had a song in her voice.

“You don’t have to sound so eager.” Granny picked up the linen napkin from her lap and dabbed the corners of her mouth. “You’ll be rid of me soon enough.”

“Oh, Mother. We are not eager to be rid of you. I’m just enjoying our family – “

“I tell you this much, though. I’m not spending all that money on a coffin, despite what that undertaker thinks. Why should I spend a thousand dollars to be buried in luxury? I won’t know any differently if I’m buried in a mattress box.”

Mrs. Fedder nearly choked on a potato, “Mother! What would people think if you weren’t in a proper casket at your viewing? Why, I wouldn’t be able to show my face at the funeral.”

“I think I’ll just have them incinerate me. Don’t worry, Dear, you can buy a splendid urn for my cremains and keep it on the mantle. I understand that they have them with lovely floral designs. A compliment to any household.” Granny smiled, pleased with her jibe.

Seymour stopped eating. He froze, mid-bite looking as though he were in the background of a photograph taken at a wedding dinner. He came to life slowly and gently set his fork on the rim of the plate. His eyes glared at Granny from beneath a furrowed brow.

“Is that supposed to be funny? A joke?”

“Oh, she knows I’m only – “

“Do you know what it’s like, Granny? Do you have any idea what it’s like? Cremation? It doesn’t really smell that different from burning a roast beef.”

“Seymour!” Muriel was shocked.

“But you don’t eat people with au jus. Do you? “

Mrs. Fedder spit a bite of roast into her napkin and reached for her water glass.

“Well, Granny, you’re not that far off from death, are you? Why wait? Why don’t we just see if roasting people is a joke?” Seymour shot out of his chair, sending it crashing into the buffet behind his place at the table. He trod heavily around the table to where Granny glared at him frightened, her hands trembling. He grabbed the back of her chair and tilted it onto its back legs.

“We’ll listen to you scream and sizzle, Granny. It’ll be a grand old time. What a joke it will be when we hear your eyes burst and leak out of their sockets. What a hoot to see your tongue bake in your mouth and your gums recede and your teeth turn black while you gasp for every scorching breath of fiery air.”

Seymour started to drag Granny’s chair along the length of the dinner table toward the kitchen. She gripped the arms with white knuckles. “Stop! Let me down! Let me down! Muriel!”

“Seymour! Daddy, stop him! Seymour, you let Granny down, this instant!” Muriel screamed. Her face was pure terror. Mr. Fedder remained seated, staring, astounded at the drama unfolding at his dinner table.

Stunned, Seymour released Granny and the front legs of the chair came down with a thump. His eyes darted wildly left and right, seemingly unable to focus. He was breathing heavily. He ran out of the dining room, panicked. They heard the front door open, then slam shut, the car engine start, and the tires screeched out of the driveway.

Granny was pale, her eyes open wide. Tears ran down from her eyes and trailed off into the deep wrinkles of her face. “I…I don’t…What did I say?”

“What did they do to him at that hospital?” Mr Fedder asked, still chewing.

Mrs. Fedder looked from Granny to Muriel to the floor’s scratched cherry finish that ran from the dinner table at the edge of the rug behind Granny’s place to just before the door to the kitchen. “Just look at my floor.”