The Floating Opera

Todd reflects on his town and his life. Cambridge is known for its seafood and wild game. Todd never took much interest in those fields, but now, spends an hour each morning working on a boat in his friend’s garage. He built a boat previously, when he was a boy, enticed by the freedom and escape boats represent. He refused help, and his first boat was left incomplete and hidden away; he didn’t want anyone to judge him for the incomplete mess. He became interested in other things, and his father used the wood from the boat for firewood. Throughout his childhood, Todd practiced hobbies in secret, dreaming ambitiously, but life never played out like he dreamt: “I dazzled old ladies at piano recitals, but never really mastered the scales; won the tennis championships of my high school—a school indifferent to tennis—but never really mastered the strokes; graduated first in my class, but never really learned to think. And so on: it’s a painful list” (60).

Later, Todd impulsively joins the Army. The experience is mostly terrible and uninspiring, except for one moment: a battle in the Argonne Forest. In the commotion of the battle, Todd fires at Germans but fails to kill any. Time blurs. Night approaches. He hides in a hollow half-filled with water. Explosions go off in rapid succession. In a state of constant fear, Todd feels inhuman, animalistic, and the sensation has stayed with him since.

The battle continues. Machine guns blare. Death feels inevitable, and Todd wishes for company. Suddenly, another man jumps into the hole—a German soldier. Todd immediately embraces him. The German stabs Todd’s leg with a bayonet, but Todd overpowers him. Then, they kiss and embrace. After, they tend to each other’s wounds: “Never in my life have I enjoyed such intense intimacy, such clear communication with a fellow human being, male or female, as I enjoyed with that German sergeant” (66). The German falls asleep, and Todd moves to leave. The German starts to wake up, and Todd sees fear in the man’s eyes. Todd instinctively stabs the German in the neck—the sound of the stab burning into Todd’s memory. The incident alleviates Todd of his desire to impress others and reminds him of his animal nature. Back in his friend’s garage, Todd works on his second boat, which is shaping up nicely, and then he leaves for work.  

Todd breaks from the narrative to give the reader background information about his relationship with his father. Like his dad, Todd always does manual labor in nice clothes. His father adored the cleanliness of nineteenth century surgeons—their ability to operate in nice clothing without getting bloodied, and he strived to practice the same principles: “‘It teaches a man to be careful,’ Dad declared, ‘and to work easily. Hard work isn’t always good work’” (71). After working at the law firm, his father would tend to his garden, or wash his car, and never get dirty.

In 1930, when Todd came home and found his father dead, he noted that the man never strayed away from this life philosophy. Hanging from his belt in the cellar, Todd’s father died neatly dressed, without a speck of dirt on him. Todd lives in a similar way, working on his boat while dressed for work, and he agrees that doing so promotes care and neatness. Unlike his father, Todd doesn’t idealize this habit: “But I suspect that he attributed to the habit some terminal value; it was, I think, related to some vague philosophy of his. With me that is not the case, and I caution you against inferring anything of a philosophical flavor from my practice” (70-71). Todd goes about his life with intent and purpose but dressing nicely while working isn’t at the core of his being. 

Todd arrives at his law firm. He takes interest in the law but confesses his career as a lawyer was preordained by his father. He considers himself one of the best lawyers on the Eastern Shore, even if he sees the concept of justice as arbitrary and fickle. He greets his secretary, checks his mail, and thinks about ongoing cases, which he promises to tell the reader about at some point. Among his mail is a snarky letter from Jane: “Darling, if you hoped in some way to hurt me again with your note this morning, you failed. I’m not disturbed at all. I will do exactly what you suggest, my dear, if you will see Marvin Rose for a complete physical, to find out why you’re such a pansy. Love, Jane” (76). The letter amuses Todd, and he calls Dr. Rose to schedule a physical. Dr. Rose knows Todd is averse to examinations and is surprised to hear from him. The two make an appointment for later that day.

Todd continues sorting through his mail and documents. He’s proud of his filing system. In court, when he can’t persuade the judge or jury, he often resorts to something he’s filed away to win his cases. He moves to light a cigar, and, searching for a match, remembers the advertisement for the Floating Opera he pocketed earlier. He examines the poster, stylized in various fonts and promising a variety of exciting shows. Todd asks his secretary to contact Jane; he wants to take her daughter, Jeannine, to the show that evening. Todd still can’t remember whether the June day he’s narrating occurred on the 21st or 22nd. He could check the advertisement to verify the date but consciously doesn’t. He chooses to remain willfully ignorant about why he doesn’t want to know the exact date he’s adamantly writing about. 

Todd ponders the nature of law. Is the law a solid set of rules, or just interpretations by its followers? He’s not interested so much in the answer to those types of questions, taking more interest in what the law does on a case-by-case bases. He doesn’t care if his clients win or lose, and he admits that his approach to the law is irresponsible and could hurt innocent people. Among Todd’s caseload is a long legal battle over Harrison’s inheritance. Todd again confesses that he doesn’t care if Harrison wins or loses, despite the financial gains it would mean for both men. Harrison’s father, Harrison Sr., was rich and eccentric, and left numerous wills. He would write family members out whenever they acted out, then write them back in when they changed their behavior. Harrison, for example, was written out when he identified as a communist, but he was written back in when he abandoned that ideology. In court, the validity of several versions of Harrison Sr.’s wills are called into question because of the man’s declining mental health in his later years. Before his death, Harrison Sr. demanded everything produced from his body, including feces, be stored.

A bitter legal battle ensues between Harrison and his mother. Todd represents Harrison, and his mother hires Bill Froebel. Both lawyers are capable but driven by different personal motivations: “Froebel thought he could win, and wanted the money; I thought I could win, and wanted to see” (91). Harrison is poised to win the case, until Froebel uncovers Harrison’s donations to a communist paper in Spain, invalidating his claim to his inheritance. Todd argues for Harrison, but he cynically recognizes that Froebel has moved the courtroom with his impassioned speaking: “How could mere justice cope with poetry? Men, I think, are ever attracted to the bon mot rather than the mot juste, and judges, no less than other men, are often moved by considerations more aesthetic than judicial” (95). In the end, Harrison loses his case, and his chance at a three-million-dollar inheritance.

Harrison becomes distraught and melancholic. Jane, too, is morose. Todd finds their behavior pathetic and encourages Harrison to be more cynical, like himself. He doesn’t think Harrison and Jane have earned the money, but he still plans on pursuing the case. Todd appeals the decision, planning on delaying the case until the next local election, when the Court of Appeals bench will lean in their favor. As he mulls over how he can still win the case, Todd’s secretary farts in his office. The flatulence inspires Todd to investigate the whereabouts of Harrison Sr.’s feces. Mrs. Mack has started to dispose of the feces, and Todd joyously realizes he can win the case after all.