Ray's side of the bedroom still had that same "no trespassing"

feel to it-a holdover from when we were kids. From the earliest days, Thomas and I had been warned not to wake up Ray while he was asleep. And whether he was asleep or awake or out of the house, we were forbidden to enter their bedroom by ourselves because of the sheathed knives and swords and daggers he kept on the wall.

"Those things are sharp enough to lop someone's head off," he'd warned us more than once. "If I catch you in this room when you're not supposed to be, I'll wallop you into next week."

I walked over and opened his closet door. He was still a nutcase about shoes: ten or eleven pairs on the floor, spit-shined and lined up, ready for inspection. The gray work pants and shirts he wore every night to Electric Boat hung neatly from hangers, pressed and ready to go. Ray always had Ma roll up his shirtsleeves to the elbow and then iron the folded cuffs.

347 347.

On the wall above Ray's bureau were the untouchable weapons, his framed service medals, and the small, blurry photo of his dead mother, a skinny hillbilly-looking woman who, my brother had once observed, looked like a young Ma Kettle. Sitting atop the bureau in their usual order were Ray's shoehorn, hairbrush (comb stuck inside the bristles), Gold Bond powder, Aqua Velva. One time as a kid, I'd tiptoed into the room while Ray was sleeping and borrowed the shoehorn. Waking up Ray during his daytime sleep would have made him hitting mad, but Billy Covington had said he needed the shoehorn to hypnotize us. He'd dared me to do it, and I had. Billy had tied the shoehorn to a string, rocking it back and forth, back and forth, in front of my brother and me the way he'd seen a man do on TV. "You're getting sleeeepy, " Billy droned in a strange accent. " Billy droned in a strange accent.

"Veddy, veddy sleeeepy. " After the experiment flopped, the three of us had gone outside and dangled the shoehorn into the culvert until it accidentally came loose from its tether and fell in. Later that afternoon, Ray woke up, went to put on his shoes, and screamed bloody murder. Billy's mother had picked him up by then. Through tears and sharp intakes of breath, Thomas and I came clean about the hypnosis attempt and the accident. Ray didn't beat us as we'd suspected he might. Instead, he positioned me at the top of the stairs and Thomas at the bottom, then instructed us to march up and down until he told us we could stop. It had seemed silly at first. I remember stifling giggles and making secret faces at my brother as we passed each other on the middle steps. But inside of an hour, I was sweat-drenched and wobbly-legged and Thomas was crying because of the cramps in his legs. "Can't they stop now?" Ma had asked Ray, who sat on a kitchen chair he'd set up by the front door to read the " After the experiment flopped, the three of us had gone outside and dangled the shoehorn into the culvert until it accidentally came loose from its tether and fell in. Later that afternoon, Ray woke up, went to put on his shoes, and screamed bloody murder. Billy's mother had picked him up by then. Through tears and sharp intakes of breath, Thomas and I came clean about the hypnosis attempt and the accident. Ray didn't beat us as we'd suspected he might. Instead, he positioned me at the top of the stairs and Thomas at the bottom, then instructed us to march up and down until he told us we could stop. It had seemed silly at first. I remember stifling giggles and making secret faces at my brother as we passed each other on the middle steps. But inside of an hour, I was sweat-drenched and wobbly-legged and Thomas was crying because of the cramps in his legs. "Can't they stop now?" Ma had asked Ray, who sat on a kitchen chair he'd set up by the front door to read the Daily Record Daily Record and supervise. Ray told her we could stop when he was good and sure we had learned our lesson about respecting other people's property. That night, while Ray was at work, Ma got out of bed and rubbed witch hazel on my charley horses. We'd spent two hours doing penance-climbing stairs. and supervise. Ray told her we could stop when he was good and sure we had learned our lesson about respecting other people's property. That night, while Ray was at work, Ma got out of bed and rubbed witch hazel on my charley horses. We'd spent two hours doing penance-climbing stairs.

Fuck her! I banged the phone back down on the receiver and the second I did, it rang. "Hello?" I blurted out. her! I banged the phone back down on the receiver and the second I did, it rang. "Hello?" I blurted out.

348 348.

I was sure it was Dessa, but it wasn't. It was Leo.

Yeah, all right, I'd go fishing with him. I didn't have anything better better to do. Six o'clock? All right. Yeah. to do. Six o'clock? All right. Yeah.

When I went downstairs, Thomas was slumped in the middle of the couch, wearing a T-shirt and pajama bottoms and this stupid red and blue striped stocking cap on his head. He'd worn that thing all winter long. In In side the dorm. Seeing that hat on his head brought everything back: that weird first year of school, his weird behavior. He was staring like a zombie at the TV. side the dorm. Seeing that hat on his head brought everything back: that weird first year of school, his weird behavior. He was staring like a zombie at the TV.

"Where's Ma?" I said. He wouldn't answer me.

I went out to the kitchen and came back with cereal, milk, a bowl, a spoon. "Shove over," I said. Flopped down on the couch next to him. The proximity was a half-baked attempt at peacemaking.

He was watching an old Tarzan movie-Johnny Weissmuller and Brenda Joyce. When we were kids, Thomas had maintained that Johnny Weissmuller was the best Tarzan and I'd insisted Lex Barker was. I'd even half-convinced myself that Thomas and I resembled Lex Barker-that maybe he he was our father and would come back to claim us. I was always doing that when I was little: dreaming up fantasy dads, Hollywood rescues from Ray. It was pathetic. But now, sitting there on the couch eating Cheerios, it suddenly struck me funny: Lex Barker swinging through the trees on Hollyhock Avenue and coming in for a landing in Ma's bedroom. Ma getting pregnant by Tarzan the Ape Man. was our father and would come back to claim us. I was always doing that when I was little: dreaming up fantasy dads, Hollywood rescues from Ray. It was pathetic. But now, sitting there on the couch eating Cheerios, it suddenly struck me funny: Lex Barker swinging through the trees on Hollyhock Avenue and coming in for a landing in Ma's bedroom. Ma getting pregnant by Tarzan the Ape Man.

Him coming back years later to get us and bring us back to where? The jungles of Africa? Hollywood, California? God, little kids are such idiots.

"Hey, Jerk Face," I said to Thomas. "I still still say Lex Barker's a better Tarzan than this guy. Hands down. No contest." say Lex Barker's a better Tarzan than this guy. Hands down. No contest."

No answer.

"So where'd you say Ma and Ray were?"

Nothing.

I reached over and clapped my hands in front of his face. "Hey, Thomas! Wake up! Where are they at?"

"Who?"

"Ma and Ray! " "

" At a picnic," he said, still watching the tube. At a picnic," he said, still watching the tube.

349 349.

"Ray's union picnic? That's today?"

No response.

I poured myself more cereal. I almost needed the silent treatment from Ding Dong after all the other bullshit I'd been through in the past forty-eight hours.

The Tarzan movie had been spliced in about a hundred different places; the action sort of hiccuped every couple of seconds. As usual, it was the white hunters in their freshly ironed safari clothes who'd caused the problem-whose greed had stirred up the entire sleeping jungle. Tarzan hustled Jane and Boy down a jungle path, the Zambezis in hot pursuit. Then the three of them jumped into a crystal-clear pool and swam like speedboats. I'd seen this one about a hundred times when I was a kid but had never before noticed the cut of Brenda Joyce's little jungle dress, the way she half-fondled her tits as she climbed from the glassy water.

"We will return in a moment to Big Three Matinee Theater,"

the announcer said.

I looked down at my brother's hand on the couch cushion next to me. His fingers and fingernails were bitten to shreds, the skin red and raw, dried blood in the cuticles. All that past year in our dorm room, he had gnawed and bitten, bitten and gnawed. In two semesters, he'd probably chewed off about five pounds of his own skin. "I think there's a Yankees game on channel ten," I said. "You want to watch it?"

No answer.

"Thomas? Hey! You want to watch the ball game?"

He put the weight of the world into the sigh he gave me. "If I wanted to watch stupid baseball, then I'd be watching it."

I let it pass. Got up and tried Dessa again. Maybe I'd have better luck on the downstairs phone. But there was still no answer.

I sat back down next to Thomas. My leg was tapping against the floor a mile a minute. "Hey, you remember that time at Ray's labor union picnic when he made us sing those stupid songs for everybody? Those war songs he taught us when we were little kids? What were those songs again?"

350 350.

Thomas blinked three or four times in a row. Swiped at his nose.

"'You're a Sap, Mr. Jap' and 'Good-bye Mama, I'm Off to Yokohama,'"

he said.

"Yeah, that's right! 'You're a Sap, Mr. Jap.'" I shook my head. "Fucking Ray, man. Fucking racist bastard."

I poured myself more cereal. Ate a few spoonfuls and put the bowl down on the coffee table. "Me and Dessa had a big fight last night," I said. "It was my fault."

The disclosure just slipped out-took me as much by surprise as it did Thomas. He looked over at me. "Nothing too serious, though," I said. "Nothing we can't straighten out. You and her will really have to meet each other one of these days. I think you'd like her. She's good people. I want want you to meet her sometime." you to meet her sometime."

"I'm going to meet her tomorrow afternoon," Thomas said.

"What? . . . . . . What are you talking about?" I felt suddenly panicky. What are you talking about?" I felt suddenly panicky.

"She called this morning. While you were still sleeping. She thought I was you."

"Dessa? What'd she say?"

"She told me what happened last night."

I just sat there, trying to figure out how to respond. "What do you mean-what happened?" I finally said.

"She said you forgot your bike in her car. She's going someplace all day with her mother and her sister, but she said she could come over tomorrow afternoon and bring it back. She wanted to know if I was going to be around so she could meet me."

"Yeah? She say anything else?"

"No."

"How'd she sound?"

"I don't know. She sounded nice."

"Yeah? Good. Great. . . . She is is nice. She's real nice." nice. She's real nice."

I was suddenly overwhelmed with relief. Overwhelmed with sympathy for my goofy brother. "Hey, Thomas, about this roommate stuff,"

I said. "Leo just asked me one day, you know? It's not like this master plot against you or anything. I just . . . I figured I'd make a change. It'll 351 351.

be good for you and and me. That's partly why I did it. For me. That's partly why I did it. For you. you. " "

He laughed at the baldness of the lie.

"Hey, don't don't believe me," I told him. "I don't give a crap. But it's the truth." believe me," I told him. "I don't give a crap. But it's the truth."

He muttered something under his voice.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Neither of us said anything for a minute or more. On TV, the Zambezis had captured Jane and Boy and tied them up. They were doing this psycho-looking dance around them. If Thomas was going to meet Dessa, he had better not embarrass me. As a matter of fact, now that I thought about it, he wasn't wasn't going to meet her. Not yet. I'd find some way around it. "So what's with the stocking cap?" I asked him. "What are you wearing that thing for in the middle of summer?" going to meet her. Not yet. I'd find some way around it. "So what's with the stocking cap?" I asked him. "What are you wearing that thing for in the middle of summer?"

But Thomas was on some other wavelength. "As if he's he's Mr. Innocent," he said. Mr. Innocent," he said.

"What? Who you talking about?" I waited. "As if who's who's Mr. Mr.

Innocent?"

"Would you do me a favor?" he said.

"Depends. What is it?"

"Would you just stop playing Mr. Friendly Brother? Because it's not convincing at all. I know what all three of you are up to."

I laughed. "Who's 'all three' of us?"

"You and your two buddy-buddies. You've been plotting against me all summer. I have all the information I need."

That crazy note I'd flushed down the toilet the night before came flying back at me again. What had that thing said? "Whatever you're talking about, you're full of shit," I told him. "What are you-paranoid or something?"

"No, I'm just aware."

"Yeah? Aware of what what?"

He yanked down the stocking cap until it nearly covered his eyes. Then he picked up the TV Guide TV Guide and started ripping the pages into strips. and started ripping the pages into strips.

352 352.

"Hey, that's the new one, asshole," I said. "What are you doing doing?"

In response, he started singing "You're a Sap, Mr. Jap." Louder and louder. Started screaming it at me.

"Cut it out!" I warned him. "Stop it!" And when he didn't stop, I grabbed him. Jumped on him and made made him stop. He screamed loudest when I yanked that fucking hat off his head. He began fighting back with more strength than I thought he had. The two of us toppled off the back of the couch, knocked over an end table, rolled across the floor. A lamp fell; it didn't break but the shade got bent to shit. When I got on top of him and pinned his shoulders to the floor, he lunged up and spat in my face. That was it: I popped him one, in the nose. Put him in a choke hold while he was trying to get away from me. Gave him a couple of good jabs in the ribs and tightened my grip around his neck. He gagged. Went limp. "Okay, okay, okay," he said. him stop. He screamed loudest when I yanked that fucking hat off his head. He began fighting back with more strength than I thought he had. The two of us toppled off the back of the couch, knocked over an end table, rolled across the floor. A lamp fell; it didn't break but the shade got bent to shit. When I got on top of him and pinned his shoulders to the floor, he lunged up and spat in my face. That was it: I popped him one, in the nose. Put him in a choke hold while he was trying to get away from me. Gave him a couple of good jabs in the ribs and tightened my grip around his neck. He gagged. Went limp. "Okay, okay, okay," he said.

I let go. He coughed, cleared his throat.

We were both out of breath. Both scared, I guess. I got up and righted the coffee table, the end table lamp. Threw away the wasted TV Guide, TV Guide, vacuumed up spilt cereal, bent the lampshade back in place the best I could. Thomas just sat there on the floor, rubbing his arm over and over. vacuumed up spilt cereal, bent the lampshade back in place the best I could. Thomas just sat there on the floor, rubbing his arm over and over.

Down in the cellar, I got my fishing gear ready. Checked my tackle box, my lures. I tried and tried to untie a knot in my line, but my fingers wouldn't stop shaking. What was the matter matter with him, anyway? Writing that stupid note. Accusing us of plotting against him. If this was some kind of stupid bullshit game he was playing, he was going to be sorry he started it. I'd see to that personally. I'd had it with him. . . . But what if it with him, anyway? Writing that stupid note. Accusing us of plotting against him. If this was some kind of stupid bullshit game he was playing, he was going to be sorry he started it. I'd see to that personally. I'd had it with him. . . . But what if it wasn't wasn't a game? And if it wasn't, what the fuck was it? What was happening? a game? And if it wasn't, what the fuck was it? What was happening?

I went outside and stood on the cement steps, casting my line over and over across the backyard, into the honeysuckle bush. After her father retired, my mother told me, he used to spend whole days out in that little yard, sitting in his grape arbor, smoking cigars, and thinking about Sicily. He'd died out there, of a stroke, the summer Ma was pregnant with us.

353 353.

No shit, man. What was wrong with him? Something Something must be wrong. must be wrong.

Just before Leo was due to pick me up, I went back inside the house. Thomas was still sitting on the floor where I'd left him, still rubbing his arm. The cap was back on his head. "You hurt your arm?" I asked him.

No answer.

"Is it sprained or something? You okay?"

Nothing.

Part of me wanted to deck him again and part of me wanted to reach down and pull him off the floor. "If I were you," I said, "I'd turn off the boob tube and go down to the store and get another TV TV Guide. Ray sees you wrecked the new one, he's going to go apeshit." Ray sees you wrecked the new one, he's going to go apeshit."

Thomas looked up and faced me. "You are are me," he said. me," he said.

"Come again?"

"You said if if you were me, you'd buy a new you were me, you'd buy a new TV Guide. TV Guide. But you But you are are me." me."

"No, I'm not," I said. "Far from it."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not. not. " "

Thomas's smile was private and serene. My heart thumped, wild with fear.

354 22.1969.