762 762.

I began as soon as they rode away. Sopped the soupy mess off the floor with towels, washed it with Spic and Span. Mopped, washed again, mopped, scrubbed and vacuumed the living room rug. There were cream splatters everywhere-no matter how many times I wiped the kitchen walls and counters. After my third mopping, the floor still felt sticky beneath my feet.

They were gone for hours-gone so long that, illogically or not, I was afraid that Ray had kidnapped our mother. That they were gone for good. Had left us.

Thomas screamed at first- Let . . . me . . . out . . . of . . . here! Let . . . me . . . out . . . of . . . here!

PLEASE . . . let . . . me . . . out! Then he whimpered. Then he got so quiet that I thought he might have died in there-that Ray might have killed him. From the other side of the door, I sat and spoke to him, sang to him. And when I ran out of songs, words, I read aloud from that week's Then he whimpered. Then he got so quiet that I thought he might have died in there-that Ray might have killed him. From the other side of the door, I sat and spoke to him, sang to him. And when I ran out of songs, words, I read aloud from that week's TV Guide TV Guide. "Donna and Mary Stone organize a mother-and-daughter fashion show. . . . Luke and Kate plan a surprise birthday party for Grandpa Amos. . . . Frontier scout Flint McCullough is kidnapped by hostile Comanches."

Thomas wouldn't answer me. He wouldn't say a thing.

They came back a little after ten. They had a pizza. Ma's arm was in a cast. When Ray unlocked the closet, Thomas emerged, staggering like a drunk, his eyes dazed, his face still swollen from crying. "Can I go to bed now?" was all he said.

"Don't you want some pizza pie?" Ray asked him.

"No, thank you."

Was that that the night that triggered it-set into motion whatever had blossomed in Thomas's brain? Biochemistry, biogenetics: none of the articles I'd read-none of the experts I had listened to-had ever been able to explain why Thomas had gotten the disease and I hadn't. Had the night that triggered it-set into motion whatever had blossomed in Thomas's brain? Biochemistry, biogenetics: none of the articles I'd read-none of the experts I had listened to-had ever been able to explain why Thomas had gotten the disease and I hadn't. Had we we given it to him-my mother and Ray and me? . . . given it to him-my mother and Ray and me? . . .

"Lot of traffic today, huh?" False Teeth said. He kept taking glimpses at me in his rearview mirror. Waiting for an answer.

"Uh, what?" I said. "Traffic? Yeah."

"Of course, from what I hear, we ain't seen nothing yet." He 763 763.

glanced at the road, then back in the rearview. "You want to see traffic?

Wait'll that casino opens up. This town'll be bumper to bumper."

Ray shifted in his seat. Folded his arms across his chest and sighed. . . .

Ma had gone upstairs to tuck Thomas in, to go to bed herself, and Ray and I had sat at the kitchen table, eating pizza pie.

"She fell," he said.

"What?"

"Your mother. She tripped and fell on the stairs bringing laundry down. Landed the wrong way. You understand?"

I looked at him. Waited.

"What goes on in this house is nobody else's business," he said.

He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the top of the table.

"You understand me?" he asked again.

I nodded.

"All right then," he said. "Good. Things just got a little out of hand tonight, that's all. Just forget about it. This kind of thing happens in every family."

Did it? I tried to picture the kids in my class being dragged, kicking and screaming, down the stairs. Ladling soup onto the kitchen floor.

"And if those two ever play that game again-if you ever get wind of that that again. Well . . ." He stood up. Went over to the sink. "But they're again. Well . . ." He stood up. Went over to the sink. "But they're not not going to play it anymore. It's not going to ever come up again. . . . But going to play it anymore. It's not going to ever come up again. . . . But if if it does, you come to me. Okay?" it does, you come to me. Okay?"

I asked Ray if I could go to bed, please.

"Okay? " "

"Okay," I said. Sure, Ray. I'll sacrifice them to you. Survival of the fittest.

"Good," he said, nodding his approval. He lit a cigarette. "Good.

Because you and I are on a team, all right? We're buddies, you and me. We stick together. Right?"

I nodded. Looked at the hand he was offering. Shook it.

And I climbed the stairs knowing, somehow, that in my two-man struggle, Thomas would always win: that Ma would always love love him more than she loved me. That Ray would always him more than she loved me. That Ray would always hate hate him more 764 him more 764 764.

than he hated me. Like it or not, we were were two teams. Thomas and Ma versus Ray and me. Survival of the fittest. . . . two teams. Thomas and Ma versus Ray and me. Survival of the fittest. . . .

And now, here we sat in the back of the undertaker's limousine.

The winning team-the victors in our good suits, riding away from the cemetery. No fingerprints. No autopsies. They were both both in the ground now. Mrs. Calabash and Mrs. Floon. . . . in the ground now. Mrs. Calabash and Mrs. Floon. . . .

Back at Hollyhock Avenue, people milled around the kitchen, the living room, talking in hushed voices. What was was that-respect for the dead? Fear that normal speaking voices might wake him up again? Across the room, I watched Sheffer and Dr. Patel approach Ray-introduce themselves, engage him in a little polite conversation. that-respect for the dead? Fear that normal speaking voices might wake him up again? Across the room, I watched Sheffer and Dr. Patel approach Ray-introduce themselves, engage him in a little polite conversation. They They did most of the work; Ray just stood there, nodding at whatever they said. He couldn't look at them. Far as I knew, he had never returned any of their phone calls. He'd never visited Thomas once down at Hatch; I knew did most of the work; Ray just stood there, nodding at whatever they said. He couldn't look at them. Far as I knew, he had never returned any of their phone calls. He'd never visited Thomas once down at Hatch; I knew that that for a fact. In seven months, not once, because believe me, I checked the log book every goddamned time. So for a fact. In seven months, not once, because believe me, I checked the log book every goddamned time. So let let him stand there and squirm a little. him stand there and squirm a little. Let Let him feel guilty about it. It couldn't happen to a more deserving guy. him feel guilty about it. It couldn't happen to a more deserving guy.

Jerry Martineau came over, handed me a manila envelope.

"What's this?" I said.

"Look."

I had to smile when I opened it: an old picture of our high school basketball team. Martineau said he'd gone looking for it that morning-that he wanted me me to have it. It was a candid shot taken in the middle of some game. Our senior year, I figured-my mut-tonchop sideburns era. The first string was out on the court, passing by in a blur, but for some reason, the photographer had focused on Martineau and me, warming the bench as usual. to have it. It was a candid shot taken in the middle of some game. Our senior year, I figured-my mut-tonchop sideburns era. The first string was out on the court, passing by in a blur, but for some reason, the photographer had focused on Martineau and me, warming the bench as usual.

"Hey, how come Coach doesn't have Havlicek and West in the game?" I said.

Martineau laughed. Reminded me that we did did get in the game sometimes: usually the last thirty seconds of every lopsided victory. get in the game sometimes: usually the last thirty seconds of every lopsided victory.

"Look at what a beanpole I was back then," he said. "I remember I used to come home from practice, eat two or three sandwiches, and 765 765.

then sit down and eat a big dinner. Snack all night. Those were the days, eh, Dominick? Other day, Karen buys me a pair of dress pants, size thirty-eight waist. Isn't that sad? And to be honest with you, sit down and eat a big dinner. Snack all night. Those were the days, eh, Dominick? Other day, Karen buys me a pair of dress pants, size thirty-eight waist. Isn't that sad? And to be honest with you, they're they're a little snug. . . . But a little snug. . . . But look look."

I followed his finger to a spot near the top of the picture. "What?"

I said.

Then I saw him: my brother. He was seated in the middle of the Pep Squad section, his mouth wide open in mid-yell. My real real brother, I thought. brother, I thought. Un Un sick Thomas. . . . sick Thomas. . . .

More tea, Mrs. Calabash?

Yes, thank you, Mrs. Floon.

A hand clamped onto my shoulder. "Hey, Dominick?" Leo whispered. "You think Pop's got any hootch in the house? Some of these old geezers'd probably appreciate a drink."

"Oh," I said. "Right." I looked around for Ray, but he'd left the room. "There's some glasses in that cabinet there," I said. "Get those out. I'll go see what he's got."

Jesus, I hadn't even thought about booze. But Leo was right.

Most guys like a drink when they come back from a cemetery-a chaser to help them swallow down the sight of a casket over an open grave.

Old Grand Dad, Canadian Club, Cutty Sark: I walked back to the living room cradling the bottles. Leo was wiping down the last of the glasses with his handkerchief. "Don't worry," he whispered. "I only blew my nose on this thing once today."

I just looked at him.

"I'm kidding kidding, Birdsey. It's a joke joke."

Sam Jacobs and Mr. Anthony saw us setting things up and approached, magnetized by the booze. "Ice?" Leo asked me.

Out in the kitchen, Angie, Vera Jacobs, and Mrs. Anthony were bustling around like June Taylor dancers. I had to smile. Men had booze; women had food to fix.

"We've got everything under control, sweetheart," Mrs. Anthony told me. "You just go out there and relax. We'll be ready in five minutes."

766 766.

She was wearing one of my mother's aprons-that faded, flowered, snaps-at-the-shoulder smock thing you'd always see on Ma when you went over there. It was strange seeing Ma's apron again.

The room darkened. I saw Thomas hanging from that tree-the noose. Felt his dead weight fall as I cut him down, slung him over my shoulders.

Angie stood there, in front of me, staring. "Uh . . . what'd you say?"

"Serving spoons?" she repeated. "Do you have any idea where your mom would have kept her serving spoons?"

I stood there, stupefied. Serving spoons?

"They're in the hutch." Ray walked past me and yanked open a middle drawer-handed Angie a bouquet of big spoons.

"I, uh . . . Ray? I put some liquor out."

He ignored me. Walked over by the windows and stood there-his back to the women and me. "Ray? You hear me? I put out a bottle of rye and some-" You hear me? I put out a bottle of rye and some-"

"Put out whatever you want," he snapped.

Fuck you you, I thought. This is your your victory party, too, you bastard. victory party, too, you bastard.

You were the team captain. Remember?

"Dominick?" Angie said. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," I said. "Sure." I yanked opened the freezer, banged ice cubes into a bowl.

Back in the living room, the men were standing around in a half-circle, kibbitzing. "Pension-wise, we probably should've stuck it out a couple more years," Sam Jacobs was saying. "But it gets to you, you know? It's like working at a goddamned ghost town down there.

And once they close the Settle building, forget forget about it." about it."

I tried to follow the conversation, but my mind kept floating away. You get cancer, it's like a wakeup call. . . . Not too much cream, You get cancer, it's like a wakeup call. . . . Not too much cream, now, Dominick. One nice-sized squirt and that's it. Save the rest for supper. . . . Nobody else's business . . . now, Dominick. One nice-sized squirt and that's it. Save the rest for supper. . . . Nobody else's business . . .

"Of course, it's a whole different operation down there now," Sam said. "Everything's premixed, prepackaged. If you can open up a foil bag, you're a cook, cook, for Christ's sake." for Christ's sake."

767 767.

Leo handed me a Scotch. "Drink this and shut up about it," he said. Ray walked in from the kitchen. Walked over to us.

"Hey, Pop, you limping a little there?" Leo asked him. "What's the matter with your foot?"

Nothing was the matter with it, Ray said. It was just lettin' him know it was there, that was all. If Leo wanted to climb into the ring and go a few rounds, Ray would be glad to knock him on his ass, free of charge. Foot or no foot. was the matter with it, Ray said. It was just lettin' him know it was there, that was all. If Leo wanted to climb into the ring and go a few rounds, Ray would be glad to knock him on his ass, free of charge. Foot or no foot.

"Macho Camacho," Leo laughed. "What are you drinking, Pop?"

"Nothin'," Ray said. "Milk of magnesia."

"Down in Boca Raton?" Sam Jacobs was saying. "Where my son is? They ain't even heard the word word recession." recession."

Leo reminded everyone that it wasn't over in Three Rivers until the fat lady sang-that if all the predictions were true about the casino, the Wequonnocs were probably going to end up saving the scalps of every goddamned paleface that Electric Boat laid off.

"That's a bunch of bullshit!" Mr. Anthony chimed in. "They must be smoking something funny in their peace pipe down there if they think New Yorkers are gonna come all the way up here to the boondocks when they got Atlantic City." He told us not to get him started on the Indians. "Any of you you guys slaughter their ancestors?" guys slaughter their ancestors?"

he said. "I know I I didn't. Why the hell should didn't. Why the hell should you and me you and me have to pay taxes if have to pay taxes if they're they're getting a free ride?" getting a free ride?"

Benign old Mr. Anthony: what was he so hot under the collar for?

"Because for two or three centuries, we fucked over their ancestors," I said.

Everyone stopped, looked at me. No one gave me an argument, though. The dead guy's poor twin brother. I probably could have gotten away with saying anything that day.

Then Mrs. Anthony was at the kitchen door. "Okay, everybody!

Come and eat! Dominick, honey? Ray? Why don't you fellas start?"

The others put down their drinks and drifted out to the kitchen.

"You all right, Dominick?" Leo asked me.

I shrugged.

768 768.

"Come on. Let's go get something to eat."