him get out of—”
Everybody knows that nobody makes Satan do anything. They wait.
“You call me, if you need anything else,” Satan says. “Any time, day or night, I’ll be here. I’ll always be here, right here forever with my brother. Inseparable.”
Stanley lingers a moment as his brother heads back to their room. Mother and son throw stares at each other, but neither speaks. They can only maintain eye contact fleetingly, as both look away.
“Come on,” Satan calls, “leave her alone.”
Stanley leaves her alone, but first he picks up her glasses and her night-light.
She seizes his arm, and shakes her head as she speaks. “He will never leave me be, Stanley. He will torture me to death.”
Stanley stares into her squinting, darting, watering eyes. He wants to reassure her, it’s all a dream, it’s only the night as nights will be and in the morning it will be gone.
Instead, he nods.
There are certainly enough bedrooms in the house.
Satan has been thrown out of the house countless times.
The first time he didn’t leave, Sara did.
The twentieth time he didn’t leave, Dad did.
Both times, Stanley took advantage of the added free range to get himself loose. First he moved into Sara’s old room.
Satan followed.
Then he moved back to his old room.
Satan followed.
“Friday, the fifth. I love my brother,” Satan says to the tape.
There is a bump. Then more bumps, in the night. Stanley sits up, as Stanley does most nights. He can move his head now, like a contortionist, most of the way around. He checks his brother’s bed. His brother is there. Lying peacefully, with his prayerlike folded hands tucked up together under the pillow, under his cheek. He lies there, unstirring, as Stanley watches him.
And he watches back.
There are several more bumps, down the hall, by Mrs. Duncan’s room. A car door slams outside. There is stirring now in Mother’s room and at the front door simultaneously.
Stanley gets up out of bed, goes in his boxers and tank top to the door.
Satan rolls up.
“I got it,” Stanley says. “Stay there.”
“Ya, right,” Satan says, following in his low-rise briefs and nothing else.
Mrs. Duncan is already trundling down the stairs, lugging her biggest green flowered suitcase, when the boys reach the landing.
“Ma?” Stanley calls.
She doesn’t stop, speak, or look back.
Satan starts laughing.
They follow her to the front door, where he is waiting.
Mr. Duncan.
She scurries to his side, drops the bag there.
The four of them stop, squared up across eight feet of foyer. Satan laughs harder.
“Boys,” Father says cordially.
“Look at this,” Satan says.
“Ma?” Stanley says again.
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Duncan says to him, but she appears to be miming.
“One big happy family again,” Satan says. “Let’s call Sara, and have a real party.”
Silently, Mrs. Duncan starts grasping at the brass doorknob.
“Let’s just, let it go, huh?” Father says. “You have what you want, Satan. You have what you need. We owe you nothing else.”
“Ma?” Stanley says as she gets the door open and slips outside.
“‘Ma?’” Satan mocks. “‘Ma? Ma?’ What are you, Stanley, a baby sheep?”
“Take care of the place,” Father says, as he too spins and grabs the doorknob. “We’ll … be in touch.”
Satan puts his arm around Stanley, watching the father leave. “Oh that’s nice. Isn’t that nice, honey, they’re gonna be in touch. We should have them over to dinner one night.”
Stanley shakes out of his grip, and breaks after his father. “Dad,” he says, catching up.
“Yes,” Father says stiffly, standing in the walk, in the light of the street lamp. He is clearly anxious to go.
“Can’t we do something?” Stanley pleads. The vacuum of his voice says he already knows.
Father begins silently shaking his head, then, with horror, Stanley sees his father wince, then cringe, as Satan comes flying past from behind.
He slams his father
Everybody knows that nobody makes Satan do anything. They wait.
“You call me, if you need anything else,” Satan says. “Any time, day or night, I’ll be here. I’ll always be here, right here forever with my brother. Inseparable.”
Stanley lingers a moment as his brother heads back to their room. Mother and son throw stares at each other, but neither speaks. They can only maintain eye contact fleetingly, as both look away.
“Come on,” Satan calls, “leave her alone.”
Stanley leaves her alone, but first he picks up her glasses and her night-light.
She seizes his arm, and shakes her head as she speaks. “He will never leave me be, Stanley. He will torture me to death.”
Stanley stares into her squinting, darting, watering eyes. He wants to reassure her, it’s all a dream, it’s only the night as nights will be and in the morning it will be gone.
Instead, he nods.
There are certainly enough bedrooms in the house.
Satan has been thrown out of the house countless times.
The first time he didn’t leave, Sara did.
The twentieth time he didn’t leave, Dad did.
Both times, Stanley took advantage of the added free range to get himself loose. First he moved into Sara’s old room.
Satan followed.
Then he moved back to his old room.
Satan followed.
“Friday, the fifth. I love my brother,” Satan says to the tape.
There is a bump. Then more bumps, in the night. Stanley sits up, as Stanley does most nights. He can move his head now, like a contortionist, most of the way around. He checks his brother’s bed. His brother is there. Lying peacefully, with his prayerlike folded hands tucked up together under the pillow, under his cheek. He lies there, unstirring, as Stanley watches him.
And he watches back.
There are several more bumps, down the hall, by Mrs. Duncan’s room. A car door slams outside. There is stirring now in Mother’s room and at the front door simultaneously.
Stanley gets up out of bed, goes in his boxers and tank top to the door.
Satan rolls up.
“I got it,” Stanley says. “Stay there.”
“Ya, right,” Satan says, following in his low-rise briefs and nothing else.
Mrs. Duncan is already trundling down the stairs, lugging her biggest green flowered suitcase, when the boys reach the landing.
“Ma?” Stanley calls.
She doesn’t stop, speak, or look back.
Satan starts laughing.
They follow her to the front door, where he is waiting.
Mr. Duncan.
She scurries to his side, drops the bag there.
The four of them stop, squared up across eight feet of foyer. Satan laughs harder.
“Boys,” Father says cordially.
“Look at this,” Satan says.
“Ma?” Stanley says again.
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Duncan says to him, but she appears to be miming.
“One big happy family again,” Satan says. “Let’s call Sara, and have a real party.”
Silently, Mrs. Duncan starts grasping at the brass doorknob.
“Let’s just, let it go, huh?” Father says. “You have what you want, Satan. You have what you need. We owe you nothing else.”
“Ma?” Stanley says as she gets the door open and slips outside.
“‘Ma?’” Satan mocks. “‘Ma? Ma?’ What are you, Stanley, a baby sheep?”
“Take care of the place,” Father says, as he too spins and grabs the doorknob. “We’ll … be in touch.”
Satan puts his arm around Stanley, watching the father leave. “Oh that’s nice. Isn’t that nice, honey, they’re gonna be in touch. We should have them over to dinner one night.”
Stanley shakes out of his grip, and breaks after his father. “Dad,” he says, catching up.
“Yes,” Father says stiffly, standing in the walk, in the light of the street lamp. He is clearly anxious to go.
“Can’t we do something?” Stanley pleads. The vacuum of his voice says he already knows.
Father begins silently shaking his head, then, with horror, Stanley sees his father wince, then cringe, as Satan comes flying past from behind.
He slams his father
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