The Assembler of Parts: A Novel by Raoul Wientzen Page A

other defects. But I do remember he was smiling in the picture, at some zoo or park where there were cages of animals. His face was . . . was sort of puffy and bloated, but he was at this place enjoying himself, it seemed.”
    “And Mom, how old was she?”
    “Just a young girl. Ten, twelve maybe, when he died. But you know back then, the family carried it all on their shoulders. The home care, the financial burden, the . . .” He paused to rub my head with his big palm.
    “The shame,” Mother added quietly.
    Ned sighed and moved his hand from my head to Mother’s. “Kate, sixty years is a real long time. People had different ways of looking at things like this, back then. Mom will work it out in time. I’ll help her. All we have to do is give her time and let little Jess blossom.” He leaned down to stroke the top of my head with his scratchy beard and to kiss its crown. I squealed.
    “Were there thumbs in the picture of Billy, Dad? Did he have thumbs?”
    “No, Kate, Billy did not.” Ned looked at Mother with a face set for the hard work ahead.
    I squealed and kicked.
    Nana and Ned stayed for two weeks. The weather turned unseasonably warm. Mother pushed me in my carriage for hours each day. Often Ned was busy with a project—an oil change for the car, a new coat of paint for the two bathrooms, an overhaul of the central air conditioner. Nana always came with us, though. I could see her from where I lay on my back. For such a stern-looking woman, her stride seemed young and free. She moved her hands and arms in such wide arcs with each step, she looked like a jockey whipping her mount as it came furiously down the stretch. The outdoors made her smile, too, especially if we were passing a spot that evoked a memory of her own life as a young mother. We lived in what had been their house through all those years of raising a family. Mother and Father, newlyweds, had purchased it from them eight years ago, as Nana and Ned went off to Florida with a pension from the state of Maryland. Even so, Nana would always consider the neighborhood her own, though the house no longer belonged to her.
    On the first day, I watched them talk of the things mothers and daughters always discuss. Their husbands— “Your father is getting on in years, I’m afraid. Some mornings it’s all I can do to get him out of bed by seven.” And “Ford’s up for a promotion at the post office. They’re thinking of making him branch manager.” Their roles as wives and mothers—“Ned couldn’t wash clothes if his underwear got brown as a nut. It makes me so mad!” And “I miss my girlfriends at the preschool. When Jess is asleep, sometimes I go a little stir-crazy, listening to the creaks in the staircase, the hum of the refrigerator.” Their relatives— “Your Uncle Emmett has diabetes.” “Eric, cousin Eric, shot three deer this season. He wanted to send us the third’s antlers as a gift for Jess! He’s so weird!” Their friends— “Millie Casserton had triple bypass.” And “Sara Scott has had her closets professionally organized. Just because of her shoe collection. Can you imagine?”
    “Tell me about Billy, Ma,” Mother said on the morning of the third walk. We were barely two houses away from home when she spoke. The look on her face was set so tight her eyes could have belonged in a church’s stone angel. Her request put Nana’s arms to rest and parted her mouth an inch. “You can start by telling me how he and Jess compare.” Mother stared straight ahead. Nana’s arms resumed their arcing. She closed her mouth and swallowed hard enough to wiggle her ears.
    “Billy was a mess,” she began. Her eyes searched the sidewalk at her feet.
    “His heart was full of leaks.
    “He wasn’t allowed any salt.
    “In the summers he’d try to lick my skin just for the taste of salt.
    “His arms and legs—especially his legs—all puffed out so they split open at the ankles and wrists. They were like slits in pie