watch him, and she could use a minute for herself, maybe read a magazine for ten minutes or figure out how she was going to pay both the butcher bill and the milkman this week.
She washed his knuckles with a soapy dishrag. “All right, Mr. Big Boy.” She laid his snowsuit out on the floor. “Can you help Momma put on your snowsuit?”
With his newly elongated arms, it was simple for Alex to reach down and grip the pant legs. However, putting the right leg into the right hole was another matter. He put both feet into one of the snowsuit legs and fell over. He kicked violently, and the more he struggled, the more entrapped he became, as if the snowsuit were a Chinese finger puzzle.
Standing in his red snowsuit, he looked like a small fireplug. The material from the legs bunched up around his ankles, but the arms were still a bit short.
Irene led him out to the snow fort Arthur and Benjamin had built with snow bricks molded from one of her pound cake pans. She went into the kitchen and began to cut stew meat into chunks, rinsed the carrots and the celery, the onions, the potatoes. She monitored Benjamin and Arthur’s yells as they cut through the chilly air.
The Miller boys were at war with the Walsh twins, Jackie and Kevin from across Mellon Street. They’d stockpiled a great deal of ordnance—50 snowballs, each the size of a hand grenade. But now the well-provisioned warriors had a new problem—Alex. When the Walsh attack came—imminently, the boys were sure—what were supposed to do with their tiny little brother, who would just be in the way? The Walsh twins were clever, sneaky fighters. Just yesterday, they’d jumped Benjamin, who’d walked home from school by himself because Arthur had to stay for detention. They washed his face with snow and called him a dirty Jew, which sounded tough to them, even though they weren’t quite sure what it meant.
Alex picked up a snowball.
“Alex, put that down,” said Arthur.
“Why?”
Imitating his father’s voice and lack of logic, he said, “Because I said so, that’s why.”
“Aw, luh…let him have one,” said Benjamin.
“Shut up, stutter-mouth.” Arthur squatted with his back against the inside front wall of the fort. “Dad said he’s gonna take us to the Pirates this year.”
“When?”
“I don’t know, sometime.”
“No, I mean, when did he suh…say that? I didn’t hear him say that.”
“You didn’t hear it, Benjamin, because he didn’t say it to you, he said it to muh…muh…me, stupid stutter-mouth. Hey Alex, don’t put that snowball in your mouth.” Alex dropped his right arm to his side and peered over his left shoulder. He swung his arm like a catapult and tossed the snowball four feet ahead of him.
“Wow,” Arthur said.
“Wow,” Benjamin said.
This time, the snowball went a foot farther.
Benjamin stood up to retrieve it. Almost immediately, a snowball with a stone inside caught him flush on the cheek. He went down as if shot. Arthur turned toward where the missile had come from, but as he did, Jackie Walsh rushed the fort from the other side, snatched Alex and ran off across the street.
Arthur knelt down beside his brother. “Benjamin, they got Alex. Stop crying and get up…”
“Boys?” Irene’s voice rang out from the house.
“Oh shit,” said Benjamin, sobbing. “It’s muh…Ma.”
Irene walked through the slushy snow in her apron and boots, her hair tied behind her head, with two cups of hot cocoa in hand. “Alex,” she called, “time to come in.”
The brothers stood side by side at attention. Benjamin held his right hand over his cheek, where a red welt the size of a boy’s fist was in bloom. He sniffed back the tears as his mother approached.
Arthur said, “Hi Ma.”
She pulled Benjamin’s hand away from his face. “Jesus, Joseph and Mary, what happened to you?”
With all the stoicism he could muster, he replied, “Nothing, Ma.”
“Don’t you nothing me—wait a minute, where is
She washed his knuckles with a soapy dishrag. “All right, Mr. Big Boy.” She laid his snowsuit out on the floor. “Can you help Momma put on your snowsuit?”
With his newly elongated arms, it was simple for Alex to reach down and grip the pant legs. However, putting the right leg into the right hole was another matter. He put both feet into one of the snowsuit legs and fell over. He kicked violently, and the more he struggled, the more entrapped he became, as if the snowsuit were a Chinese finger puzzle.
Standing in his red snowsuit, he looked like a small fireplug. The material from the legs bunched up around his ankles, but the arms were still a bit short.
Irene led him out to the snow fort Arthur and Benjamin had built with snow bricks molded from one of her pound cake pans. She went into the kitchen and began to cut stew meat into chunks, rinsed the carrots and the celery, the onions, the potatoes. She monitored Benjamin and Arthur’s yells as they cut through the chilly air.
The Miller boys were at war with the Walsh twins, Jackie and Kevin from across Mellon Street. They’d stockpiled a great deal of ordnance—50 snowballs, each the size of a hand grenade. But now the well-provisioned warriors had a new problem—Alex. When the Walsh attack came—imminently, the boys were sure—what were supposed to do with their tiny little brother, who would just be in the way? The Walsh twins were clever, sneaky fighters. Just yesterday, they’d jumped Benjamin, who’d walked home from school by himself because Arthur had to stay for detention. They washed his face with snow and called him a dirty Jew, which sounded tough to them, even though they weren’t quite sure what it meant.
Alex picked up a snowball.
“Alex, put that down,” said Arthur.
“Why?”
Imitating his father’s voice and lack of logic, he said, “Because I said so, that’s why.”
“Aw, luh…let him have one,” said Benjamin.
“Shut up, stutter-mouth.” Arthur squatted with his back against the inside front wall of the fort. “Dad said he’s gonna take us to the Pirates this year.”
“When?”
“I don’t know, sometime.”
“No, I mean, when did he suh…say that? I didn’t hear him say that.”
“You didn’t hear it, Benjamin, because he didn’t say it to you, he said it to muh…muh…me, stupid stutter-mouth. Hey Alex, don’t put that snowball in your mouth.” Alex dropped his right arm to his side and peered over his left shoulder. He swung his arm like a catapult and tossed the snowball four feet ahead of him.
“Wow,” Arthur said.
“Wow,” Benjamin said.
This time, the snowball went a foot farther.
Benjamin stood up to retrieve it. Almost immediately, a snowball with a stone inside caught him flush on the cheek. He went down as if shot. Arthur turned toward where the missile had come from, but as he did, Jackie Walsh rushed the fort from the other side, snatched Alex and ran off across the street.
Arthur knelt down beside his brother. “Benjamin, they got Alex. Stop crying and get up…”
“Boys?” Irene’s voice rang out from the house.
“Oh shit,” said Benjamin, sobbing. “It’s muh…Ma.”
Irene walked through the slushy snow in her apron and boots, her hair tied behind her head, with two cups of hot cocoa in hand. “Alex,” she called, “time to come in.”
The brothers stood side by side at attention. Benjamin held his right hand over his cheek, where a red welt the size of a boy’s fist was in bloom. He sniffed back the tears as his mother approached.
Arthur said, “Hi Ma.”
She pulled Benjamin’s hand away from his face. “Jesus, Joseph and Mary, what happened to you?”
With all the stoicism he could muster, he replied, “Nothing, Ma.”
“Don’t you nothing me—wait a minute, where is
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