The Mothering Coven by Joanna Ruocco Page A

lunch menu for today? Sloppy Joes, tater tots, and pizza! How wonderful! Bryce takes her tray to a table in the corner. Her smock is a big hit with the children.
    “We like the bunnies,” say the children.
    “Fertility,” says Bryce, with some horror. She is not used to being surrounded by children. It frightens her. They are sticky and small with big, irregularly blinking eyes. Bryce takes a few bottles of nail polish from her pockets and lets them paint her beret. While they paint, she eats their tater tots. One serving is not enough for someone of Bryce’s age and stature.
    Bryce finds more and more to like about the children. A very plump girl has just painted a tolerable portrait of Rutherford B. Hayes right in the middle of the beret. Rutherford B. Hayes would not have been Bryce’s first choice in portraiture, but the very plump girl has given him the eyes that Bryce likes, the ones that follow you all around the room. A very plump boy has just painted a blob. Upon closer inspection, it is Pangaea. The children are fantastically talented.
    “To think, not long ago you were sea creatures,” marvels Bryce.
    The lunch monitor is approaching. Bryce gathers up the bottles of gas. She puts on her beret. She feels quite full. The nail polish is giving her a headache.
    “See you all tomorrow!” says Bryce.
    [:]
    Have the townspeople noticed that their ovens aren’t working? They have not. The townspeople have many things to eat that do not require ovens. The townspeople are eating Bismarcks and Waldorf Salads and crudités and the many kinds of breakfast cereal available in the supermarket. Bryce likes to go and look at the boxes of breakfast cereal. They are perfect just the way they are.
    [:]
    Mrs. Scattergood is buying muesli. There is a woman next to her in line who smells like a nail salon. The woman is giving Mrs. Scattergood a thunderous look. Her shopping cart is filled with sliced bread.
    “One of those crazy women who feeds the birds,” thinks Mrs. Scattergood. As though the birds did not have plenty to eat in Nature, beechnuts and pinecones and pussy willows and litter, all the ripped opened packets of ketchup. Mrs. Scattergood has been reading the science journals. Avian obesity—entire flocks too fat to fly south, freezing to death in the eaves of the houses. She returns the woman’s thunderous look.
    Nearby, an extremely tiny old man is sitting in a shopping cart in footsie pajamas. He is bald with a walrus mustache. He waves at Mrs. Scattergood.
    “Hello, Herr Walrossbart,” says Mrs. Scattergood. “Peek-a-
    boo.”
    [:]
    Agnes is the only paleozoologist in the county. It is remarkable that she can’t find steadier work.
    “There are very few opportunities in this town,” says Agnes. Very few technical careers, very few high-level executive positions or full professorships, very few objets petit a. Agnes is certain that’s why Bertrand left us.
    “Where does it say that?” asked Bryce. Agnes held the note to her chest.
    “She’s gone to find her objet petit a,” said Agnes. “It’s what she doesn’t say.”
    [:]
    Years ago, before Hildegard, we had a foreign student named Dragomir. He was merry and ate many eggs. He arrived with a note written on the stationery of the General Inspectorate of Romanian Police.
    Dragomir is pleased to study the polynomial rings .
    Dragomir was not pleased to study the polynomial rings. Instead he hammered all day in the room beneath the stairs and built a beautiful red and silver bicycle rickshaw. He left two scratches, one on either side of the hallway, from his wide handlebars, and he rode away through the center of town, up the entrance ramp, onto the highways of the United States of America.
    [:]
    Hildegard was not pleased to study the polynomial rings either. She was very skilled at listening to headphones. She also worked on an artistic project. Every day she added chewing gum to the enormous ball of chewing gum in the kitchen. Bryce helped by