PARTISAN REVIEW
place, nothing knocked over or tom
up.... I stand in the doorway thinking,
What if somebody hl1s broken in and
has killed her, and now he's waiting for
me with a knife?
Nothing.
The living room empty. Kitchen
empty. "Ma ...?"
There are two of us now, since my
father left. I
call
out, "Ma? Ma?"
Yesterday
she
was in bed at
this
time.
I go back to her room, "their" room
. . . the bed isn't made. A smell of
cigarettes, closed-in air. "Mal' where are
you?" The shower I took after
gym
class
was too hot, then it was too cold.
My body is filmed over with a fuzz of
perspiration grown cold, terrified. I put
my
books
down on the kitchen table.
There is weeping in the air, but silent.
Out in the back yard, nothing. The
clothes line is empty.
The basement?
Down here the silence is heavier. The
weeping heavier, but still silent. Dark
air.
"Ma, are you down here?" I am
angry. There she
is,
squatting behind
the furnace. No, she
is
sitting on some–
thing. "What are you doing? Why are
you hiding?" I ask her. I can smell her
sweat. She says nothing.
I can feel the weight in her, her body.
She
is
panting. She hugs herself. She
is
making a funny noise - her teeth
are chattering. "Why are you down
here? Why are you down here hiding?"
I
scream.
419
