BARBARA GRIZZUTI HARRISON
423
fore her brother and his wife arrived, while Sadie napped, she had
gone through all of Sadie's kitchen cabinets, removing all the 1940s
glasses, which she put in a large shopping bag. Also a Depression–
glass sugar pitcher and creamer. "Mommy, what are you doing?"
her daughter asked; the child had sounded frightened. "Sadie will
never miss them," Clara said; "We'll buy her new ones." Clara's son
said, "Mommy, don't." But Clara plundered nonetheless.
The Barcalounger was covered with shiny green slipcovers.
"You wouldn't think you could get slipcovers for a Barcalounger ,"
Clara said; "Wouldn't you think they'd interfere with the machinery?
Trust my mother." Clara's son poured her a drink. "What I really
want is a cigarette," she said. Sadie-who could sleep through earth–
quakes, but who'd always heard the key turn in the lock when Clara
came home from dates, to this house, years ago-called from the
bedroom: "No cigarettes! That's what's killing your father!" "Don't
say
killing,"
Clara said.
Now Clara said, "Why don't you put the Barcalounger in the
room with daddy, next to his bed? He likes somebody to hold his
hand."
"You
hold his hand," Sadie said; "I can't stand his moaning.
I'm too compassionate, it hurts me."
"Ma can't sleep," Clara's brother said.
"It's only a matter of time," Clara said, while her sister-in-law
banged the pots in the sink, and her daughter said, "Oh Mommy!"
"Hey!" her brother said.
Clara wondered how she was going to get the shopping bag
with the Depression glass and the deco juice glasses out of the house.
The stench in the old man's room overwhelmed all of Clara's
sympathy, all of Clara's love. She could think of nothing else. She
could not remember what the old man had looked like before he
looked like this - shrunken, bent, fierce, skin like crinkled crepe. His
breathing was shallow and fast. Once in a while he spoke: "Give me
a cigarette," he said. "No, Daddy," Clara said; she was afraid of
Sadie, who had found three cigarettes in his pajama top. The ciga–
rettes had come from Clara's son, who was not afraid of Sadie, and
who did not mind the smell.
"Who are all these men?" the old man said, his fire-bright eyes
scanning the dark, empty room.
"There's no one here, Daddy, just shadows," Clara said.
"Who are all these men?" he said.
"Shhh. It's okay."
