Broken Read Online Free

eyes!”
    “What?”
    “You’re not going to just leave your son out there, are you?”
    “Woman,” he said, with his eyes still closed, “leave me alone.”
    “Walter!”
    He opened his eyes.
    “You can’t leave him out there. It’s cold. And it’s raining.”
    Walter’s eyes flashed. She thought he was going to jump up and hit her. But he just sat there staring at her until the hot cigarette stub burned his fingers. He dropped the butt into the ashtray, took his feet down from the hassock, stood up, and walked out of the room. She heard him open the kitchen cabinet above the sink. When he came back he was holding a pint of bourbon. “So?” he said defensively.
    “I didn’t say anything.”
    She never said anything about his drinking. She didn’t dare. She wondered why he felt he had to drink so much anyway. “I didn’t mean to upset you. But he’s just a little boy and ...”
    Walter was standing in the middle of the room, unscrewing the bottle cap. When she saw the look in his eyes, she stopped talking. He took a long drink of the whiskey, wiped his mouth on his sleeve and mumbled something.
    “What did you say?” she asked.
    “My grandmother used to tell my father that. ‘ Joseph! On jest naly chlopiec!’”
    Sarah stared at him. She didn’t understand.
    “On jest naly chlopiec.” It means, ‘He’s just a little boy.’ That’s what it means.”
    Walter sat down in a straight back chair, his jaw clenched, and his breathing heavy. Sarah slid the hassock near the chair to sit in front of him. “Did your father make you stay out in the rain?”
    Walter looked at his wife as though the question didn’t make any sense. “My grandmother raised me,” he said. “Bubka.” He smiled to himself. “I killed my mother, ya know. When I was born my mother died.” He took another gulp of whiskey. “I killed her.”
    He leaned forward, placing the pint of whiskey next to an empty beer bottle. “What did you ask me?” he looked at his wife. “Oh, yes. Did my father make me stay out in the rain? No! Absolutely not!” He laughed. “It was snowing.” Shaking his head, he frowned. “No, it wasn’t snowing. It was cold. Below zero. Way below zero. Freezing! Bubka tried to sneak out and give me my coat—my mittens...”
    He looked down at his huge callused hands and laughed again.
    Sarah reached out to touch her husband.
    He pushed her away saying, “He hit her! My father hit my grandmother.”
    “Because she wanted to give you the coat? Is that why he hit her?”
    “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    “Sometimes it’s good to talk about things. Was that your mother’s mother?”
    He nodded. “My grandmother said I didn’t kill my mother. She said it was the doctor’s fault. She said my father was crazy. She said my father should have sued the doctor.”
    “Why didn’t your grandmother sue the doctor?”
    “Woman! You don’t know when to shut up! My grandmother could hardly speak English. She was afraid.”
    Sarah was silent. Walter lit a cigarette. He got up and walked to the front door. With the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, he put on his coat and walked out.
    Sarah followed him out to the porch, then began to follow him down the steps. The rain had eased but the wind was still strong. It blew into her face, sending her back to the protection of the doorway.
     
    *     *     *
     
    Upstairs in the front bedroom, little Anna Mae sat on the floor, her face still smudged. With one hand, she held her doll, Susie, close to her cheek. She sucked the thumb of her other hand, her index finger hooked over her nose. She had done something wrong. She felt that. But she didn’t understand what she had done wrong or why her Uncle Walter had sent her upstairs. She heard Aunt Sarah out on the porch. A moment later she heard her come in and shut the door.
    Anna Mae went to the window. Standing on tiptoes, she could see down to the street. She watched the Buick pull away