Hornets and Others

patch before you lost your sight. Do you remember this?'

'I... oh, God... I was told...'

'Never mind what you were told. It is time to go back. You were told your governess was responsible for the accident because you could not handle what you saw. Your brother was taken away after the incident, and has spent his entire life in institutions. He is insane. He wanted to kill you that day out of jealousy for your attachment to your governess. He tried to kill you. Do you remember all of it now?'

'I... my God, yes...'

'Tell it to me.'

'Oh my God.'

'Tell it to me.'

'I can't. I won't...'

'You must. Begin now, please.'

'I…'

'Begin now.'

'We... were roughhousing like I said, in that yellow field behind the house; it was cold... We were tumbling on the grass, moving closer to the corn field, and I remember that Nancy came out to tell us to stay away from the corn stalks. The day...'

'Yes?'

'The day smelled a lot like this one. There was the same smell in the air.'

'Go on.'

'My brother ignored her, and tumbled me closer to the corn; he was a bit older than I was and much bigger. The governess came over to scold him, and he laughed and deliberately pushed me into the corn, and those stalks came into my eyes...'

'Are you all right? Are you calm?'

'...Yes.'

'Good. Go on then.'

'Nancy... ran over, and I felt her hands on my face, and she pulled them out of my eyes with that sucking sound...'

'Yes?'

'I... remember clearing away the blood, and I saw my brother... push Nancy down into the corn patch, and he... got on top of her, weighing her down...'

'And then?'

'It's very difficult...'

'You must, as I said.'

'He... was on top of her. He grabbed a husk of dried corn and began to... stab her in the face, in the eyes, and she screamed and screamed and...'

'You must go on.'

'And the blood covered my eyes and I couldn't see any more, and I awoke in the hospital.'

'Very good. Is that all?'

'Yes, that's... all...'

'You are all right?'

'Yes. Yes, I'm all right.'

'You are calm?'

'Yes.'

'Good. It is good that you remember these things.'

'I can't believe I didn't remember!'

'You must be calm. It was necessary. You are calm now?'

'Yes.'

'Good. There is something I must tell you.'

'What do you mean?'

'Your brother has escaped from the institution he was in. That is why you were brought here.'

''I—''

'Listen. Are you calm?'

^'Yes, I am calm.'

'Good. Your brother will try to kill you. He wants to kill you. That is why you are here.'

'I am safe?'

'That is why you are here. You will remain calm?'

'Yes.'

'Good. There is something else I must tell you. Do you know where you are?'

'At another hospital, outside, on the grounds.'

'That is not correct. Smell the air. Reach down and feel where you are. Do you know where you are?'

''I—'

'Yes, the corn. It is Autumn. Do you know who I am?'

'A doctor. Another doctor.'

'I am your brother.'

'Oh my G—'

Two

Sometimes now, when a cup fell from a cupboard, or a book fell from its shelf, or a spoon hit a pan or the television snapped on loud, she suddenly heard the scream of brakes.

'Mom?'

He placed his knife on his fork, ever so gently, but the sound went through her like a fingernail down a blackboard.

'Yes, Tanny?' The voice was a practiced voice, not really her own. The practiced voice was calm; her own voice wanted to scream and scream like those brakes.

'My birthday—'

'I know, Tanny,' and the practiced voice spoke a little too quickly, a little too loud.

He came close, a mop of dark amber hair over darkly serious eyes, and carefully opened a paper, putting it by her plate. A boy without a father. She wanted to touch him, but she was afraid that if she touched him, if she lay her hand on his head, he would fall to pieces and that when the pieces hit the floor she would hear the wail of locked brakes forever.

Oh, Carl, why can't you be here for him again!

And then Tanny was gone, with the door to his room clicking gently shut (scream!) and the house grew winter cold around her.

That night, each night, she dreamed a dream. Sometimes it began with Tanny and Carl fishing on the short dock that jutted crookedly into the blue lake as she looked on. Sometimes she sat in a wooden-slatted beach chair and watched while Tanny and Carl flew a kite in the small meadow by the cabin, or while they rowed in aimless circles at the exact center of the lake while their laughs, high and low and crystal clear over the water, reached her content ears. Sometimes Carl and Tanny were sitting at dinner in the cabin while she served them, a single candle orangely illuminating their faces for her. This is how it had been in life: she the happy spectator as her son and husband lived their happy lives before her. After one of these scenes, the rest of the dream was always the same. They were in their bright yellow station wagon—Carl and Tanny in matching short-sleeved red and white checked sport shirts and she in a light blue dress. Carl drove, and they moved down the brown and green mountain like a drop of white wine down an upheld corkscrew. There was laughter in the car, Tanny's high laugh mixing with the