Удушье (Choke)

this blue part supposed to be sky or water?' he says.

And my mom's old blue eyes start to fill up with juice.

'Victor?' she says.

She clears her throat. Staring at Denny, she says, 'You're here.'

And Denny keeps spreading the puzzle pieces with his fin­gers, picking out the flat ones and getting them off to one side. On the stubble of his shaved head, from his red plaid shirt, there are lumps of red lint.

And my mom's old hand creaks out across the table and closes around Denny's hand. 'It's so good to see you,' she says. 'How are you? It's been so long.' A little eye juice tips out the bottom of one eye and follows the wrinkles to the corner of her mouth.

'Jeez,' Denny says, and he pulls his hand back. 'Mrs. Mancini, your hands are freezing.'

My mother says, 'I'm sorry.'

You can smell some kind of cafeteria food, cabbage or beans, that's being cooked down to mush.

This whole time, I'm still standing here.

Denny pieces together a few inches of the edge. To me, he says, 'So when do we meet this perfect lady doctor of yours?'

My mom says, 'You're not going already, are you?' She looks at Denny, her eyes swamped and her old eyebrow bushes kissing together in the middle above her nose. 'I've missed you so much,' she says.

Denny says, 'Hey, dude, we lucked out. Here's a corner!'

My mom's shaky, boiled-looking old hand shakes over and picks a clump of red lint off Denny's head.

And I say, 'Excuse me, Mrs. Mancini.' I say, 'But wasn't there something you needed to tell your son?'

My mom just looks at me, then at Denny. 'Can you stay, Vic­tor?' she says. 'We need to talk. There's so much I need to ex­plain.'

'So explain,' I say.

Denny says, 'Here's an eye, I think.' He says, 'So is this sup­posed to be somebody's face?'

My mom holds one shaky old hand open at me, and she says, 'Fred, this is between my son and me. This is an important fam­ily matter. Go someplace. Go watch the television, and let us visit in private.'

And I say, 'But.'

But my mom says, 'Go.'

Denny says, 'Here's another corner.' Denny picks out all the blue pieces and puts them off to one side. All the pieces are the same basic shape, liquid crosses. Melted swastikas.

'Go try to save someone else for a change,' my mom says, not looking at me. Looking at Denny, she says, 'Victor will come find you when we're done.'

She watches me until I step back as far as the hallway. After that she says something to Denny I can't hear. Her shaky hand reaches to touch Denny's shiny blue scalp, to touch it just behind one ear. Where her pajama sleeve stops, her old wrist shows stringy and thin brown as a boiled turkey neck.

Still nosing around in the puzzle, Denny flinches.

A smell comes around me, a diaper smell, and a broken voice behind me says, 'You're the one who threw all my second-grade primers in the mud.'

Still watching my mom, trying to see what she's saying, I go, 'Yeah, I guess.'