'I wanted to think about it. He said he read it in the paper.'
'I don't think so.'
'That's what one of the kids at school told me. That a person's blood can turn to water and he dies.'
'He was probably talking about leukemia.'
'What's that?' he inquires sharply.
'I knew it was a mistake to tell you,' I reply, with a regretful click of the tongue. 'Even as I was saying it. It's a disease of the blood. Something happens to the white corpuscles.'
'Does it turn to water?'
'No. I don't think so. Not water. Something like it happens, though.'
'Do people die from it?'
'Sometimes.'
'Do kids like me get it?'
'I don't think so,' I lie.
'It was a kid he said he read about. He said it was a kid who died from it.'
'Maybe they do then. I think that once in a while —»
'Don't tell me about it,' he interrupts, putting both hands up in another comical gesture of awestruck horror that is both histrionic and real.
'I already have.'
'Don't tell me any more.'
'You always do that,' I criticize him kindly. 'You ask me all the questions you can think of about something terrible and then when I finish answering them you tell me, 'don't tell me about it.»
'Are you angry?'
'Do I look it? No, of course not.'
'Sometimes I can't tell.'
'Sure, you can. You keep telling me I yell all the time. No, I'm not angry. I want you to talk to me about the things you're thinking about, especially the things you can't figure out.'
'Do you? I will.'
'I do. Ask me anything.'
'Do you fuck Mommy,' he asks. 'You said I could,' he pleads hastily, as he sees me gape at him in surprise.
'Yes, you can,' I answer. 'Sometimes.'
'Why?'
'It feels good, that's why. It's kind of fun. Do you know what it means?'
He shakes his head unsurely. 'Is it all right for me to ask you?'
'It's all right to ask if I do. I think it would be better to ask someone else what it is. It would also be a little better if you used a different word.'
'I don't know a different word. Screw?'
'That's almost the same. You can use the word you want. It's a little funny, though, to use it with me. Use it. I suppose it's good enough.'
'Are you angry with me?'
'No. Why do you keep asking me that? Don't you know when I'm angry or not?'
'Not all the time.'
'I thought I yelled so much.'
'Not all the time. Sometimes you don't talk at all. Or you talk to yourself.'
'I don't talk to myself.'
'You bite your nails and don't even listen to any of us.'
'Do I? What makes you think I'm angry when I'm like that?'
'We're all afraid.'
'That doesn't mean I am. Sometimes I'm just feeling unhappy. Or concentrating. I can be unhappy too, can't I?'
'Would Mommy be angry if I asked her?'
'What?'
'If you fuck her.'
'Only because of that word. Maybe not. Don't do it in front of anyone.'
'I better not.'
'You already asked me. I already told you. If you ask her too, it wouldn't be to find out, would it? It would just be to see if she gets angry.'
'Was it all right? To ask you?'
'You already asked me that three times. I'm not angry. Do you want me to be angry?'
'I thought you'd be. I bet other kids' fathers would be.'
'Maybe I ought to be. I'm better than other kids' fathers. Is that why you keep asking me? Are you trying to make me angry?'
He shakes his head positively. 'No. I don't like it when you're angry. I can tell. You're starting to get angry now, aren't you?'
'I don't like it, either. And I'm not.'
'Emphasis?' he remembers.
'Emphasis,' I confirm.
'I don't like Derek,' he remarks without pause. He wears a troubled, injured look.
'You're not supposed to say that,' I instruct him mildly. 'You're not supposed to feel that way, either.'
'Do you?'
'You're not supposed to ask that.'
'You just told me I could ask you anything. That's another thing I always think about.'
'Yes. You can. It was okay for you to say what you did and ask me. And it was also okay for me to answer you the way I did. It was all right for both of us. Can you understand that? I hope that's not too confusing for you. I'm not trying to duck out on the question.'
'Am I supposed to say it or not? I don't know.'
'I don't know,' I admit resignedly. 'I'm not sure I like Derek, either, the situation I mean, the way he is, maybe even him too. I'm not sure. But we often have to live with things we don't like. Like my job. Me too. I don't know what to do about him yet. And nobody can help me.'
'He makes me uncomfortable.'
'He makes me uncomfortable.'
'I'm ashamed to bring friends here. I think they'll make jokes about me.'
'So are we. But we try not to be. We shouldn't be. And you should try not to be too. It's not our fault, it really isn't, so we pretend we aren't. Ashamed. What else?'
'Money.'
'What about it?'
'You want me to tell you what's on my mind, don't you?'
'Yours too?'
'Do we have any?'
'What do you want?'
'That's not why.'
'What is?'
'You buy me everything.'
'So far.'
'Have we got too much?'
'For what? We're not millionaires.'
'Have we got enough?'
'For what?'
'You make it hard,' he charges. 'You're kidding now. And I'm not.'
