up, hugging the floor, making himself heavy, cumbersome, to discourage any attempt to lift him.
She went back down the stairs and found Ben, but when she tried to explain the situation he became impatient: kid stuff was Nancy’s province.
‘Just fetch him down. If necessary, give him a whack.’
‘A whack? ’
A slow wave of anger built in Nancy, composed of weariness, resentment and a sense of being on her own.
‘He’s your son,’ she said. ‘ You fetch him down.’
Her legs seemed to give way under her and she collapsed in the porch; slumped, uncaring of dirt and dust on the steps.
‘ You give him a whack. If you think that’s what you want to do. I’m not about to start hitting him.’
Ben went up the stairs and climbed the ladder to the loft.
‘Hey, kid.’
He peered across at the boy, very small, huddled on the floor, seeming to be hugging the wall. In the corner of the shadowy room he looked less blond, and something about the angle of his head, the way he raised a shoulder as he looked up at Ben, was for a shocking moment a reminder of the past: Ben saw that he was Cho-Cho’s child.
Joey began to cry, heavy tears welling and dripping on to his knees.
Ben moved into the room and squatted down, keeping things slow and easy, his back propped against the wall.
‘What’s going on here?’
Joey said, ‘Is Nancy going to die?’
‘What?’
‘After we leave the house. Will she be dead?’
Nancy was still on the porch steps, hunched, eyes closed, when Ben came back out and sat down next to her.
‘He’s scared to leave.’
Her eyes blinked open. ‘What?’
‘He said, after he was taken away from home before, he was told his mother was dead and he never saw her again. He’s scared the same thing will happen now and he’ll get another new mom.’
Appalled, Nancy felt the past rise up and crash down on her, an intolerable weight she must endure.
‘Oh God. Oh God.’
‘It’s okay. I told him that wouldn’t happen.’
‘Ben. Maybe we were wrong . . .’
Within the house they heard the kitten-soft sound of Joey slowly descending the stairs.
‘I told him he could sit on your lap in the truck. You’d be fine as long as he was around.’ He added ruefully, ‘He doesn’t give a shit about me.’
16
When Joey asked where they were going Nancy told him they had a new home. He would have a new school.
‘It’ll be an adventure. It’ll be fun.’
The rented apartment was cramped, though Joey still had a room – of sorts: a curtained closet just big enough to take his bed, with a few toys and books stored in boxes underneath.
Ben looked from the chipped sink to the small table, the light from the overhead bulb showing every scratch on the surface.
‘This is no place to be.’
‘Maybe we won’t have to stay here too long.’
He had managed to hold on to the truck, which he drove back and forth between small-holdings and stores, carrying farm goods, equipment, supplies. Newspaper headlines were no longer optimistic, though Ben tried to keep cheerful when the boy was in earshot.
‘We’re doing okay,’ he said. ‘We’re doing okay.’
For the first time he gave thanks that there was just Joey to think about. He had expected Nancy to give him a kid well before this, and was increasingly aware of unspoken grandparental speculation. Now – silver lining time – it meant one mouth less to feed.
He could have used a drink now and then but alcohol, like choice, was not an option: Prohibition had never been a good idea, in his book, but the way the world was now, the banadded just that bit to the load, like the last straw that broke the camel’s back. On a bad day, he reflected, he might just break the law. He began to smoke more, but soon stopped: cigarettes didn’t grow on trees.
At the local nursery Nancy cared for toddlers whose mothers went out to work. Her hair no longer bounced sleek and shiny to her shoulders; washed less frequently, it hung, lank, tucked
She went back down the stairs and found Ben, but when she tried to explain the situation he became impatient: kid stuff was Nancy’s province.
‘Just fetch him down. If necessary, give him a whack.’
‘A whack? ’
A slow wave of anger built in Nancy, composed of weariness, resentment and a sense of being on her own.
‘He’s your son,’ she said. ‘ You fetch him down.’
Her legs seemed to give way under her and she collapsed in the porch; slumped, uncaring of dirt and dust on the steps.
‘ You give him a whack. If you think that’s what you want to do. I’m not about to start hitting him.’
Ben went up the stairs and climbed the ladder to the loft.
‘Hey, kid.’
He peered across at the boy, very small, huddled on the floor, seeming to be hugging the wall. In the corner of the shadowy room he looked less blond, and something about the angle of his head, the way he raised a shoulder as he looked up at Ben, was for a shocking moment a reminder of the past: Ben saw that he was Cho-Cho’s child.
Joey began to cry, heavy tears welling and dripping on to his knees.
Ben moved into the room and squatted down, keeping things slow and easy, his back propped against the wall.
‘What’s going on here?’
Joey said, ‘Is Nancy going to die?’
‘What?’
‘After we leave the house. Will she be dead?’
Nancy was still on the porch steps, hunched, eyes closed, when Ben came back out and sat down next to her.
‘He’s scared to leave.’
Her eyes blinked open. ‘What?’
‘He said, after he was taken away from home before, he was told his mother was dead and he never saw her again. He’s scared the same thing will happen now and he’ll get another new mom.’
Appalled, Nancy felt the past rise up and crash down on her, an intolerable weight she must endure.
‘Oh God. Oh God.’
‘It’s okay. I told him that wouldn’t happen.’
‘Ben. Maybe we were wrong . . .’
Within the house they heard the kitten-soft sound of Joey slowly descending the stairs.
‘I told him he could sit on your lap in the truck. You’d be fine as long as he was around.’ He added ruefully, ‘He doesn’t give a shit about me.’
16
When Joey asked where they were going Nancy told him they had a new home. He would have a new school.
‘It’ll be an adventure. It’ll be fun.’
The rented apartment was cramped, though Joey still had a room – of sorts: a curtained closet just big enough to take his bed, with a few toys and books stored in boxes underneath.
Ben looked from the chipped sink to the small table, the light from the overhead bulb showing every scratch on the surface.
‘This is no place to be.’
‘Maybe we won’t have to stay here too long.’
He had managed to hold on to the truck, which he drove back and forth between small-holdings and stores, carrying farm goods, equipment, supplies. Newspaper headlines were no longer optimistic, though Ben tried to keep cheerful when the boy was in earshot.
‘We’re doing okay,’ he said. ‘We’re doing okay.’
For the first time he gave thanks that there was just Joey to think about. He had expected Nancy to give him a kid well before this, and was increasingly aware of unspoken grandparental speculation. Now – silver lining time – it meant one mouth less to feed.
He could have used a drink now and then but alcohol, like choice, was not an option: Prohibition had never been a good idea, in his book, but the way the world was now, the banadded just that bit to the load, like the last straw that broke the camel’s back. On a bad day, he reflected, he might just break the law. He began to smoke more, but soon stopped: cigarettes didn’t grow on trees.
At the local nursery Nancy cared for toddlers whose mothers went out to work. Her hair no longer bounced sleek and shiny to her shoulders; washed less frequently, it hung, lank, tucked
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