had said it just so she could start over again,
just to prove that she could do it. anyway, she
did it, all over again, and it worked.
Until the front door banged, and there were
steps in the hall. i knew that it was Theodore
murrell, and started to heave up again. But even
now, just for the last instant, she pressed her palm
down on my forehead, and didn’t let go until the
sound of Theodore’s steps had entered the room.
i got to my feet, feeling my coat crawling up around my neck and my tie under one
ear, and looked across at Theodore, who had a
beautiful blond mustache and apple cheeks and
pale hair laid like taffy on a round skull and a
You don’t have to deserve your mother’s love.
You have to deserve your father’s. He’s more
particular. The father is always a Republican
towards his son, and his mother’s always a
Democrat. —Robert Frost, 1960
hint of dignity at the belly (bend over, you bastard, bend over one hundred times every morning and touch the floor, you bastard, or mrs.
murrell won’t like you, and then where would
you be?) and a slightly adenoidal lisp, like too
much hot porridge, when he opened the aperture under the beautiful blond mustache.
my mother approached him with that
bright stride and her shoulders well back, and
stopped right before the young Executive. The
young Executive put his right arm about her
shoulder, and kissed her with the aperture under the beautiful blond mustache, and she seized
him by the sleeve and drew him over toward me,
and he said, “Well, well, old boy, it’s fine to see
you. How’s tricks, how’s the old politician?”
“fine,” i said, “but i’m not a politician, i’m
a hired hand.”
“Oho,” he said, “don’t try to kid me. They
say you and the governor are just like this.” and
he held up two not thin, very clean, perfectly
manicured fingers for me to admire.
“you don’t know the governor,” i replied,
“for the only thing the governor is just like this
with—” and i held up two not very clean and
quite imperfectly manicured fingers—“is the
governor, and now and then God almighty
when he needs somebody to hold the hog while
he cuts the throat.”
“Well, the way he’s going—” Theodore began.
