The Scent of the Queengrass: A Requiem in Seven Parts

By Trevor Siegel

Meet one William Fennyman. Born in 1908 in rural North Dakota, William is a person torn between gazing back to the past and looking to the future. After the loss of his father in the trenches of WWI, William and his family move in with their abusive Uncle George. Yet a violent incident soon leaves his older brother, Phillip, badly injured, and William is thus sent in his stead to a far off private school: Turnbrook Academy. At Turnbrook, William’s constant bullying and sense of isolation begin to change his outlook on life for the worst, especially with regards to his new and frightened perception of memory and the past. As the years go by and he grows into a man of his own, however, he slowly begins to understand that growing up is nothing without the memories we create along the way. Rich in metaphor and chalk full of lived-in characters and beautiful dialogue, “The Scent of the Queengrass” applies eternal philosophical questions to a starkly intimate portrait of a boy coming to terms with what it means to live alongside the constant motion of time itself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Feb 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9781663217882

Trevor Siegel

“The Scent of the Queengrass” is the third novel by Trevor Siegel following “Grime 314: a novel” and “Wilson on the Search for Originality”, both of which were published while he was still in high school. He is currently a freshman majoring in film and media studies at Columbia University and owes everything to his loving family and friends.

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Copyright © 2021 Trevor Siegel.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-6632-1789-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-1792-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-1788-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021903569

iUniverse rev. date:   02/18/2021

Contents

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

THE GARDEN

March 21, 1918

THE WELL

September 22, 1922

THE STORM

December 6, 1941

THE DUST

October 30, 1943

THE QUEENGRASS

June 21, 1950

THE WIND

July 4, 1980

KIP

March, 1990

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Words of thanks first need to be given to my loving and supporting family. Mom, Dad, Matthew, Izaiah, and especially Brewster: you all have shaped me into the person I am today, and for that I am eternally grateful. I love you guys. Darwin, I miss you lots.

Thanks next goes to Riley, Kate, and Molly, my amazing roommates and the family away from home I never knew I had. Now be quiet, The Bachelor is on!

Thanks should be given to Ian Nolon, my best friend from home and the best Michael Wormwood of the entire lot.

Thanks also to my grandparents, cousins, and all other extended family. Yes, now the book is finished. And yes, now you can finally read it!

Finally, thanks to iUniverse for helping edit and publish this novel. You made my thoughts and ramblings legible, which is no easy task whatsoever.

To you all: this book would not exist without you.

Thank you.

For Mom and Dad.

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THE GARDEN

March 21, 1918

I

The winters were harsher then. They we re as cold and bitter as they are now, but back then they carried with them a sense of fear and mistrust. Simply muttering a word about the season in the town square would cause everyone to turn their heads with wide eyes and alert ears. Beckett Smith did just that one late July evening; I remember there being a town meeting the following morning in order to discuss the fallout. Such a panic was caused by his murmurs of an August winter, after all! Even so, despite his error, all he ended up getting was a light slap on the wrist from the town and a heavy one from his momma. Once the leaves fell, however, and the sky turned dark at midday, that eccentric and dramatic paranoia seemed to be well worth it. The cold winds blew through the fields without impediment and stole many a person away from their families.

The war did that too. Father went out on a Tuesday. He waved from the train but didn’t smile. I cried as he left. Phillip did too.

The car came on a Sunday. They aren’t supposed to send any post on Sunday, but the men in the car had a letter to give to us. They had on nice uniforms with brightly shining lapels on each shoulder. Momma cried then. Father didn’t come back.

Phillip and I were in bed for three months when the fever hit. Momma said we got it from that straw of a boy who’d been helping Miss Peppadilla out ’round the big house. Simon, his name was, if I remember correctly. My head hurt something terrible during that awfulness. I was always so cold too.

Momma used to cry by our bedsides every night. ‘Not them too,’ she’d mumble into that old white lace handkerchief of hers. ‘Don’t you take my boys from me too! Damn you, damn you!’

Momma smelled like daisies. That always made me smile.

After some time, the spring air slinked its way through the open window of our bedroom. It smelled of mud and I didn’t like that smell very much. I walked over to Momma’s room to get away from the smell. When I asked her why my legs were wobbling so much she began to cry again and held me so tightly I could hardly breathe. Momma cried often after Father went out to war. George said it was due to her womanish head. Said his brother’s wife didn’t have enough will in her to stay strong. George was not a nice man. He smelled of gin and smoke and he had an ugly, scratchy chin. He spoke loudly but didn’t make sense most of the time. Momma said he would take care of us and that we would have a roof over our heads during the long winters. I knew that the second part was true.

I slept in a small bed in the back corner of the room. I used to have the bed next to the window, but I dreamt once that I tumbled right on out of that old frame in my sleep. I was too scared to fall back to sleep, so Momma had Phillip and me switch beds. I liked the back corner better anyhow. It was nice and warm and cozy and the wind couldn’t reach me there sometimes.

Momma slept across from George’s bedroom. I heard him yell an awful lot at her. I never heard Momma yell back.

I I

William, said Momma. Beans and soup. Beans and soup. Eat your beans and soup. You need to gain back some meat on them frail bones of yours. You too, Phillip! Don’t think I don’t see you not eatin’! She had a bruise under her right eye. George had given her that. Father never would have done something like that to her. He loved Momma. George didn’t. He wanted me to call him sir, but I said no. He hit me for that.

Yes, Momma, I said as I ladled another spoonful of hot soup into my mouth. I despised turnips, although the carrots and potatoes made up for them. I longed for anything besides soup, however. I dreamed of chicken and beef suppers like the ones we used to have during Christmas with Father. He’d come home with a sack full of different treats for us to fill our plates with. One year he had brought us a duck, however, and Phillip cried about having to eat it. I didn’t mind. It was delicious.

Haven’t we got any chicken in the stores? I asked Phillip as I swallowed my soup.

He shrugged and took a spoonful for himself. Nothing the old man will give to us, that’s for sure. He then looked to Momma. You know, he said in a wildly different tone of voice. Richie said to me that the war will be over soon. By next year, even, he said!

Momma frowned. And how is fifteen-year-old Richie who works at the grocer’s supposed to know that? she asked in a dry tone.

Phillip shrugged again. I don’t know, he said. That’s just what he told me the other day when I was helpin’ Miss Montgomery out there. Says he feels it in his left leg that the war will be comin’ to an end sooner or later.

Ain’t Richie the one who says he can feel when it’s supposed to rain because his big toe twitches? I asked.

He nodded. He ain’t half bad with it either. He’s a modern day fortune teller, I tell you! Imagine that! Our very own resident fortune teller. The magician of Monterayan County!

Momma sighed and quietly sipped her soup from her spoon, a light chuckle escaping from her dry and cracked lips.

I placed my elbows onto the table and sank my chin into my open palms. Ain’t there anything else besides soup, beans, and bread that we can eat this spring, Momma? I asked with a bored frown. I bet you Peppadilla’s got some nice, juicy vegetables and fruits in the garden by now.

Momma shook her head. The winter was something awful this year, she said. I’d guess almost every county in North Dakota was hit especially bad in the last few months. Ain’t no ripe food comin’ out yet. We gonna have to wait until April, I’d wager, for any of that. We stickin’ to our stores for now.

But why does George get to eat from the special stores of food while we eat this over and over again? I asked. I’m gettin’ right sick of havin’ it each night!

Momma smiled at me. She was trying to hide it but I could tell that her eyes held a hint of sadness within them. Well, what would you like, William? she asked.

A roasted chicken! I said with wide eyes, the thought of it making my mouth water and my stomach leap up and down in joy. And a great big cake, too!

Oh yes! said Phillip. A great big chocolate cake with a great big bag of peanuts for us to eat. That’s what I want to have for supper, Momma, yes, I do.

Momma set down her spoon and leaned forward into the table with a smile. But boys, she said, ain’t all this enough for you? We can imagine that this here carrot is our little cake and that these beans are nice, yummy pieces of a fat, tender roasted chicken from the little farm down the road.

There’s a farm down the road? asked Phillip. I ain’t never seen no farm down there before.

Why, of course, Phillip, responded Momma. Haven’t you heard of the world famous McMannis Farm? Everyone goes there to get their cakes and chickens!

Wow! I exclaimed. A real life farm!

Momma nodded with a wide smile. And a famous one at that!

Is it by old McGregor’s place? asked Phillip.

Just beyond that old rottin’ cabin of his, yes, Phillip.

I shook my head and frowned again. But no, Momma! I cried. We ain’t got no cake and no chicken to eat here, and there ain’t no damn farm for us either!

Nor peanuts, neither! added Phillip quickly.

Exactly! We eat the same things over and over again! Why can’t we eat what George eats? I bet you he eats the good food when he sits down for supper. That damn son of a bitch gives us nothing, Momma! Nothing!

Language, William! said Momma sternly. Watch your mouth! A boy your age shouldn’t be sayin’ such things! And besides, you know he likes you to call him sir, now don’t you, William? You’d get a right old smacking if your uncle heard you call him by his name just now.

He’s not my uncle.

William!

He’s not my uncle! I repeated. Father’s dead, after all, ain’t he? Ain’t no reason for me to call him my uncle anymore when I ain’t got no more connection with him of any kind!

Momma slammed her hand down on the table. Now you listen here, young man, she said in a serious voice. George may seem a bit cold sometimes, but he has done a whole lot of good for this here family. Don’t you forget that.

Phillip scoffed. Father never would have made us eat soup and beans every day for supper, now would he have?

I nodded my head in agreement. Father always found a way to get us something different for supper. Brought us fresh food each day from the market, he did!

William, that was before the war, said Momma. Not many chickens or cakes left to eat for us now. All those soldiers on the front lines need them more than we do anyhow. They need ’em so that they got enough strength to fight the Kaiser and his men.

Did Father eat many cakes and chickens when he was at war? Phillip asked. Did he give any to the other soldiers like he used to give to us?

I’m sure he did, responded Momma.

Do you think that’s why he was trapped in a fire, Momma? I asked. Because he was cooking so many damn cakes and chickens for all those trench men?

Momma pursed her lips and sighed a deep sigh. No, William, she said softly. No, that’s not at all what happened, although in truth I wish it was. You see, your father died when a German shell landed right on next to him. They said the fire caused by the burning trench was simply awful. But I already knew something of the sort was gonna happen, you know. In fact, I was sure he was dead the moment that train car he was on pulled out of the station.

You knew, Momma? I asked. You knew that Father was gonna die?

In so many ways, yes, William. Yes, I believe I did.

I sat upright in my chair. Then why’d you cry when those men came to tell us he was dead?

William?

If you knew he was already gone from us, why’d you go on and cry?

Momma sighed again and twiddled her fingers together. Because, William, she said softly, knowing for certain that something bad is comin’ don’t mean it’s gonna hurt any less when it gets there.

The room went quiet for a minute or two. We sat and ate in silence. Phillip sipped on a large spoonful of beans and broth. Why doesn’t George go off and fight? he asked finally.

Momma smiled, looking grateful for the respite from the quiet. Well, George did go and fight, she said. For a bit, anyways, he did. After a while, he decided that he was better off making sure that the country had enough money to beat the Kaiser. His oil is fighting the war for him, you see.

Can it wit yer jabbering! yelled George from across the hall in his study. His deep, hoarse voice carried through the house always and echoed about the rooms like a stone being thrown down a well. He never ate with us—said it made him lose his appetite. Can’t youse see I writin’ over here?

I, in fact, could not see him writing, since the double doorway of the kitchen was not wide enough for me to be able to see him sitting at his desk. The most I could see of him were the front edges of his brown leather boots sticking out from behind the archway. I had always hated those boots.

We’re sorry, George. We’re sorry, said Momma in a meek voice. Her shoulders were slouched now and she looked much smaller than she had before. It shan’t happen again. I promise.

I could hear George grumbling as the toes of his boots withdrew from my field of vision. Whate’er, he said. Any of youse seen my hat anywhere ’round the house? The white rimmed one Finnias Murphy got fer me last June? I got a meeting with the boys tomorrow morning and I wanna look my very sharpest. George didn’t talk all too well sometimes but Phillip said Momma had us move in with him because he made a lot of money from the ground. George hadn’t wanted us to stay with him, but I think he felt guilty simply letting his brother’s family starve to death. That was the extent of his generosity: not letting us die. I didn’t understand how so many people could make so much money from the ground, but Phillip usually knew what he was talking about, so I went along with what he said.

Why couldn’t Father have done what George went on and did? I whispered in a soft voice as I quietly set down my finished bowl of soup. Fight the war with his oil, I mean.

Because your father didn’t have any oil to begin with, said Momma. Your father sold books before he went off to fight. And there ain’t no way books could defeat the damn Kaiser and his men. You’d have to throw them awfully fast to win the war that way, after all. Wouldn’t you think?

I guffawed loudly at the thought, and Phillip laughed with me. Throwing books at the Kaiser? With his big bushy mustache and pointed helmet? Now that was a good jest.

Just then, a loud thud came from across the hallway. The three of us went silent. I smelled the odor of gin and smoke as the sound of heavy footsteps grew louder and louder and the boots drew closer and closer. George walked into the kitchen with a scowl and strode over to stand behind Momma’s chair. He gripped the wooden frame tightly as the setting sun’s light shone through the window and cast a lecherous shadow over Momma’s still body.

I I I

Momma stuffed the remainder of my clothes into an already overflowing suitcase. She pressed down with obvious force against my wrinkled clothes until finally she was able to zip up the raggedy old suitcase tightly. It used to be Father’s but he wouldn’t be needing it anymore. Ain’t no suitcases needed where he was now. Where that was exactly was something I didn’t know. Momma took the suitcase and set it down next to the rest of our packed things, bags and bags and bags of stuff that had accumulated over a life that for her was now over. Phillip and I walked on over to her. I could tell that she’d been crying.

‘Momma?’ I asked. ‘Why you crying?’

Momma sniffled and wiped her eyes. Her tears fell onto the daisies that lined the path to the house. Momma smelled like those daisies. ‘Sometimes you gotta cry in order to feel happy later on, William. That’s all. I’m just makin’ sure I can feel happy down the road.’

Phillip gave a loud and obvious sigh, his nose scrunching up as he did so. ‘Do we really got to move on out of our house now?’ he asked with a moan.

Momma sighed and looked at Phillip and me with lonely, sad eyes. ‘Yes, Phillip,’ she said quietly, a hint of melancholy hiding about her voice.

‘Why, Momma?’ he asked.

‘Because it ain’t our house anymore.’

I frowned. ‘Why ain’t it our house anymore, Momma?’ I asked earnestly.

Momma smiled faintly and crouched down so that she was face to face with the two of us. ‘Because we ain’t got no more money to pay for ourselves, William,’ she said with a nod. ‘So we got to go elsewhere to live now.’ I nodded back at her, although I didn’t know why either of us was nodding in the first place. I guessed that was just something adults like to do with each other when they’re feeling sad—nod. I found that funny. Adults were funny like that sometimes.

‘So we’re just gonna move on out, then?’ asked Phillip with a furrowed brow.

‘For how long, Momma?’ I asked. ‘When’re we coming back?’

Momma brushed my hair back with her hand and smiled at me lovingly. Her eyes shone brightly in the beams of the faint morning sunlight. ‘I’m sorry, William,’ she said gently. ‘But we ain’t gonna be comin’ back.’

‘Never?’ I asked.

She turned to me and shook her head. ‘No, William,’ she replied. ‘Never.’

Never seemed like an awfully long time to me.

‘No, Momma!’ cried Phillip from beside me. His bottom lip was quivering and his eyes were beginning to fill up with tears. ‘No, I don’t wanna leave home! Father wouldn’t want us to leave home! I know he wouldn’t!’

Momma’s lip began to shake and shudder too, but she cleared her throat and straightened her back slightly and her face cleared from its quick fall into sadness.

‘You know, Phillip,’ she said with another nod of her head. ‘You know, you’re probably right. Father wouldn’t have wanted us to leave this house. He loved this house. But I also know he wouldn’t have wanted us to be unhappy and we would be unhappy if we stayed here. We’d have no food, no school for you, and nothin’ much else. Father would have made the same choice if he was in my position, I can promise you that, boys.’

‘Are we gonna have all that stuff where we’re going, Momma?’

She nodded. ‘Where we’re goin’ we will have enough.’

‘You promise?’ I asked quietly.

‘We’ll be together, William,’ she said as she straightened my shirt, which I had haphazardly tucked into my trousers earlier that morning. It was my favorite shirt. Father had called it my soldier shirt because I looked mighty strong in it, he said. ‘And if we’re all together then that’ll always be enough.’

I smiled. ‘We going on the train?’ I asked.

‘Yes, William,’ replied Momma with a nod. ‘We gonna walk down to the station and catch the train soon. But be careful to look both ways while we crossin’ them streets, all right now? I mean you too, Phillip. You both best be careful which way things are comin’ from. So what’re you gonna do for me?’

‘Look both ways, Momma,’ we said together as if we were rehearsing a play.

She smiled. ‘Exactly,’ she said. ‘Let’s get a move on now. Sun’s only gonna be gettin’ hotter as the day goes on.’

I V

Promises, promises.

Momma unfroze from her trance and turned her head over her shoulder, although her eyes never rose from their fixed position. What’s that, my dear? she asked softly. Is something the matter?

Don’t you ‘my dear’ me, growled George. He raised his palm and brought it down across Momma’s cheek.

My fists clenched at the sound; my jaw did the same. I wanted to look away but I couldn’t move my head. I tried to close my eyes but they wouldn’t listen to me. Momma’s hand covered her now bright red cheek. Her eyes were filled with tears and she looked at Phillip and me with a scared and sad face. George struck her cheek with his palm again, and Momma gasped quietly to herself. He grabbed her by the neckline of her dress and pulled her up to him.

My stomach churned. I wanted to cry, but I tried to hold it in. George would do something even worse to me if he saw me crying.

You can’t jus promise quietin’ for me when youse all jus git lawder and lawder! he bellowed into Momma’s face. I ne’er shoulda taken youse all in. Waste of space and air, that’s what youse are. Waste of good, solid food too. His scruffy white hair was all mangled due to that hat of his he always liked to wear and his large, round face was as red as one of the big juicy tomatoes in Peppadilla’s garden out by the Queengrass field.

V

‘Be a helpful boy now, would ya?’ Peppadilla said to me as I was helping her out with tending to her garden. ‘Scour this here dirt for any of them Queengrass weeds. If you see any, pull ’em out and toss ’em aside. It’s fine for ’em to be far enough back like the whole field over there, but does you know what these weeds’ll do to my garden? Them weeds grab onto my vegetables and fruits and cause ’em to rot and die. Ain’t no space for no damn Queengrass weeds in my garden!’ She then looked out to gaze at the field across from us. ‘Sure is a nice view though, ain’t it, Billy Boy? Mm-hmm, yes indeed. Mister George has asked if I wanna have it burnt down this winter, due to it being a nuisance to my garden and whatnot. But I told Mister George that you and I don’t mind pulling them weeds out each week, yes, I did. I mean, how could I go and get rid of this here sight, Billy Boy?’

‘I don’t know, Miss Peppadilla.’

‘Dunno, indeed,’ she said. ‘I hate them weeds with a passion, don’t you forget that. But I don’t have any quandary with that field being where it is. Without it, we’d have less time to spend tending to our garden anyhow. It’d also get rid of us being able to have this view too, now wouldn’t it? Besides, that smell it gives to us? Oh yes, ain’t that something, Billy Boy? Ain’t that something all right?’

‘Yes, Miss Peppadilla.’

‘My poppa once told me that each time we catch a whiff of that smell, we’re getting the same scent of the Queengrass that his poppa before him could smell. It’s all in the same place, Billy Boy. My poppa and his poppa’s poppa have long since gone on but that field just keeps on growin’ bigger and bigger each and every spring. Eventually, I’m gonna be gone too and the field is just gonna keep on coming back. That damn Queengrass has got a funny way about it, don’t you think, Billy Boy?’

‘Yes, ma’am. It smells funny to me.’

‘Don’t you be calling me ‘ma’am’ now, Billy Boy. I ain’t no damn ‘ma’am.’

‘I’m sorry, Miss Peppadilla.’

‘Oh, that’s all right, Billy Boy. I ain’t mad at you. How could I ever be really? In any case, it’s different for everybody, my poppa’d like to say. Some people like looking at that grass and taking in its smell. But then there are some other people who are against even the thought of doing so. They sometimes say it gives them a right old headache, but they just a bunch of lazy old dingbats, that’s what I like to say about ’em! Yes, that’s exactly what I like to call ’em, Billy Boy. Indeed, indeed I do.’

V I

You daydreaming, boy? bellowed George. He let go of Momma’s shirt and walked on over to me, his eyes wide and looking wildly and intensely into my own.

Daydreaming, sir? I stammered.

You heard me!

Oh, leave him alone, George, said Momma as she wiped her cheek with a wetted napkin. He’s probably just thinking about Peppadilla’s garden again. Weren’t you, William?

I nodded sheepishly and moved my eyes down to my empty soup bowl.

Shut yer mouth, Mabel! George stepped on up to me and grabbed me by the hair, yanking my head up to make me look at him again.

I cried out and clutched my head, hot tears streaming down my face now. I couldn’t help it.

Is you cryin’ now too, boy? George laughed and crouched down so that we were at the same height. His voice dropped to a deeper, more terrifying level as his hand crept up to grab my shoulder tightly. There ain’t no such crying allowed in this here house. You know that, don’t you boy?

I nodded again.

Ain’t no daydreaming allowed here either, is there?

I shook my head and mumbled under my breath.

What was that, boy? he yelled, grabbing my hair again.

No, sir, I whispered. My scalp was on fire. My hands and feet shook intensely and I clenched my fists even tighter than before.

George shook his head and leaned in close. His breath stung my eyes, and his scratchy, unshaven neck rubbing up against me made me feel like I was getting stung by a hundred million poison dipped bees, if there ever was such a thing.

Say it fer me one more time, he said darkly. And this time, I wanna make sure the whole town can hear youse say it. I know you gots a great big voice on you. Lemme hear it!

My eyes began to well up again, but I pinched my arm so that I wouldn’t catch another grabbing of my hair. No, sir! I said in the loudest voice I could muster, my breath beginning to shake along with my hands and feet.

Tha’s better! said George as he stood back up. You know, I’m of half a mind to just stop you from goin’ to Peppadilla’s garden altogether! Seems as if yer bein’ there is making you more and more of a pansy ass baby.

No, sir! I exclaimed reflexively. The thought of losing my precious time in the dirt and soil and my moments of looking out at the Queengrass field and catching its scent was too much for me to bear. Please not my garden! Don’t take away my garden from me! Please, please! I promise I’ll be good.

Stop that damn stammerin’, boy! Sit up straight! What kinda life does you want to live, huh? You sure as hell ain’t getting a lick of anything of mine, that’s for truth. So why the hell is you even here? George’s gaze moved on over to Phillip, who had barely shifted in his seat throughout the entire tirade. And you! he said with a barbarian growl. Why ain’t you in school, boy? Ain’t I paying for you to learn your way outta this damn house?

Phillip’s eyes grew hazy and the color in his cheeks seemed to drain away until they had the color and sheen of wax. Don’t you know? he asked blankly.

"Don’t you know, sir."

"Don’t you know, sir?"

Don’t I know what then? George said with a twitching brow. His eyes looked near ready to pop right out of his head. His forehead was now the same color as his cheeks. Well, come on then! What’s it that I don’t know? I’m dyin’ to know what youse has got to tell me!

Phillip looked to Momma, but Momma was staring down at her plate. He didn’t even look at me. He probably knew I wouldn’t be any more helpful than if he did this on his own. They sent me home from school, he started.

They sent youse home from school? said George with a fiery voice that rattled my bones and made me shrink even further into my wicker seat. What in the damn hell is youse talking ’bout, boy? How’d yer dumbass get kicked outta school? Tell me that much, why don’t you, boy?

My heart began to beat faster and faster. I could feel its increasing rhythm as a pounding, pounding, pounding snare drum sounding off painfully within my head. Thump, thump, thump, thump.

Phillip sat up in his chair and squirmed around in place. I ain’t get kicked out, he whispered. They stopped all classes at the school for the remainder of the winter. It’s the war. That’s the reason for it all. But it ain’t just Turnbrook that got closed down! It’s all the boarding schools in the counties around us too! They ain’t got no more food for us to eat, they told us. None of the teachers want to be there anymore, anyhow. They say that they wanna be waitin’ up for their boys for when they all come on home, since some of them are sayin’ that all them soldiers should be comin’ back soon. Phillip frowned suddenly and looked to George with an odd expression on his face. But don’t you know this, though? he asked. I done got back last month and everythin’.

George’s face was as red as hot coals now. How the damn hell is I supposed to know about yer school gittin’ you out? he said with a growl as he walked over to Phillip. You act as if it’s my own damn fault, you ungrateful son of a bitch!

He brought a closed fist down onto my brother’s skull. Momma screamed. She reached across the table and the bowls and plates went crashing down onto the ground and shattered into bits. George brought his hand down even harder this time. Phillip fell. Momma grabbed onto George’s arms and began to pull him away from Phillip’s unconscious body. He swung his leg and connected it with Phillip’s back with a grunt. Phillip wasn’t moving. Neither was I.

You signed the papers! Momma cried. I gave you them papers that said he could come home! You said it was okay! You said, you said, you said! Not my boy, George! Please, please, not my beautiful boy!

But George merely stumbled away from her grasp and found his way to the doorway. He pulled a flask from his coat pocket and unscrewed it. He threw his head back and took a sip. As he messily wiped his lips of spilled gin with the sleeve of his shirt, he let out a sputtering cough and clutched at his side. He then shifted his eyes intensely between Momma and Phillip’s unmoving body.

Ah, shit, he mumbled. "It’s all shit, Mabel. Goddammit, tha’s what this is, lemme tell you that. He’s the son of a bitch and yer the sow he came from. Yer lucky I took