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Show 5 The name "Gnicht" reminded Vanda of a sneeze. She had always called Angela by her f i r s t name, but her husband was Mr. Gnicht only. "You have fat baby in there," the old woman said, patting Vanda*s stomach. "Healthy, good piccino." "I thought i t was 'bambino'." "Older child," Angela said, indicating knee-height with a waving motion. "Were you ever pregnant in the summer?" Vanda asked. Angela's headscarf inched down onto her wrinkled forehead when she grinned. "You think you die from heat, yes? I was forty-four years when Joe he was born. I think I die then." She stirred her cake batter l i k e she was churning butter. Angela suddenly dropped the wooden spoon into the bowl and enclosed one of Vanda's breasts with her hand. "You eat goat cheese, get milk for baby." "Cut that out," Vanda yelled. "I hate that stuff." She knew Angela was just trying to mother her. She had no daughters of her own. Vanda pictured the old woman milking the goat every morning and forcing thick chunks of cheese between Vanda's l i p s . The l i t t l e baby, Toby's image, would snooze peacefully in a wooden cradle. Mr. Gnicht would sing "Brahms' Lullaby" in the original German and Joe would rock the cradle with his toe. "Angela," she said softly, "what did Joe say when you told him?" "He say you stupid g i r l to marry football player anyway." When Joe Gnicht stumbled into the kitchen that night, exhausted |