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Show pecked each other, or flew into dusty squabbles over grains of corn. The boy broke strips of lath from the ruined coop and threw them at the chickens. A protruding nail tore a row of feathers from the rooster, and it ran off squawking. He filled his pocket with stones and rusted bolts, and set off toward the town. At the store he sucked a soda, sullenly. "That's the boy, there, see him." "So that's the one. It won't be long." Under the counter the boy tests the muscles of his forearm. When he got home his father was gone. The mother had washed herself, put on a starched dress. She had been cooking; he could smell it, one of those things she always cooked when she was upset. He would get whole meals of things she said v/ere good for him, liver and spinach, or kidney stew and broccoli. She must be upset tonight. "I don't want any." "Of course you do." She made himsit,and push his chair in at the table She put a piece of l i v e r , an exact spoonful of peas, a single piece of bald potato on his plate. " I ' l l just eat the spuds, okay?" She glares at him, her eyes narrow. "I made t h i s dinner for you and you'll l i k e i t , " she says, and cuts the l i v e r in exact s t r i p s , impales one on the f o r k , and pushes i t into his mouth. The taste is overwhelming, a grainy grey-brown taste that makes him gag. |