Read Online The Ministry of Special Cases by Nathan Englander - Free Book Online
Authors: Nathan Englander
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To prove it, he showed Pato two empty hands.
“You were smoking,” Pato said. “You changed your socks and then you were smoking.”
“Definitely maybe,” Rafa said, considering. Rafa’s mother gave him a little kick and he got up off the floor. The boys went back and searched the room and then Rafa remembered the screen. He pulled open his top drawer, and a little cloud escaped. “Shit,” he said, fishing out the lit cigarette and making sure his socks weren’t on fire. He put the cigarette in his mouth and they went back outside.
“You’ll burn the house down,” his mother said. “You make yourself retarded from smoking drugs. What kind of person forgets a cigarette in the drawer?”
“It wasn’t in the drawer,” Rafa said. “It was in the ashtray. Ask Pato.”
She turned to Pato and started laughing. She reached up and pinched his cheek.
“If only my own son couldn’t lie.”
Lately their stories had turned odder and more sinister. When they switched fully to politics and their conspiracy theories, Rafa’s mother would get up and leave the room. She hated when they stopped talking in front of her and always tried to excuse herself before they did. Rafa’s mother listened to this last story from the edge of the hallway, ready to move on.
“They switched out my sociology professor,” Flavia said. She was lying on the floor with her head propped against the base of the couch. She stared up at Rafa’s mother while she spoke, half looking for help and half holding her responsible,
all adults the same
. Rafa’s mother held her ground. “We were waiting around in lecture hall and he just doesn’t show. Right after the first kid stands up everyone else grabs for their bags, and that’s when this moth-eaten man comes in. He’s maybe two hundred years old. He says he’s the new professor while he’s still shuffling toward the blackboard. Then he starts reading his lecture word for word off a stack of yellow cards.”
“You sat quiet?” Rafa said.
“I didn’t talk when I
liked
the professor. It was Matalón—he screamed it out. ‘Where’s Professor Gómez?’ he yells. ‘Where’s Dr. Gómez?’”
Pato stared wide-eyed, as if he was watching this on TV.
“So what happens?” Rafa said.
“Nothing. The old guy doesn’t stop reading. And Matalón gives up, and then this other girl screams it out. And then another couple of kids chime in. And finally the geezer—he’s nearly blind, the cards are pressed up against his face—he puts them down, and looks around as ifhe’s surprised to find us sitting there. He says, ‘I’m the teacher in this class.’ We all just shut up then. It was clear. The guy is our teacher now.”
Lillian was at the table in the kitchen sitting over a folder, an adding machine on one side, a cup of tea on the other. Kaddish came in and kissed Lillian on the top of her head.
“You brought home work with you?”
“When do I not anymore?” Lillian said. She was wearing half-glasses on a beaded chain. She put them on when her eyes felt tired. Lillian looked too young for them, and they complemented her in the contrast. Kaddish rubbed at her shoulders and Lillian took the glasses off and let them dangle.
There was a split lemon Kaddish had left on the counter. He fixed himself a fresh drink and stirred it with a finger.
“Where’s Pato?” he said.
“Out with Rafa, I guess.”
Kaddish raised an eyebrow. He disapproved. “That head is too big,” he said. “Too big to be of any use to anyone.”
“He’s a bad influence, it’s true. But no worse on Pato than Pato is on him.” They both smiled at that.
“It’s not so easy to keep the boy in the house,” Kaddish said. “You didn’t do so well yourself.”
“He was gone when I got here.”
Kaddish took a sip of his drink and then held it up to the light, looking through it.
“I’m going to take him out when he gets back.”
“Leave him alone, Kaddish. He hates the work. It helps no
“You were smoking,” Pato said. “You changed your socks and then you were smoking.”
“Definitely maybe,” Rafa said, considering. Rafa’s mother gave him a little kick and he got up off the floor. The boys went back and searched the room and then Rafa remembered the screen. He pulled open his top drawer, and a little cloud escaped. “Shit,” he said, fishing out the lit cigarette and making sure his socks weren’t on fire. He put the cigarette in his mouth and they went back outside.
“You’ll burn the house down,” his mother said. “You make yourself retarded from smoking drugs. What kind of person forgets a cigarette in the drawer?”
“It wasn’t in the drawer,” Rafa said. “It was in the ashtray. Ask Pato.”
She turned to Pato and started laughing. She reached up and pinched his cheek.
“If only my own son couldn’t lie.”
Lately their stories had turned odder and more sinister. When they switched fully to politics and their conspiracy theories, Rafa’s mother would get up and leave the room. She hated when they stopped talking in front of her and always tried to excuse herself before they did. Rafa’s mother listened to this last story from the edge of the hallway, ready to move on.
“They switched out my sociology professor,” Flavia said. She was lying on the floor with her head propped against the base of the couch. She stared up at Rafa’s mother while she spoke, half looking for help and half holding her responsible,
all adults the same
. Rafa’s mother held her ground. “We were waiting around in lecture hall and he just doesn’t show. Right after the first kid stands up everyone else grabs for their bags, and that’s when this moth-eaten man comes in. He’s maybe two hundred years old. He says he’s the new professor while he’s still shuffling toward the blackboard. Then he starts reading his lecture word for word off a stack of yellow cards.”
“You sat quiet?” Rafa said.
“I didn’t talk when I
liked
the professor. It was Matalón—he screamed it out. ‘Where’s Professor Gómez?’ he yells. ‘Where’s Dr. Gómez?’”
Pato stared wide-eyed, as if he was watching this on TV.
“So what happens?” Rafa said.
“Nothing. The old guy doesn’t stop reading. And Matalón gives up, and then this other girl screams it out. And then another couple of kids chime in. And finally the geezer—he’s nearly blind, the cards are pressed up against his face—he puts them down, and looks around as ifhe’s surprised to find us sitting there. He says, ‘I’m the teacher in this class.’ We all just shut up then. It was clear. The guy is our teacher now.”
Lillian was at the table in the kitchen sitting over a folder, an adding machine on one side, a cup of tea on the other. Kaddish came in and kissed Lillian on the top of her head.
“You brought home work with you?”
“When do I not anymore?” Lillian said. She was wearing half-glasses on a beaded chain. She put them on when her eyes felt tired. Lillian looked too young for them, and they complemented her in the contrast. Kaddish rubbed at her shoulders and Lillian took the glasses off and let them dangle.
There was a split lemon Kaddish had left on the counter. He fixed himself a fresh drink and stirred it with a finger.
“Where’s Pato?” he said.
“Out with Rafa, I guess.”
Kaddish raised an eyebrow. He disapproved. “That head is too big,” he said. “Too big to be of any use to anyone.”
“He’s a bad influence, it’s true. But no worse on Pato than Pato is on him.” They both smiled at that.
“It’s not so easy to keep the boy in the house,” Kaddish said. “You didn’t do so well yourself.”
“He was gone when I got here.”
Kaddish took a sip of his drink and then held it up to the light, looking through it.
“I’m going to take him out when he gets back.”
“Leave him alone, Kaddish. He hates the work. It helps no
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