Read Online The Kingdom of Brooklyn by Merrill Joan Gerber - Free Book Online

pokes the key in the lock. I hear all this in my ears. I can get into the cellar by opening a door at the side of our kitchen, but I never do because why would I ever go into a black hole where the furnace is breathing fire?
    But once I know Gilda is down there, I slide the bolt on the kitchen door and peek down the steps. I see the shelves above the steps that contain soap powder and bug Flit. I see Gilda’s dim form at the bottom of the stairs. She is calling, “Bingo! Bingo!”
    â€œForget it,” my mother calls from over my shoulder. “Bingo is gone.”
    Gilda and I both turn to look at her. Then why did she say he was in the cellar? My mother is smiling, but it’s not a good smile. “He’s gone, Gilda.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œThe pound came and got him.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œI mean I gave him away. He was a danger to the baby.”
    â€œYou gave Bingo away? “
    I can’t believe it either.
    â€œHe was gentle as a lamb ,” Gilda says, but the word lamb goes up like a scream. She runs up the few extra steps to where my mother is in the kitchen and butts my mother in the stomach with her head. Gilda is butting my mother as if she has horns in her head. My mother falls down, she has no breath, and the smile has gone off her face.
    â€œOh God, you bitch,” Gilda says. She runs to our phone, which she is not allowed to use anymore. “Oh God.” She is trying to use the phone book.
    â€œDon’t bother,” my mother says when her breath comes back. “They’ve already put him to sleep.”
    This takes some time for Gilda to understand—even I understand it first.
    â€œThey should put you to sleep,” Gilda cries out finally, tears jerking out of her eyes. Her shoulders shake. She is choking on her tears. “Oh my precious baby Bingo.”
    Oh, my mother is bad. She has been very bad lately; I have had to punch her many times. This time a punch isn’t enough. I don’t know what will be enough. I decide I will go upstairs and live there in the better house. I take Gilda’s hand and tug on her. “Let’s go back upstairs,” I tell her, patting her and kissing her backside. “I’ll come and live with you,” I tell her. “Don’t worry, darling Gilda. I’ll take care of you.”

CHAPTER 8
    Even when the worst things happen, the mind calms down. People still have to go to bed at night and eat cereal in the morning. No matter how hard Gilda butted my mother in her stomach, the two sisters still have my old grandmother to take care of, they still have me walking down there, below the level of their hips, talking up at them, asking things, needing things, demanding what I want. That I can be afraid and then stop being afraid, and that they can hate each other and stop hating each other, is an amazing fact to own. It smooths out the long story ahead, which is bound to be full of terrible times, of fights and yelling and hating.
    Best things can go the other way, too—the dropping off of excited, wild feelings down to dull and ordinary. If I get a new ball—which I actually have got: pink, bright, clean, a Spalding—that bounces as high as my head and higher, I am so happy that I think I will always be happy, even if The Screamer screams and even if Bingo is gone forever. I wake up thinking about the new ball; I look for it the instant I wake up and bounce it; I clean it with my toothbrush so it stays pink, I rub it dry on my dress. I kiss it to my lips, feeling that rubbery hard pink curve against my mouth.
    Happy! Oh, I am so happy! I will always be happy! Won’t I? Won’t I?
    And then what happens?
    One day I wake up and think about something else, not my ball. Even when I do think of the ball, I don’t want to leap up and bounce it. It is still clean. It is still rubbery. It still has that same smell. But I don’t feel so much love for