lose your appetite?”
“I do feel nervous. Do you like living here?”
“I like it better than the giant does. He’s lost twenty-five pounds. Nobody’s supposed to know about that—the official word is fifteen—but I overheard the doctors talking. He’s lost twenty-five pounds.”
“Is the food bad?”
“Sure. Why else would he lose twenty-five pounds?”
“Do you mind . . . if we don’t talk about the giant right now? I’d like to take back some reassurance to Mother.”
“Tell her I’m as happy as she is.”
“You know she’s not happy.”
“She knows I’m not, too. Why does she keep sending you?”
“She’s concerned about you. She’d like you to live at home. She’d come herself . . .”
“I know. But she gets nervous around freaks.”
“I was going to say that she hasn’t been going out much. She sent me, though, to see if you wouldn’t reconsider.”
“I’m not coming home, MacDonald.”
“Well, is there anything you’d like from home?”
“They let you have pets here. I’d like a parakeet.”
“A bird? Seriously?”
“Yeah. A green parakeet.”
“I’ve never seen a green one.”
“Pet stores will dye them any color you ask for.”
“Isn’t that harmful to them?”
“You want to please the parakeet or me?”
“How did it go?” MacDonald’s wife asks.
“That place is a zoo. Well, it’s worse than a zoo—it’s what it is: a dwarf house.”
“Is he happy?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t really get an answer out of him. There’s a giant there who’s starving to death, and he says he’s happier than the giant. Or maybe he said he was as happy. I can’t remember. Have we run out of vermouth?”
“Yes. I forgot to go to the liquor store. I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right. I don’t think a drink would have much effect anyway.”
“It might. If I had remembered to go to the liquor store.”
“I’m just going to call Mother and get it over with.”
“What’s that in your pocket?”
“Candy bars. James gave them to me. He felt sorry for me because I’d given up my lunch hour to visit him.”
“Your brother is really a very nice person.”
“Yeah. He’s a dwarf.”
“What?”
“I mean that I think of him primarily as a dwarf. I’ve had to take care of him all my life.”
“Your mother took care of him until he moved out of the house.”
“Yeah, well, it looks like he found a replacement for her. But you might need a drink before I tell you about it.”
“Oh, tell me.”
“He’s got a little sweetie. He’s in love with a woman who lives in the dwarf house. He introduced me. She’s three feet eleven. She stood there smiling at my knees.”
“That’s wonderful that he has a friend.”
“Not a friend—a fiancée. He claims that as soon as he’s got enough money saved up he’s going to marry this other dwarf.”
“He is?”
“Isn’t there some liquor store that delivers? I’ve seen liquor trucks in this neighborhood, I think.”
His mother lives in a high-ceilinged old house on Newfield Street, in a neighborhood that is gradually being taken over by Puerto Ricans. Her phone has been busy for almost two hours, and MacDonald fears that she, too, may have been taken over by Puerto Ricans. He drives to his mother’s house and knocks on the door. It is opened by a Puerto Rican woman, Mrs. Esposito.
“Is my mother all right?” he asks.
“Yes. She’s okay.”
“May I come in?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
She steps aside—not that it does much good, because she’s so wide that there’s still not much room for passage. Mrs. Esposito is wearing a dress that looks like a jungle: tall streaks of green grass going every which way, brown stumps near the hem, flashes of red around her breasts.
“Who were you talking to?” he asks his mother.
“Carlotta was on the phone with her brother, seeing if he’ll take her in. Her husband put her out again.”
Mrs. Esposito, hearing her husband spoken of,
“I do feel nervous. Do you like living here?”
“I like it better than the giant does. He’s lost twenty-five pounds. Nobody’s supposed to know about that—the official word is fifteen—but I overheard the doctors talking. He’s lost twenty-five pounds.”
“Is the food bad?”
“Sure. Why else would he lose twenty-five pounds?”
“Do you mind . . . if we don’t talk about the giant right now? I’d like to take back some reassurance to Mother.”
“Tell her I’m as happy as she is.”
“You know she’s not happy.”
“She knows I’m not, too. Why does she keep sending you?”
“She’s concerned about you. She’d like you to live at home. She’d come herself . . .”
“I know. But she gets nervous around freaks.”
“I was going to say that she hasn’t been going out much. She sent me, though, to see if you wouldn’t reconsider.”
“I’m not coming home, MacDonald.”
“Well, is there anything you’d like from home?”
“They let you have pets here. I’d like a parakeet.”
“A bird? Seriously?”
“Yeah. A green parakeet.”
“I’ve never seen a green one.”
“Pet stores will dye them any color you ask for.”
“Isn’t that harmful to them?”
“You want to please the parakeet or me?”
“How did it go?” MacDonald’s wife asks.
“That place is a zoo. Well, it’s worse than a zoo—it’s what it is: a dwarf house.”
“Is he happy?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t really get an answer out of him. There’s a giant there who’s starving to death, and he says he’s happier than the giant. Or maybe he said he was as happy. I can’t remember. Have we run out of vermouth?”
“Yes. I forgot to go to the liquor store. I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right. I don’t think a drink would have much effect anyway.”
“It might. If I had remembered to go to the liquor store.”
“I’m just going to call Mother and get it over with.”
“What’s that in your pocket?”
“Candy bars. James gave them to me. He felt sorry for me because I’d given up my lunch hour to visit him.”
“Your brother is really a very nice person.”
“Yeah. He’s a dwarf.”
“What?”
“I mean that I think of him primarily as a dwarf. I’ve had to take care of him all my life.”
“Your mother took care of him until he moved out of the house.”
“Yeah, well, it looks like he found a replacement for her. But you might need a drink before I tell you about it.”
“Oh, tell me.”
“He’s got a little sweetie. He’s in love with a woman who lives in the dwarf house. He introduced me. She’s three feet eleven. She stood there smiling at my knees.”
“That’s wonderful that he has a friend.”
“Not a friend—a fiancée. He claims that as soon as he’s got enough money saved up he’s going to marry this other dwarf.”
“He is?”
“Isn’t there some liquor store that delivers? I’ve seen liquor trucks in this neighborhood, I think.”
His mother lives in a high-ceilinged old house on Newfield Street, in a neighborhood that is gradually being taken over by Puerto Ricans. Her phone has been busy for almost two hours, and MacDonald fears that she, too, may have been taken over by Puerto Ricans. He drives to his mother’s house and knocks on the door. It is opened by a Puerto Rican woman, Mrs. Esposito.
“Is my mother all right?” he asks.
“Yes. She’s okay.”
“May I come in?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
She steps aside—not that it does much good, because she’s so wide that there’s still not much room for passage. Mrs. Esposito is wearing a dress that looks like a jungle: tall streaks of green grass going every which way, brown stumps near the hem, flashes of red around her breasts.
“Who were you talking to?” he asks his mother.
“Carlotta was on the phone with her brother, seeing if he’ll take her in. Her husband put her out again.”
Mrs. Esposito, hearing her husband spoken of,
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