Apprehensions and Other Delusions Read Online Free PDF Page B

hero. His step was light and he was smiling as he emerged from his haven. In the kitchen he looked about, smelling all the odors with an intensity that made him feel dizzy. The salty aroma of Hamburger Helper seemed overwhelming and yet unsatisfying—the beef was dead, robbing it of its savor. Since eating the rats he knew it was only living meat that would satisfy him.
    “Henry! Wash your hands!” His mother’s voice—along with her choice of words, since she only called him Henry when she was stressed out—warned him that she had had a rough day at the clinic.
    “Okay!” He stopped at the sink and rubbed his hands on the cake of glycerin soap in the dish over the faucet. It reeked of artificial flowers and he wrinkled his nose in disgust.
    “And turn the heat down under the string beans!”
    “Okay!” he answered; he rinsed his hands and dried them on a paper towel. He went to the stove and adjusted the gas flame under the saucepan.
    “The table’s set,” his mother called as a kind of encouragement. “Your sister will be down in a minute. She’s changing.”
    Henry made a face; just the idea of his sister made him want to puke, but he would not let any of it show. He licked his teeth, hoping no scraps of his meal would remain; he was not in the mood to answer questions about his basement activities. Let them think he was playing or studying or whatever they assumed he did down there.
    “I could use some help with the salad.”
    Salad! he thought contemptuously, but spoke meekly enough, “Sure, Mom.”
    “There’s lettuce in the fridge. I’ll slice a couple tomatoes and if you’ll wash and tear up the lettuce, we can use the last of the buttermilk ranch, or the creamy Italian. You can choose the one you like best.” She had gone to the cupboard and taken down the bottle of vodka and was now pouring herself about three ounces into a small water-glass. “I need to relax tonight,” she said, by way of explanation. She drank about a third of the vodka without ice, which wasn’t like her.
    “Something bad happen today, Mom?” Henry asked, knowing she wanted to talk. He retrieved the lettuce from the refrigerator and made sure it wasn’t too brown.
    “Things are always happening at the clinic,” she said, and Henry realized whatever has taken place, it had been very bad. When she sounded like that, it meant something pretty awful.
    “What about getting another job?” he suggested, knowing the answer.
    “The only other jobs I could get pay less. Working with those patients—the mental ones, in the locked ward—I earn more, and we need the money.” She bit her lower lip then made herself smile. “I guess I’ll just have to make the best of it.”
    “Well, it’s not fair,” he said as he thrust the lettuce under the faucet and turned on the cold water, pulling the head apart. Why, he wondered, was this called butter lettuce? It wasn’t anything like butter. He made a pile of the leaves and waited for his mother to say more. He began to pull the lettuce-leaves apart, remembering how sweet it had been to pull the rats to bits. He tried to imagine the soft green leaves were muscle and sinew and bone, but it didn’t work and he was left to try to remember how good it had felt to kill the rats.
    “Did you have a good day at school?” His mother sounded slightly distracted, but he answered her anyway.
    “I guess so. I got a ninety percent in geometry and Mister Dasher said my English paper was better than the last one.” He told her the good parts and left out the things Jack Parsons had called him in gym, and the bad grade he’d got in the American History quiz. There’d be time for that later. He looked around for the salad bowl and began to put the torn lettuce into it. In spite of the lowered heat, he could smell the green beans charring in the saucepan.
    “Good for you,” she said, going to work on the tomatoes, taking the time to make the wedges all about the same size.
    “So how