“Olga. You can’t do that to the kid.”

“Why not? She can eat with dem. If she don’ eat, it’s not b’cause o’her teeth, it’s b’cause her stubborn head.”

“Look at her. Just take a look.”

“An arm an’ a leg for a few stupi’ teeth??”

“Olga, there’s no price. It’s unthinkable! Come on, she’s your daughter!”

“Do I need them? Look.”

Cecilia clenched her teeth together, and spread her lips wide, exposing her Hallowe’en pumpkin smile. In her enthusiasm, she’d forgotten what was in her mouth and a small piece of beef filled the space where the front teeth normally were. At first, I mistook it for her own tongue, for it blended in so well with her gums and the lining of her lips.

“We are a’ de table now, not de dentis’ office! Cecilia?! Shut you mouth! It is time to eat!”

We continued our meal with heads bowed in silence, though it was not really silent; it was rich with the familiar sounds of eating. Even the silence was in a way loud. It always was when my mother had just shouted.

“Who wants more?” my mother threatened.

I spoke up first, “Not me. No thanks.”

“I do. Well done,” Cecilia requested.

Ursula held out her dish. “I’ll take a little piece from the middle, please, if you can find something rare … ”

My mother carved a generous portion for Ursula off the flat red end, when a thought of Betty’s posterior entered my mind.

I never should have thought that. I put it out of my mind immediately. Quick, I had to concentrate on something because I could feel the thought was coming back. I thought of a toothache, icebergs in Antarctica, my dead grandmother, the pool filter that had to be emptied, but the thought of Betty’s buttocks returned as predicted, and the more I chased the thought away, the more it returned with gusto. The tingles were like tiny fireworks, pulling my attention more and more to them, pulling the blood out of my head, and down to that inglorious crossroad. I couldn’t understand how buttocks could trigger off such a reaction, make my blood change its very course. Naked human buttock used to make me scream with laughter. If Laurel or Hardy’s britches dropped, that would have been the end!

“Stop that this very instant!” I ordered myself.

To my surprise, my body answered me, it answered me with an unexpected wave of, what can I call it? Concentrated sweetness?

It was with distaste that I noticed my underwear was wet; a baby would have had to be changed, but in my case, it was my second mouth that had begun to drool, to hunger. It wanted to be fed. I looked at the roast on the table. That wasn’t it. I closed my eyes and Betty’s copious behind popped again into my mind. So did Harry’s. The way he moved it to some inaudible beat when he was sloppily consuming Ursula. I thought of Belinda Moors’ breasts. Why were domes of flesh all at once, out of the blue, so bewitching? They had always been so pitiful before; ludicrous outgrowths, obnoxiously protruding humps, human hills that made you simultaneously laugh at and feel sorry for an adult.