“They shouldn’t be in a basement!” Catherine exclaimed.

“Oh, you should see the stuff I do now. You wouldn’t recognize it. . . . I bet you were surprised to see I’d reproduced, too, the way I used to talk about being the lone wolf devoted to nothing but her art.”

“What’s reproduced?” asked the kid.

“You,” said Gillette.

“I’m Reproduced. . . . I want some peanuts.”

“You’ve got popcorn.”

The little girl hands the popcorn back to her. “Where’s my peanuts?”

Gillette reaches in the drawer of the end table, puts the popcorn bag back, takes out a cellophane bag of peanuts. “You little hog, what do you say?”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

The kid begins stuffing peanuts in her mouth.

Gillette pinches her shoulder. “Tatum, don’t try to put all of those in your mouth at one time. Don’t chew with your mouth open. Hog. Ladies don’t eat like that. Eat one at a time. Eat like a lady.”

Tatum continues to eat with her mouth open.

“She lost her toy monkey and she’s been impossible.”

“I didn’t lost it; you threw it away,” says the kid.

“You lost it. When we moved. You were responsible for the whereabouts of your own things; you know that.”

“You threw it away.” Splinters of peanuts escape from her pouting lips.

“Don’t talk with your mouth open, that’s impolite.”

Tatum keeps munching, then she shakes the empty bag.

“They’re all gone now,” Gillette says and picks the child up, sits her in her lap, and shoves the child’s head against her breasts.

“I want peanuts.” Tatum shakes her head, wrinkles her nose, and pops away. “You stink, lady.”

Gillette looks embarrassed, puts her palm against the side of Tatum’s face and pushes her head back against her breasts.

“I want peanuts,” Tatum says again.

“You hog, you ate them up; they’re all gone. I’m sorry, do you two want some beer or something? Beer’s all I’ve got.”

“No, thanks,” says Catherine.

“I’ll take some,” I say.

She puts Tatum down, goes to the refrigerator, and brings back a can of Blatz.

“Uh, do you want a glass?” she asks.

“Naw, this is fine.”

“Why did you throw away my monkey?” Tatum asks when Gillette sits back down.

“I didn’t throw away your monkey, Sister. Anyway, you were responsible. I can’t keep up with your things and mine too.”

“Yes, you did too. You threw it away.”

Gillette puts her hand over Tatum’s mouth.

“You see how they are?” she says. “Are you going to be quiet, Sister?”

Tatum nods.

Gillette takes her hand away. “Tell me yes.”

“Yes,” says Tatum.

Gillette takes a deep breath, blows it in Tatum’s face. Tatum giggles, then she pinches her nose.

8

When I was seven I tried to take something off the communion plate. My mother pushed my hand away but didn’t explain why. I’d seen this real old woman take some wine and crackers and I’d wanted some too. Then when I went down in the basement to use the bathroom this biggish girl stood in front of the bathroom door with her hands on her hips like she was guarding the toilet.