Pa yawned.
“Maybe the store ain’t open.”
“Make ’em open it.
Got to get somepin in you fellas.
You got to get out to work.”
Pa struggled into his overalls and put on his rusty coat.
He went sluggishly out the door, yawning and stretching.
The children awakened and watched from under their blanket, like mice.
Pale light filled the room now, but colorless light, before the sun.
Ma glanced at the mattresses.
Uncle John was awake, Al slept heavily.
Her eyes moved to Tom.
For a moment she peered at him, and then she moved quickly to him.
His face was puffed and blue, and the blood was dried black on his lips and chin.
The edges of the torn cheek were gathered and tight.
“Tom,” she whispered, “what’s the matter?”
“Sh!” he said. “Don’t talk loud.
I got in a fight.”
“Tom!”
“I couldn’ help it, Ma.”
She knelt down beside him.
“You in trouble?”
He was a long time answering.
“Yeah,” he said. “In trouble. I can’t go out to work.
I got to hide.”
The children crawled near on their hands and knees, staring greedily.
“What’s the matter’th him, Ma?”
“Hush!” Ma said. “Go wash up.”
“We got no soap.”
“Well, use water.”
“What’s the matter’th Tom?”
“Now you hush.
An’ don’t you tell nobody.”
They backed away and squatted down against the far wall, knowing they would not be inspected.
Ma asked,
“Is it bad?”
“Nose busted.”
“I mean the trouble?”
“Yeah.
Bad!”
Al opened his eyes and looked at Tom.
“Well, for Chris’ sake!
What was you in?”
“What’s a matter?” Uncle John asked.
Pa clumped in.
“They was open all right.” He put a tiny bag of flour and his package of lard on the floor beside the stove. “’S’a matter?” he asked.
Tom braced himself on one elbow for a moment, and then he lay back.
“Jesus, I’m weak.
I’m gonna tell ya once.
So I’ll tell all of ya.