Winter 1979 • Vol. I No. 1 Fiction |

The Old Folks

Who is not in league? The children waddle toward me, blue pants on the bigger one, yellow on the other. I lift them on the train. Away we go! We shall ride all day and eat lunches out of the same sacks the kids keep their crayons in. Orange peels will enliven the aisle, and our wan and bent reflections will float over a landscape which streams behind us more rapidly than any river. We are going to visit your father's family, Marty tells the children. How can they know what that means? They cannot realize to what profound degree the adults are conspiring against them. It means, heigho, and away we go! It will mean more later when they stand in a strange stultifying room to stare at a cripple who raises his hand in careful greeting like a liver-colored claw, while grimacing at them through a row of colored bottles, and muttering "ah, then, there they are," or "well then where's the car?" or something else they're not sure they should respond to, so they become impassive as a pair

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