Fall 1988 • Vol. X No. 4 FictionOctober 1, 1988 |

Two Spots

I I heard the yelling but by the time I got there my father was just glaring at the two of them. I recognized the older boy from before. James Clark. He was taller than I was now. The other one, eight or nine, was ready to cry. He was holding the loaf of bread in one hand and the open jackknife in the other; the mustard jar and baloney were in the crook of his arm. James had half-a-dozen sandwiches made up and ready to pass through the half-rolled-down window of our car. Delores and the twins had disappeared down behind the smeared glass. "This is my grandfather's road," James Clark said. "You're missing the point," my father said, appearing calm, if you didn't notice the red in the back of his neck, and his clenched fists. "I'll feed my own kids. I don't need you boys to do that for me." He was trying to speak in his normal voice now. He could go for years without raising his voice. He hardly talked at all, Joyce used to say when she first came to live with us. "It w

Already have an account? Login

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece



Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.

Read More

Talus

By Ernest J. Finney

I I heard the yelling but by the time I got there my father was just glaring at the two of them. I recognized the older boy from before. James […]

Subscribe

Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.

Donate

With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.