Shepherd Avenue. Charlie Carillo

smiling and nearly echoing, “Yeah, he burns it up fast,” but I stopped myself. Why make an enemy of Connie when I barely knew Vic?

      The rest of the meal was quiet, save for low, muffled belches out of Vic. Connie picked up a bit of food that had flown from Vic’s mouth and crushed it in a paper napkin.

      “Now don’t go thinkin’ your father don’t love you,” she said.

      A direct hit; my eyes welled with tears. Vic stopped chewing and shot a searing look at her. Then he softened and looked my way, prodding me with an elbow.

      “What team do you like, the Yankees or the Dodgers?”

      I’d never even heard of the Dodgers. “Yankees.”

      “Me, too. My father likes the Dodgers, he’s ready to kill O’Malley for sendin’ ’em out west. Listen, if I make the majors, I’m gonna play for the Yanks.”

      “Big shot,” Connie said, getting up to clear the table. The meal had lasted barely ten minutes.

      Vic ignored her. “Only thing is, they got so many good players that hardly anybody gets to play every day, except for guys like Mantle and Maris.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “See, I don’t wanna warm some bench when I get there.”

      It never occurred to my uncle that he might not make the Major Leagues, but only that he might get cheated out of valuable playing time once he arrived.

      He folded his big hands behind his head. “The big dough’s in New York. You set yourself up nice, and then you can get into, like, broadcastin’. That’s how come I’m takin’ a speech class in school. They remember who you are when you play in New York.”

      “They forget,” Connie said above the thumping of hot water into the sink. “You’d be surprised how fast people forget.”

      Again he ignored her. His eyes narrowed suddenly. “Who hit more homers last year, Hank Aaron or Mickey Mantle?”

      “Mickey Mantle,” I guessed.

      “Wrong!” Vic roared joyfully. “They both hit forty! See? Here’s a guy hittin’ homers all over the place and nobody knows about it, ’cause he doesn’t play in New York. Poor guy’s stuck in Milwaukee.”

      “Shut up already,” Connie said. “Every night we hear this.”

      She finished washing the dishes. We climbed the stairs to the front parlor and watched TV for a while. Not once had my grandfather’s absence been mentioned.

      * * *

      They set my cot up next to the bedroom window, which was open all the way. Warm air puffed through the screen, but you’d be exaggerating if you called it a breeze.

      The sheets were stiff, having been hung to dry in the dead air of the basement because it had rained earlier in the week. Getting into bed was like climbing into an envelope.

      It wasn’t dark and it wasn’t quiet. Light filtered in from the street lamp. Two or three radios played somewhere. There were bouts of distant laughter and the screech of brakes on Atlantic Avenue.

      “Vic?”

      “Yeah?”

      “Is there a party going on somewhere?”

      “Whatsamatter, can’t you sleep?”

      “Too much noise,” I complained. “Is it always so bright in here?”

      “Are you crazy?” He hated being awakened. “Here, sleep on this side,” he said, rising.

      “It’ll be the same over there,” I whined.

      “The same,” he mimicked. “Roll over and close your eyes.”

      “I already did.”

      “Well, just shut up.”

      I heard his irregular breathing across the room and imagined him hating my guts. Now and then he sucked in his breath and socked the pillow with his fist.

      I had to break the silence. “My father cried when he left.”

      “I saw him cry once before,” Vic said, startling me with his friendliness. He sat up, propping his head up with his hand.

      “The time Dixie died, a long time ago. You never knew Dixie. Swell pooch. Well, anyway, he made him a coffin out of an old desk drawer and stuck him in a pillow case. Buried him right out in the backyard.”

      Vic flipped onto his belly. “Didn’t make any noise when he cried, though. Cried and cried until his eyes got red, but … funny.” He looked at me. “Didn’t he cry when? …”

      “When my mother died,” I said, completing his sentence.

      “No. Not around me, anyway.”

      Vic let it sink in. “Weird guy.” He reached around under his mattress. “Want a Milky Way?”

      “We just brushed our teeth.”

      “Ah, it’s all right, you just rub the chocolate off with your tongue. Here.”

      He tossed one at me. It landed in the sheets, near my knees.

      “Dixie,” Vic said through a mouthful of candy. “Once in a while my mother still chucks a bone out in the yard for her, where your father buried her. You can’t touch the bone, either. It has to sit on the grave till it rots.”

      His voice grew serious. “So if you see a bone in the yard, don’t touch it, ’cause it’s for Dixie.”

      “Okay,” I said.

      “Especially if my mother’s lookin’.”

      “I won’t. What would I want with a dumb bone, anyhow?”

      He flipped onto his back. “I’ll tell you this — your father’s all right. He was good to me when I was a shrimp.”

      I let his remark go without comment.

      “But he was always a little crazy,” Vic continued. “Remember when he got married, and everybody told him … jeez, do you believe this? I’m expectin’ you to remember your father’s wedding!”

      “What did everybody tell him?”

      Vic sighed. “All right. When he got married nobody was marryin’ Irish girls. That’s the truth. I mean it’s no big deal now, but to my mother …”

      “What?” I said. “Say it.”

      Vic licked his lips. “My mother thought she wasn’t good enough for Sal,” he said. “She apologized a million times since then,” he added quickly.

      The news hit my heart like dull daggers.

      “God, I shouldn’t have told you that,” Vic said, pummeling his bedding. “Why the hell couldn’t you fall asleep?”

      Vic rolled away from me. I saw the black back of his head, suspected he was nowhere near sleep. I was right. When he rolled to face me again his eyes were wide open.

      “Nobody could ever tell your father what to do,” he said with fierce pride. “If he had his hand on a hot stove and you told him to take it off he wouldn’t. A rock head. Now it’s the same thing. He wants to drive away, he drives away. Understand this? Joseph?”

      “Joey,” I corrected. “No, I don’t.”

      “Want another Milky Way?”

      “Yeah.”

      This one landed on my navel. “They got married real young, they had you right away…. He’s makin’ up for lost time, I figure. Few weeks and he’ll be back, guaranteed.”

      The bedroom door opened. Connie’s form filled the doorway.

      “Talk soft.”

      “Sorry,” Vic