“Maybe the fact that he was a third had something to do with it. Anyhow I don’t miss it. Joe, shall I find the letter?”
“Sure. Joan Eunice is family.”
Joan found Mother Branca’s handwriting difficult, so she read the letter to herself to be sure she could read it aloud—and ran into trouble. (Eunice! How do I handle this.) (Twin, never tell a man anything he doesn’t need to know. I censored as necessary. Even some of your mail, when you were sickest.) (Know you did, baggage, as I reread some you had read aloud.) (Boss, some went straight into the shredder. And this one should have gone there—so censor it.) (You were married to him, sweetheart, but I’m not. I have no right to censor his mail.) (Twin, between being ‘right’ and being kind, I know which way 1 vote.) (Oh, shut up, I won’t consider Joe’s mail!)
“Takes a while to get used to strange handwriting,” Joan Eunice said apologetically. “All right, here it is:
“‘Darling Baby Boy,
“‘Mama don’t feel so—’”
“Don’t read all,” Joe interrupted. “Just tell.”
“That’s right.” agreed Gigi. “Joe’s mother puts in a lot of kark about noisy neighbors and their pets and people Joe never heard of. All he wants is news. If any.”
(You see, twin?) (Eunice, I’m still not going to censor. Oh, I can leave out trivial gossip. Uh, maybe edit the wording.) (You damn well better, Boss, and you know it.)
“All right. Your mother says her stomach is troubling her—”
(“Mama dont feel so good and cant seem to get no relief nohow. The medicare man says it’s not stomach cancer but what does he know? Sign says he’s an internist and everybody knows an internist is a student, not a real doctor. What do we pay taxes for when just a student can half kill me like I was a dog or a cat or something they’re always cutting up behind locked doors like they say on teevee?”)
“Joe, she says that her stomach has been bothering her but she’s been getting tests from an internal medicine man—that’s a doctor who specializes in such ailments, they are very learned—and he has assured her that it isn’t cancer or anything of that sort.”
(“The new priest aint no help. He’s a young snot that thinks he knows it all. Wont listen. Claims I get just as good treatment as anybody when he knows it aint true. You got to be a nigger to get anything around here. We white people that built this country and paid for it are just so much dirt. When l go to medicare clinic, they make your Mama wait while Mexican women go in first. How about that?”)
“She says that there is a new priest in your parish, a younger one than the last, and that he has investigated and has reassured her that she is getting the proper treatment. But she says that she sometimes has to wait a long time at the clinic.”
“Why not?” said Joe. “Got nothin’ but kill time. Don’ work.”
(“Annamaria is going to have a baby. That Snot priest says she ought to go to a Home. You know what terrible places those Homes are and its Unamerican to bust up families. They don’t do that in the Old Country and that’s what I told the Visitor. Youd think the way they throw away money on people that dont deserve it they could spend a little on a decent family that just wants to be left alone and not bothered. The other Johnson twin—not the one that dropped out, the one 1 told you was out on parole again—got busted again and about time! There’s a family the Visitor could look into—but oh No, he just told me to mind my own business.”)
“Someone named Annamaria is pregnant.”
Gigi said, “Which one is that, Joe?”
“Baby sister. Twelve. Maybe thirteen.” Joe shrugged.
“Well, your parish priest thinks she ought to go into a home for expectant mothers but your mother feels that she would be better off at home. There is something about a neighbor family named Johnson.”
“Skip.”
(“Baby Boy, Mama dont hardly never get a letter from you since Eunice died. Aint there no letterwriter in your block? You dont know how a mother worries when she dont hear from her little boy. I watch the-mailbox every day be sure nobody swipes it fore 1 get it. But no letter from my little Josie—just ads and once a month the Check.”)