Chapter 2 - king james version

"But, where's th'am?"

Albert shifted in the dusty shadows in an attempt to hide from his mother.

"Where's th'am?" She repeated with an increase in volume and exasperation.

"Ma! There weren't no ham." Robert, the eldest brother, stated sternly despite the subtle shake of fear audible in his voice. No one ever defied MA, and for the Burke brothers that was an accepted fact from the good book itself, King James version.

"You trynna tell me that in th'whole of Saint Louis th' three o' yous couldn't find your dear Ma n'oliday 'am?"

"There was one at the Stoker's place, cooked too, but Mister Stoker, he, well he started carving it before we could get close enough." Charles, the middle child, sheepishly spoke.

"Mister Abraham Stoker carved the 'am 'fore you could get to it, did 'e?" MA eyed Robert intensely, "And, to think th'onorable Abraham Stoker is well known for 'is generosity. Don't think three filthy worthless bastards, scrawny as the three of you are, 'ad asked Mister Stoker for th'am to to to their Ma for th'oliday? And that 'e, given 'is generosity, would gladly give it up for the greater good of 'umanity?

Ma, short of breath now, sighed deeply and heavily; the entire mass of her corpulence seething in frustration and disappointment with cheeks flared pink with alcohol and animal fat. This was not a sigh of surrender nor of acceptance, but rather a statement of blame. Simply put, her three sons had greatly failed her by not making away with the Stoker's roasted ham either by honest or dishonest means. This, of course, was through no fault of her own, and that was the truth - the King James version truth.

"Albert," she said after a moment with an intense calm as though her jaw were made of rocks and her voice of clouds, "which one is twllin' your Ma the King James version truth?"

"Both, Ma. Both told the truth." Albert stammered then continued, "Charlie said the truth that the Stokers had an ham, but Robert said the truth as there weren't no ham as that ham was had before we could have at it."

"King James version?" She glared.

"King James version, promise."

Ma scoffed, nodded, and reclined her immense body in her bed which creaked weakly under her bulk. "Let's 'ope then your Pop, as touched 'is brain may be, did a better job than th' three o' yous."

"But, Ma!" Albert spoke with a sudden burst of confidence, "I did sneak some sausages from Mushnik's!" He triumphantly lifted his oversized hand-me-down wool coat to reveal the twelve heavy pork links tied around his torso.

"Sausages?!" His mother's face now red, she berated the boy, " Who eats sausages on Christmas? That is not a proper feast for th'oliday!" She paused a moment and relaxed herself, "Fine. Robert, you will cook them up. One for each o' yous, and one for your Pop. How many are there?"

"Twelve, Ma."

"Twelve!? Twelve is not enough for a lack of an 'am! Your Pop 'ad better got something more! And, don't burn mine!"

Robert patiently held the sausages over the fire occasionally tossing a scrap of wood, scrounged from trash piles across the city, onto the flames. Charles undressed their mother and cleaned her pallad bulbous skin with hot water then soaked her gown and sheets in a tin tub before rocking her back and forth to force another sheet under her mass and a new gown to cover her. Albert was sent out to wish their neighbors the warmest of season's greetings, and, as he was the youngest and skinnyest, put on a display to beg of their Christian kindness for blessings.

When Albert returned with a tin of biscuits, loaf of sweet bread, and a small sack of potatoes and carrots his mother stated "Put your sausages in th' pot, yous'll have a stew, and give me your Pop's." Robert complied and put three sausages in the pot with the carrots and potatoes then filled it with water and hung it in the fireplace to boil. He piled the other nine thickest links on a metal plate and brought them to their mother who gave no thanks and in her usual behavior chose to forego any utensils. She held a link of sausage in each hand, and opening her mouth to the point of strain took eagerly ferocious bites, one after the other giving herself little time to chew, as though she had been starved for the year. Her flabby jowls and heavy chin shook with each carnivorous bite with grease smearing and dripping from her lips.

Her eyes closed with each bite and she ate as though entranced. One link after the other was grotesquely mutilated by her maw and shoved down her throat to satiate her uncontrollable hunger until she suddenly stopped mid-bite.

Her eyes shot open wide staring past the unpainted walls, and the half-consumed sausages in each had were gripped so tight that the meat oozed out of the casings where her teeth had torn them. Her eyes then glazed over and rolled backwards in their sockets, and she mumbled incoherently as though she were falling asleep before she let out a sudden ear-bursting yell and in a sudden burst heaved her immobile body out of the bed before going completely silent and collapsing face-first into the wooden planks of the floor.

Grease and drool and minced chunks of chewed sausage leaked from her agape mouth, and her eyes, cold-and-dead, open staring into Albert's soul, and he knew in that moment he had killed his mother. It wasn't her entire life spent sedentary nor the weight she had accumulated that kept her trapped in bed; it was the sausages. He had stolen the sausages from Mushnik's, and in his King James version it was his act that killed her. He knew this. He felt this.

But, what he did not feel was guilt for his crime nor did he feel sadness as one should for such a loss. Instead he felt relieved, he felt victorious, he felt curiosity, and he felt joy. He knew he had done it, and he knew he was no longer the same boy who had stolen the sausages.