One of the Boys by Daniel Magariel

Author:Daniel Magariel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scribner

EIGHT

My father threw open our bedroom door, began to pace about in his underwear like a prisoner obsessed with his own innocence, ranting, “Traitor! Traitor! Traitor!” I sat up in bed, pulled from sleep by his rage. My brother had already left for school. Today was my day to help my father catch up on office work. He had not yet returned to normal from the months-long binge. The comedown had been prolonged. His hands still shook when he held a glass. He was sensitive to sound. He had no control over the swings of his emotions. He reacted with extremes: weepy or angry—sometimes at the same time.

“My firstborn son,” he cried. “Of all the people in the world.”

“What happened?” I asked. “What did he do?

“He called the Amalekite.”

My father told me that my mother had called back after my brother had left. She said she was taking him to court and taking us kids back. He was going to pay child support. She even threatened to call the cops. “She’s holding us hostage again,” he said.

I’d known this day was coming. I’d known it would be messy. But that my brother and father had both spoken to my mother this morning was an actuality I was not prepared for. I felt exposed. She was in our lives again, just like that, as though she’d been here all along.

He stopped pacing, faced me. “How are we going to punish him?”

His question turned real in the silence.

“What do you think?” I asked.

Suddenly he was in my face, screaming, “Why aren’t you as mad as me? What’s wrong with you? He chose her over us. You want to go live with her too? Is that it? Are you a goddamn traitor too?”

I wiped specks of his saliva from my face. My cheeks turned hot as they always did before I cried. He was asking me to choose between my dad and my brother. I needed him to back away a few feet. I needed space to think. I swung my legs onto the floor, put my head down, pretended to deliberate his question.

My father dropped to his knees. He clutched my bare calves. “Don’t give up on me, boy,” he said. “Don’t you give up on me.” He lifted my chin. “How are we going to punish your brother?”

The tears came.

Just a few, and I wiped them away.

“Ground him,” I said.

“What else?”

“Spank him.”

“We need something more dramatic.”

“You could threaten to send him back.”

“And if he wants to go back?”

“Let him,” I said, finding in this answer a way to also protect my brother. “We don’t need him,” I lied.

“In medieval times your brother would have been drawn and quartered. You know what that means? The king would have tied his limbs to horses and ripped him to pieces. We need something that’ll bring him back in line. Something he’ll never forget.”

He was looking to me for the answer. I was afraid of what would happen if I did not give him what he wanted, but also of what would happen if I gave him what he was asking.

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