The Dark End of the Street: New Stories of Sex and Crime by Jonathan Santlofer & S. J. Rozan

Author:Jonathan Santlofer & S. J. Rozan [eds] [Santlofer, Jonathan & Rozan, S. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Anthologies & Literary Collections, General, Short Stories, Anthologies, United States, Anthologies & Literature Collections, Genre Fiction
ISBN: 1596916834
Amazon: B003PJ616U
Publisher: Bloomsbury USA
Published: 2010-05-16T04:00:00+00:00

Toytown Assorted

PATRICK MCCABE

YURI GAGARIN WASN’T long in space when Golly decided to go up the town. For just the briefest of moments she thought that she’d forgotten her shop book—but then she remembered.

—Silly me, it was in my handbag all along.

Now as she proceeded across the square, she repeated the various items which it was her intention to purchase.

—I have Brasso to get and half a pound of butter, then there’s oranges and a tin of Mansion polish. After that it’ll be over to the butcher’s for a few tender chops. Thank you, Barney, she heard herself say.

Emerging onto the street, who did she encounter only Blossom Foster—a plump lady in a leopard-print coat and stole.

—This Russian fellow. What do you make of all this talk about space?

Golly’s response was that she didn’t really have any hard or fast views on the subject. But by now her interlocutor had already moved on and was inquiring of Golly as to what her considered opinion might be of Miami. Golly replied by saying that, regrettably, she’d never been.

There were lots of programs on television—Dragnet among them, The Lucy Show and Peyton Place—but for Patsy Murray and his son Boniface, Mr. Pastry was the best of them all. He sported round wire-framed spectacles and had a great big thick gray mustache. Such an amount of idiotic antics as he got up to! Always landing in one complicated situation after another. Even though he was Down syndrome, Boniface had no difficulty appreciating the TV funnyman’s idiosyncratic sense of humor. As the twelve-year-old boy fanned his fat fingers and pressed them to his face, rolling around the floor in hysterics—it got so bad that Golly had to go over to wipe the mucus and saliva off his nose.

—Mittur Pay-twee! he would squeal—repeating it, falsetto—Mitter Mitter Mitter Pay-twee!

Patsy had been watching the television too—but only halfheartedly. Being much too busy perusing his newspaper and thinking about the weekend’s football.

—Boo! he heard Golly squealing suddenly as he found himself jumping, instinctively placing his hand over his heart.

—Jesus Mary and Joseph, you put the fear of God in me, Golly!

The giddy peal of his wife’s laughter began to amuse him then, however, as she swung her bag gaily, tossing back her auburn curls. She had just come back from space, she told him, where she’d been tumbling about like Yuri Gagarin.

—No! she laughed, I’m only joking—I’ve just been shopping up the town. Would you like a sandwich? I’m just going in to wet a pot of tea. And what about you, Little Boniface Murray? Would you, perhaps, maybe like a nice little cup?

—Waaay! exclaimed Boniface, and Toytoon Torted!

Which, of course, as she knew, meant: Toytown Assorted.

They were his favorite confection of all. Indeed Golly herself liked them very much too. They came in a family-sized cellophane bag. There were little houses and trees and even a church, all coated in the loveliest of tasty icing sugar.

—I can’t wait for my Toytown Assorted! cried Golly, clapping her hands. As

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