Free High Crime Area by Joyce Carol Oates Page B

him away from us to live with his own kind and not us, Momma says.
    You won’t let it happen, will you?—Momma is begging me.
    For Momma does not want to hurt Toad-Baby.
    We are lying on Momma’s bed, and baby is between us. Again I am afraid of sleeping though I am very tired.
    Momma has been drinking, so Momma is happy. But Momma’s mood can change, when she is happy. Momma says I can drown only one of you so which one will it be?
    Damn, Momma! That is not funny.
    Momma laughs and shudders. Only thing ’bout me that’s funny is my face.
    But truly, Momma does not want to hurt Toad-Baby.
    Except, Toad-Baby cries so loud. You would not think such a tiny baby can cry so loud, your thoughts are rattled like dried peas shaken inside a cup. And then Momma becomes excitable, and anxious.
    I stayed awake those times. Pinched my cheek, bit the inside of my mouth till it bled.
    You can’t keep your eyelids from closing. No more than you can keep the dark from lifting from the earth.
    Momma, stop! Struggling grunting with Momma to pull the baby out of the tub. The water is at the top, and steaming. Spilling over onto the floor. Momma slaps me so I am knocked down onto the slippery floor trying to get my balance and there is Toad-Baby on the floor and not crying, or kicking. All wet and streaming water Toad-Baby is so little-looking like a floppy doll quiet and not squirming, kicking or shrieking and Momma snatches him up and shakes him and still, Toad-Baby does not cry. And I take Toad-Baby from Momma shouting into Momma’s face, grab Toad-Baby out of Momma’s hands and squeeze his little chest not knowing what I am doing in my desperation laying Toad-Baby back onto the puddled floor and onto his back pressing my mouth against the little snail mouth and breathing, and breathing, and breathing hard and deep inside into the mouth until at last Toad-Baby begins to stir, and fret, and cry. Toad-Baby sucks in air, you can hear. Toad-Baby’s bellowing cries, that Momma has said pierced her heart but Momma is crying now, too. On her knees on the bathroom floor. Momma’s wet hair in her face and it’s a surprise I see that Momma is a girl too—a girl like me but older, and her skin hot like sunburn. And she hugs me and starts to cry, God will bless you, you have protected your baby brother from the wrath of God.
    And so after this, all my life I will be fearful of sleeping. It is a terrible temptation to close your eyes, and sleep. But Toad-Baby’s cries will wake me, long after Toad-Baby is gone into his own life. Long after Momma is gone and I will be an old woman, Toad-Baby’s cries will wake me out of the dark.

Demon
    Demon-child. Kicked in the womb so his poor young mother doubled over in pain. Nursing he tugged and tore at her breasts. Wailed through the night. Puked, shat. Refused to eat. No I am loving, I am mad with love . Of Mama. (Though fearful of Da.) Curling burrowing pushing his head into Mama’s arms, against Mama’s warm fleshy body. Starving for love, food. Starving for what he could not know yet to name: God’s grace, salvation.
    Sign of Satan: flamey-red ugly-pimply birthmark snake-shaped. On his underjaw, coiled below his ear. Almost you can’t see it. A little boy he’s teased by neighbor girls, hulking big girls with titties and laughing-wet eyes. Demon! Demon! Look it, the sign of the Demon!
    Those years. Passing in a fever-dream. Or maybe never passed. Mama prayed over him, hugged and slapped. He was her baby, her Jethro. She had named him, as she had borne him. But now she could not love him. Shook him. In the wink of an eye, Mama was not young. Shook his skinny shoulders so his head rocked. Minister prayed over him. Deliver us from evil and he was good, he was delivered from evil. Except at the school his eyes misted over, couldn’t see the blackboard. White chalk in the teacher’s fingers striking the board hurt his ears, sharp