Free What’s Happening? by John Nicholas Iannuzzi Page A

good. If you don’t listen though, you’re gonna be sorry. To tell you the truth I don’t wish you any hard luck, … but you’ll be sorry. Wait! You’ll see I was right,” he concluded with infallible finality, raising a finger into the air, then opening his hand in a sign to stop all conversation, as Mother put the steaming serving plates on the table.
    â€œAhh … this is good,” Father said enthusiastically as he dished out the liver.
    Rita sat quietly, wondering if Father really thought these little pieces of liver, thrown into an oven and, still in their cooking platters, onto a bare table without napkins, really was a meal fit for a king. He had eaten this sort of plain, uninspired, poorly served food all his life, and he wanted to think it was good, the best. Everyone molds a kingdom with his own hand out of his own possessions .
    The others at the table were still moved by Father’s indignity and they reflected embarrassment for Father and themselves. They resented the whore from the Village that was a member of their family.
    The word Village was a curse in itself. It signified the filthiest of the filth, the lowest of the low, the cesspool of humanity to which drained all the waste matter of the world, the refuse of society. And to think that a relative of theirs had elected to live there, with all the degenerates and queers and nuts—Father’s own daughter, flesh of his flesh. It was an affront to the family dignity.
    Father was resigned, though, as any good man should be, and he accepted the burden that the Lord had given him. He graciously dropped the subject and chomped a large hunk of liver.
    â€œYou know …” Father began again, his mouth full, “you’ve been there long enough. Maybe its time to come home. Maybe you come home and talk to Rabbi Mayer. Daddy’ll go with you. Let him decide—talk to you anyway. What could be fairer? He’s a smart man—a good man.”
    Pulverized particles of white mashed potatoes and brown liver stuck on the end of Father’s tongue and caked in the crevices between his teeth. Rita turned away disgusted.
    â€œMaybe … Let me think about it,” she said, wanting to avoid discussion. She attempted to force down her liver.
    â€œC’mon, eat the liver. It’s good for you,” Mother urged Randy. “Don’t waste any; it’d be a sin. Sixty-eight cents a pound it cost.” She shook her head, accompanying her gesture with a tch tch sound of sadness.
    That’s all she worries about , thought Rita, whether or not she wastes her money and effort … not if her family eats or feels well . Rita’s thoughts were filled with sadness.
    â€œEat, … c’mon eat,” Father demanded of Rita. “You look terrible. You need a good meal instead of all the sh——“Father almost forgot not to be himself for the moment. “… The crap they have in those creep joints down the Village. You look run down. What are you doing to yourself?” Father was still sure he would flush out some hidden sordid secret; she would admit the filthy error of her Village ways.
    â€œProbably staying up all night at parties,” Randy injected, mixing his words with thoughts he had heard expressed before, thoughts with which he knew the family would agree.
    â€œThat’s enough, Randy,” Mother said protectively. “Eat the liver … it’s good.”
    â€œIt’s the truth, ain’t it? I don’t want any liver.” Randy made a face.
    â€œWell, eat some of it anyway. I cooked it just the way you like.” She smiled encouragingly. “It’s good for you. It gives you brains.”
    Father was still contemplating Randy’s words silently. They ate into his brain. Rita felt the rack she was on begin to pull her head from her body. She began to feel trapped. She wanted to leap from the table and leave. Yet she