There was no anxiety in her voice, no emotion, only a flat acceptance of what had to be. “No, Mama. I just came from the hospital.” “How is he?” “Okay,” I said, finding a bit of her face in the darkness. “Dr. Maselli’s with him.” I sat on the top porch stair and leaned against the post. “Ifs been coming,” she said. “I’ve known all along. Is it his heart?” “He’s got diabetes.” She rose and kissed a white rosary in her hand. “His father died of diabetes.” “How old was he?” “Young. Only eighty. When can we go see him?” “Maybe tomorrow.” “Are you hungry? I made a meat loaf.” I followed her into the house. The meat loaf was in the open oven. It didn’t look appetizing, as if it had been prepared for my father, his supper, and I could not eat it. As I spread peanut butter on a slice of bread my mother came to the door. She was in a gray and blue dress with a black shawl over her hair. “I’m going to church.” “At this hour? It’s closed.”
What do You think about The Brotherhood Of The Grape?
