"Maybe you should try to figure out why Bart is so different from me, for I would die rather than make you unhappy."
She held me, then stared into space. "Jory, my life has been a series of obstacles. I feel if one more horrible thing happens, I may break . . . and I can't allow that to happen. People are so complicated, Jory, especially adults. When I was ten, I used to think that adults had it so easy, with all the power and rights to do as they wanted. I never guessed being a parent was so difficult. But not you, darling, not you . . ."
I knew her life had been full of sadness, losing her parents, then Cory, Carrie, my father and then her second husband.
The child of my revenge, she whispered as if to herself. All the while I carried Bart I suffered from the guilt I felt. I loved his father so much. . . and in a way I helped kill him.
Mom. I said with a sudden insight, maybe Bart senses your guilt when you look at him- do you think?
PART THREE Malcolm's Rage
. Sunlight fell on my face and woke me up. When I was dressed, suddenly I didn't feel so old like Malcolm, and in a way I was glad. In another way I was sad, for Malcolm was so dependable.
Why didn't I have friends my own age, like other boys? Why was it only old people liked me? It didn't matter now that my grandmother had said she loved me, now that she'd stolen Apple. I had to face up to the fact that only John Amos was my true friend.
Went outside and crawled around before breakfast, sniffed at the ground, smelled the wild things that were scared of me in daylight. Little rabbit ran like crazy and I wouldn't hurt it, wouldn't.
They kept watching me at the breakfast table like they expected me to do something awful. I noticed that Daddy didn't ask Jory how he was today, only asked me. I scowled down at my cold cereal. Hated raisins! Looked like little dead bugs.
"Bart, I just asked you a question." Knew that already. "I'm okay," I said without looking at Daddy, who always woke up in a good mood and never looked glum like me--and Momma. "I just wish you'd hire a really good cook. Or better if Momma would stay home and cook our meals like other mothers. Emma's stuff ain't fit for man nor beast to eat."
Jory stared at me hard and kicked my leg under the table like he was trying to warn me to keep my mouth shut.
"Emma didn't cook your cold cereal, Bart," said Daddy. "It comes that way in a box. And until this morning you always liked plenty of raisins. You used to want Jory's. But if raisins offend you in some way this morning, don't eat them. And why is your lower lip bleeding?"
Was it? Doctors were always seeing blood 'cause they were always cutting up people.
Jory took it on himself to answer. "He was playing wolf this morning, Dad, that's all. I guess when he jumped at the rabbit and tried to bite off its head, he bit himself." He grinned at me as if pleased with my stupidity.
Something was up. Could tell because nobody asked why I would play wolf. They just looked at me as if they expected me to act crazy.
Heard Momma and Daddy whispering beyond the pantry--talking about me. Heard doctors mentioned, new head shrinks. Wouldn't go! Couldn't make me!
Then Mom was back in the kitchen talking to Jory as Daddy went on to the garage and started his car.
"Mom, are we really going through with the performance tonight?"
She threw me a troubled glance, then forced a smile and said, "Of course. I can't disappoint my students, their parents and the other guests who have already bought their tickets."
Fools and their money were soon parted.
Jory said, "I think I'll call Melodie. Yesterday I told her the show might be canceled."
"Jory, why would you tell her that?"
He looked at me, as if I were to blame for everything, even shows that weren't canceled--and I wouldn't go. Not even if they remembered to ask me.
Didn't want to see no sissy-silly ballet where everybody danced and said nothing. They weren't even going to dance Swan Lake, but the dumbest, dullest ballet of all--Coppelia.
Daddy came back in the house then, having forgotten something as usual. "I guess you'll be the prince," he said to Jory, who turned on him with scorn.
"Gosh, Dad, don't you ever learn? There isn't a prince in Coppelial Most of the time I'm only in the corps, but Mom will be terrific in her role. She's choreographed it herself."
"What are you saying?" roared Daddy, turning to glare at Momma. "Cathy, you know you're not supposed to dance on your trick knee! You promised me you would never dance professionally again. At any moment that knee could give way, and down you'd go. One more fall and you may end up crippled for life."
"Just one more time," she pleaded, as if her whole life depended on dancing again. "I'm going to be only the mechanical doll, sitting in a chair--don't get so worked up over nothing."
"No!" he stormed again. "If you go on tonight and don't fall, then you'll think your knee is fine. You'll want to repeat your success, and one more time might see your knee permanently damaged. Just one serious fall and you could break your leg, your pelvis, your back . . . it's happened before, you know that!"