Dance of the Happy Shades

the other neighbours start to pull off Benny’s clothes and it looked like parts of his skin were coming away too, and Benny was making a noise not like crying, but more a noise like they had heard a dog making after its hind parts were run over, but worse, and louder—But Mrs. McGee saw them; she cried, Go away, go away from here! Go over to my place, she cried. After that the ambulance had come and taken Benny away to the hospital, and Mrs. McGee came over and told them that Benny was going to the hospital for a while and they were going to stay at her place. She gave them bread and peanut butter and bread and strawberry jam.
    The bed they slept in had a feather tick and smooth ironed sheets; the blankets were pale and fluffy and smelled faintly of mothballs. On top of everything else was a Star-of-Bethlehem quilt; they knew it was called that because when they were getting ready for bed Patricia said, My, what a beautiful quilt! and Mrs. McGee looking surprised and rather distracted said, Oh, yes, that’s a Star-of-Bethlehem.
    Patricia was very polite in Mrs. McGee’s house. It was not as nice as some of the houses uptown but it was covered on the outside with imitation brick and inside it had an imitation fireplace, as well as a fern in a basket; it was not like the other houses along the highway. Mr. McGee did not work in the mill like the other men, but in a store.
    George and Irene were so shy and alarmed in this house that they could not answer when they were spoken to.
    They all woke up very early; they lay on their backs, uneasy between the fresh sheets, and they watched the room getting light. This room had mauve silk curtains and Venetian blinds and mauve and yellow roses on the wallpaper; it was the guest room. Patricia said, We slept in the guest room.
    I have to go, George said.
    I’ll show you where the bathroom is, Patricia said. It’s down the hall.
    But George wouldn’t go down there to the bathroom. He didn’t like it. Patricia tried to make him but he wouldn’t.
    See if there is a pot under the bed, Irene said.
    They got a bathroom here they haven’t got any pots, Patricia said angrily. What would they have a stinking old pot for?
    George said stolidly that he wouldn’t go down there.
    Patricia got up and tip-toed to the dresser and got a big vase. When George had gone she opened the window very carefully with hardly any noise and emptied the vase and dried it out with Irene’s underpants.
    Now, she said, you kids shut up and lay still. Don’t talk out loud just whisper.
    George whispered, Is Benny still in the hospital?
    Yes he is, said Patricia shortly.
    Is he going to die?
    I told you a hundred times, no.
    Is
he?
    No! Just his skin got burnt, he didn’t get burnt inside. Heisn’t going to die of a little bit of burnt skin is he? Don’t talk so loud.
    Irene began to twist her head into the pillow.
    What’s the matter with you? Patricia said.
    He cried awful, Irene said, her face in the pillow.
    Well it hurt, that’s why he cried. When they got him to the hospital they gave him some stuff that made it stop hurting.
    How do you know? George said.
    I know.
    They were quiet for a while and then Patricia said, I never in my life heard of anybody that died of a burnt skin. Your whole skin could be burnt off it wouldn’t matter you could just grow another. Irene stop crying or I’ll hit you.
    Patricia lay still, looking up at the ceiling, her sharp profile white against the mauve silk curtains of Mrs. McGee’s guestroom.
    For breakfast they had grapefruit, which they did not remember having tasted before, and cornflakes and toast and jam. Patricia watched George and Irene and snapped at them, Say please! Say thank-you! She said to Mr. and Mrs. McGee, What a cold day, I wouldn’t be surprised if it snowed today would you?
    But they did not answer. Mrs. McGee’s face was swollen. After breakfast she said, Don’t get up, children, listen to me. Your little brother—
    Irene began to cry and that started George crying too; he said sobbingly, triumphantly to Patricia. He did so die, he did so! Patricia did not answer.
It’s her fault
, George sobbed, and Mrs. McGee said, Oh, no, oh, no! But Patricia sat still, with her face wary and polite. She did not say anything until the crying had died down a bit and Mrs. McGee got up sighing and began to clear the table. Then Patricia offered to help with the dishes.
    Mrs. McGee took them downtown to buy them all new shoes for the funeral.