The Corrections

. Let’s not get into it today .”
    “It’s bad food, Mom. If you leave it long enough, it turns to poison. Anaerobic bacteria will kill you.”
    “Well, get it cleaned up now, and let’s do the rest on the weekend. We don’t have time for that today. I want you to work on dinner so it’s all ready and you don’t have to think about it, and then I really want you to help Dad with his exercises, like you said you would!”
    “I will do that.”
    “Al,” Enid shouted, leaning past her, “Denise wants to help you with your exercises after lunch!”
    He shook his head as if with disgust. “As you wish.”
    Stacked up on one of the old family bedspreads that had long served as a dropcloth were wicker chairs and tables in early stages of scraping and painting. Lidded coffee cans were clustered on an open section of newspaper; a gun in a canvas case was by the workbench.
    “What are you doing with the gun, Dad?” Denise said.
    “Oh, he’s been meaning to sell that for years,” Enid said.“AL, ARE YOU EVER GOING TO SELL THAT GUN?”
    Alfred seemed to run this sentence through his brain several times in order to extract its meaning. Very slowly, he nodded his head. “Yes,” he said. “I will sell the gun.”
    “I hate having it in the house,” Enid said as she turned to leave. “You know, he never used it. Not once. I don’t think it’s ever been fired.”
    Alfred came smiling at Denise, making her retreat toward the door. “I will finish up in here,” he said.
    Upstairs it was Christmas Eve. Packages were accumulating beneath the tree. In the front yard the nearly bare branches of the swamp white oak swung in a breeze that had shifted to more snow-threatening directions; the dead grass snagged dead leaves.
    Enid was peering out through the sheer curtains again. “Should I be worried about Chip?”
    “I would worry that he’s not coming,” Denise said, “but not that he’s in trouble.”
    “The paper says rival factions are fighting for control of central Vilnius.”
    “Chip can take care of himself.”
    “Oh, here,” Enid said, leading Denise to the front door, “I want you to hang the last ornament on the Advent calendar.”
    “Mother, why don’t you do that.”
    “No, I want to see you do it.”
    The last ornament was the Christ baby in a walnut shell. Pinning it to the tree was a task for a child, for someone credulous and hopeful, and Denise could now see very clearly that she’d made a program of steeling herself against the emotions of this house, against the saturation of childhood memory and significance. She could not be the child to perform this task.
    “It’s your calendar,” she said. “You should do it.”
    The disappointment on Enid’s face was disproportionately large. It was an ancient disappointment with the refusal of the world in general and her children in particular to participate in her preferred enchantments. “I guess I’ll ask Gary if he’ll do it,” she said with a scowl.
    “I’m sorry,” Denise said.
    “I remember you used to love pinning on the ornaments, when you were a little girl. You used to love it. But if you don’t want to do it, you don’t want to do it.”
    “Mom.” Denise’s voice was unsteady. “Please don’t make me.”
    “If I’d known it would seem like such a chore,” Enid said, “I never would have asked you.”
    “Let me watch you do it!” Denise pleaded.
    Enid shook her head and walked away. “I’ll ask Gary when he gets back from shopping.”
    “I’m so sorry.”
    She went outside and sat on the front steps smoking. The air had a disturbed southern snowy flavor. Down the street Kirby Root was winding pine rope around the post of his gas lamp. He waved and she waved back.
    “When did you start smoking?” Enid asked her when she came inside.
    “About fifteen years ago.”
    “I don’t mean to criticize,” Enid said, “but it’s a terrible habit for your health. It’s bad for your skin, and frankly, it’s not a pleasant smell for others.”
    Denise, with a sigh, washed her hands and began to brown the flour for the sauerkraut gravy. “If you’re going to come and live with me,” she said, “we need to get some things clear.”
    “I said I wasn’t criticizing.”
    “One thing we need to be clear about is that I’m having a hard time. For example, I didn’t quit the Generator. I was fired.”
    “Fired?”
    “Yes. Unfortunately. Do you want to know why?”
    “No!”
    “Are you