Frog by Stephen Dixon Read Free Book Online

clothes. The father continues to laugh but now seems somewhat repelled by him. Scene goes blank. Curtain comes down. He’s left looking at the curtain. Or if it is theater-in-the-round, which it resembles more: blackout, and when the house lights come on thirty seconds later, the actors have left the stage. “Frieda,” he says.
    â€œExcuse me,” she says to his mother. “Yes?”
    â€œI’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break in like that, but there’s something I’ve often wanted to ask you about from the time when I was around five.”
    â€œYou wanted to ask me it since you were five?”
    â€œNo, I mean, what I want to ask you about happened, or I think it did, when I was around five.”
    â€œHoward,” his mother says, as if saying, since they had talked about it a few times, not to ask it.
    â€œWhat is it?” Frieda says. To his mother: “What’s the big mystery?”
    â€œNo mystery,” Howard says. “Just that your memory’s so good—phenomenal, really—that I wondered if you could remember it for me from that time.”
    â€œWhy don’t we keep it for lunch,” his mother says. “I want you to join us. Frieda already told me she wants you to come too. Have anything you want.”
    â€œLet me just finish this, Mom. I don’t think, if I’m gauging her right, she wants me to ask this, Frieda. Thinks it might offend you. Believe me, that’s not my purpose. Whatever happened so long ago is over and past, period. We all—anyway, if it did happen, you were probably doing something—I know you were—that you thought right or necessary. Or just required for what you were hired for, or something. I’m not getting this out right—and I meant by that nothing disparaging about you, Mom—but just know I’m not asking this with any harm in mind whatsoever. None.”
    â€œWhat could it be? The mystery gets bigger and bigger. That I slapped you a few times? I’m sorry for that. I never wanted to. But sometimes, sweet and darling as you were, and beautiful—he was such a beautiful child, everyone thought so—you got out of control, like all children can. Out of my control.”
    â€œThat’s true. They could be something.”
    â€œI had three very wild boys to take care of sometimes, so sometimes I had to act like that. Rough. Mean. Slap one or the other. I always tried for the hands or backside first—to get control or they’d run over me. I had a lot of responsibility taking care of you all. Your mother understood that.”
    â€œI did. I wouldn’t have accepted outright slaughter, but certainly corporal punishment is needed sometimes. You must do it with Olivia from time to time, spank her,” she says to him. “Later, against your better judgment, you might even slap her face a couple of times. You’ll see. Children can get to you.”
    â€œI don’t know. If I did, I’d have Denise to deal with.”
    â€œShe too. Calm as she is, and reasonable, she’d—”
    â€œNo, never. Not her, take it from me.”
    â€œBut with Howard,” Frieda says, “I just hope you’ll have forgiven me by now. But if it had to be done sometimes, it had to be done.”
    â€œOf course. I’m not saying. But I was talking of once when you—at least my second-rate memory tells me this—when you pulled my hair and a big chunk came out. Did it? Where I walked around with a big bald spot for about a month?”
    â€œI don’t remember that.”
    â€œNeither do I,” his mother says.
    â€œTo be honest, I do remember once putting filth in Alex’s face. He was in the bath. He made in it. Number two. I felt I had to teach him somehow not to. I don’t like it now. But that was about the worst I ever did, I think. In ways I don’t like most of it now, but then I was so much younger, a new