Wonderland by Joyce Carol Oates Read Free Book Online

motion of his teeth as he ate. He wanted to see, and yet he did not want to see. He wanted to see the underclothes Jean kept in her bureau drawer, the top left-hand drawer, and yet he did not want to see.… He couldn’t help noticing his sister’s breasts. Her firm legs, the hint of her thighs. At school, he saw other boys watching Jean. The boys even watched his mother when she came to town in the summer, wearing slacks, sometimes with her hair done up in a bandana, looking like a gypsy, Hotly, warily, his eyes took in these sights. The moist out-sides of his eyes became seared with such sights.
His father going out to tramp in the woods, hours before dawn
.… Once, in the Brennans’ woods, he had come upon a heap of cigarette butts and ashes, and he knew this was where his father had sat, unable to stay in the house or in bed. Unable to sleep. He had kicked at the pile with his foot, as if this were a secret that embarrassed him.
    His mother pulled a chair out and sat down. Wiped Bob’s nose. Now Shirley wanted something; her whining. Jean went to the cupboardand stumbled over Jesse’s feet. “Biggest feet in the world,” she muttered. Jesse drew his feet under his chair angrily. “Watch out for yourself,” he said. “You two,” said their mother, sighing. The table was crowded with things. Now his mother must sit down, with a bowl for herself, a spoon, a glass, a cup filled with hot coffee. Everything was crowded. Jesse wanted to knock things off, clear a path—He wanted to shout to Jean to let him alone. Who did she think she was? But he ate in silence, sullenly, quickly. Too much sugar on his oatmeal; he’d spilled a teaspoonful on in one place. Sickening sweet on his tongue. He glanced up to see Bob wiping his nose with the back of his hand. If his father were to come in now, they would have to make room for him. Another chair. Another place at the table. No hiding here. His father’s coarse, discolored teeth, the grinding, rhythmic motion of his chewing, his swallowing. Hypnotizing Jesse. Jesse’s stare, his habit of staring, would get him into trouble. Must not stare. Must not notice.
His mother’s bathrobe, loosely tied at the waist
. He could hear his mother and Jean and Shirley talking, talking about Christmas. The Christmas tree. Presents for Grandpa Vogel. The three voices blended together, mingling and clashing, drawing apart, easing together. Disagreeing. Agreeing. Switching sides. It was like music. The radio was turned on to the morning news, but the station must have shifted, most of the sound was static. Why didn’t Jesse’s mother notice that and fix it? Jesse ate fast, gulping his food. Since he had seen his mother being sick, he felt a little sick himself. And what was behind that static, what was behind the noise of the radio and his mother and sisters? Was there something he should be listening to?
    He said abruptly, “Where’s Pa?”
    His mother did not look at him.
    “He’s gone out already,” Jean said.
    “Why?” said Jesse.
    “How do I know why?” Jean said.
    “Where did he go?” Jesse asked his mother.
    She was picking at something on the edge of the table. Picking it off the faded oilcloth.
    “He couldn’t sleep, so he went for a walk,” she said finally.
    “It’s cold out to take a walk,” he said strangely, staring at his mother.
    “He couldn’t sleep,” his mother said.
    They were silent. Shirley sucked at her milk, oblivious to theirsilence, not understanding. Jesse and Jean and their mother sat so close together that their faces were like balloons hovering close, about to knock together lightly. The windows were frosted with ice on the inside—a very thin, flaky, delicate coating in odd designs. Jesse stared at the window behind the stove. What if his father appeared there suddenly, staring in at them? He must be hungry, out walking in the woods for so long. His breath coming in puffs of steam. His breath smoking about his mouth. Walking with his head