It was very quiet in their aunt’s apartment. Their aunt was a supervisory clerk in the municipal court system with an office in the civic center downtown, and she had been there for twenty-three years and as a result she had developed a stark view of humanity and its vagaries and the multitude of ways it found to commit crimes. She had been married once, for three months, and since that time had never considered marrying anyone again. She was left with two passions: a fat yellow neutered cat named Theodore and the television soap opera that came on at one o’clock every weekday while she was at work, a program she taped religiously and watched without fail every night when she was home again.
The boys were bored right away. Their mother had seemed better, but after the silent spells began she appeared defeated again and went back to bed, and their aunt told them they must be quiet and let her rest. This was after she’d gone into their mother’s room one evening and they’d talked for an hour behind the closed door, and then she had come back out and said, You will have to be quiet and let her rest.
We have been quiet.
Are you arguing with me.
What’s wrong with Mother?
Your mother is not strong.
So their aunt went to work and their mother went back to bed lying with her arm folded over her eyes in a darkened room, and they were left alone in the seventh-floor apartment in Denver and were told strictly not to go outside. They spent their time reading a little and they watched tv until they were blind, while still being careful at the critical hour not to interfere with the taping of their aunt’s soap opera. Their only recourse was the balcony at the front of the apartment, which they entered by sliding back a glass door. It overlooked Logan Street and the sidewalk and there were cars parked all along the curbing and they could see into the tops of the leafless winter trees. They began to go out on the balcony to watch the cars go by in the street and to see people walking their dogs. They put their coats on and stayed for longer and longer periods of time. After a while they took to dropping things off the balcony. They started by leaning over the rail to watch what the wind did with their spittle, then they made up a game to see who could sail scraps of paper the farthest, floating the paper like feathers, and they invented a system of points for distance and placement. But that was too unpredictable. Wind had too much to do with it. They found that dropping things that had weight was better. And eggs were best.
After this had gone on for a couple of days someone in the building told their aunt about it. When she came into the apartment that evening she removed her coat and hung it up, and then she took them both by the wrist and led them into their mother’s room. Do you know what these two have been doing?
Their mother leaned up in bed. No, she said. She looked pale and drawn again. But it couldn’t be very bad, she said.
They’ve been smashing eggs on the sidewalk.
How?
Dropping them off the balcony. Oh, it’s very intelligent.
Have you? she said, looking in their faces.
They stood looking at her impassively. Their aunt was still holding their wrists.
Yes, they have.
Well, I’m sure they won’t do it anymore. There’s too little for them to do up here.
They can’t do that anymore. I won’t have it.
So that was the end of that. They were forbidden to go out onto the balcony.
At the end of the week they woke one night in the dark and discovered that their mother wasn’t in the room. They opened the door and went out into the living room. No lights were on, but the curtain was drawn back from the glass balcony door and the lights of the city came in through the glass. Their mother was sitting on the davenport with a blanket wrapped around her. Though she was awake, so far as they could see, she wasn’t doing anything.
Mother?
What is it? she said. What woke you?
We wondered where you were.
I’m just out here, she said. It’s all right. Go back to bed.
Can’t we sit here with you?
If you want. It’s cool out here though.
I’ll get a blanket, Ike said.
But you won’t like it, their mother said. I’m not very good company.
Mother, can’t you come home again? Bobby said. What good is it here?
No. Not yet, she said.
When?