Shantih Journal 3.1 - Page 98

He shrugged. “Should I complain?” ​ he asked him what was wrong. It was a routine, as ritualized as catechism or S vaudeville. “My house.” ​ n exasperated look appeared, on cue, in Beatriz’s face. This too was part of the A ritual, ever since he’d begun organizing protests against the new development that would demolish all the homes in the colony. “ ​ Do we have to always talk about that right away? Never a ‘how are you, how are the kids, how’s Stanley?’ You’re like a kid yourself. Just want your own way.” I ​ t seemed Beatriz had decided she was now the parent. “Damn right I want my own way,” he said. “Why should I leave here? I built this house. Bunch of Mafiosos come in here to take it away.” ​ e shifted in his chair. He felt the cramping in his leg muscles that always H seemed to worsen when Beatriz visited. 98 ​ “Oh, you think everyone in the construction business is Mafia. Everybody is corrupt but you, right?” ​ eatriz was getting worked up, Gil figured, because she was married to an B Italian. Well, half-Italian, half-Jewish. And Stanley was an accountant, not in construction. He liked Stanley, who spoke very little—how could you get a word in edgewise with Beatriz?--and was a good father to the two boys. “ ​ Anyway,” Beatriz was saying, “I’m taking a run over to the supermarket. Do you need anything from there?” He considered a minute. “Well, I could use some asa Ʌt+,qeԁ܁ѡ䁑eЁ͕ѡЁՙѡɔt+qeԁͭݡЁ$$ѽԸ$eЁɽ聍ݥѡЁлt+q]eЁЁѡ䁽ѡ̸͔5ݡԁЁ͔ɥt+q9Ёѡͅt)եM͠ͅɽ݅́é܁ձ̰́