He set the baby down in the straw and
watched him crawl across to their mother, where he sucked
hungrily. Automatically, Alan gathered up an armload of rags and made
ready to wipe up the stream that Edward would soon be ejecting.
But no stream came. The baby fed and fed, and let out a deep burp in
three-part harmony, spat up a little, and drank some more. Somehow,
Frederick and George were in there feeding, too. Alan waited patiently
for Edward to finish feeding, then put him over his shoulder and joggled
him until he burped up, then bedded him down in his little rough-hewn
crib -- the crib that the golems had carved for Alan when he was born --
cleaned the cave, and cried again, leaned up against their mother.
#
Frederick huddled in on himself, half behind Edward on the porch,
habitually phobic of open spaces. Alan took his hand and then embraced
him. He smelled of Edward's clammy guts and of sweat.
"Are you two hungry?" Alan asked.
Edward grimaced. "Of course we're hungry, but without George there's
nothing we can do about it, is there?"
Alan shook his head. "How long has he been gone?"
"Three weeks," Edward whispered. "I'm so hungry, Alan."
"How did it happen?"
Frederick wobbled on his feet, then leaned heavily on Edward. "I need to
sit down," he said.
Alan fumbled for his keys and let them into the house, where they
settled into the corners of his old overstuffed horsehide sofa.
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