As soon as they got back,

   people always had questions.  Some of the men were just miffed but some were jealous types.  

  "Write them down on this," one slid a quarter-sized legal pad at the gang of us.  "I truly must sleep." 

  A middle daughter rested on the sofa until she heard snores.  Her kneesock blanched white lily feet would be tap dancing and jig pattern memorizing while she rested.  I'd giggle and she'd be surprised I was seeing her and she'd fold herself in half by bending her knees and tucking her whole self into her nightgown.  "Is she asleep?" 

  "I tink so." 

  "I'll take a turn guarding so you can sleep in a real bed." 

  She patted the seat beside her on the sofa.  "Sit and tarry a bit." 

  "Stop and smell the roses?" 

  "Cha." 

  The wall clock ticking would lull us almost asleep and then gong us awake. 

  Almost as soon as she went on the eleventh gong to sleep in one of the bedrooms, I snuck in and listened to the breathing and snoring.  I hate to do it but; I shook her boney shoulder.  Her hand snapped awake first and she slapgrabbed my forearm.  "How dare you."  The daughter was behind me with arms under my armpits and dragging me backwards.  I kicked and kicked my heels on the cold slate floor to try and brake my removal.  The woman pulled the sides of a cardigan across her bosom and put on glasses from the nightstand. 

  "Drop that womanchild right this minute." 

  She did.  And I pulled my pajamas under my trenchcoat down from being all bunched up.  Then got on my knees and said the Hail Mary out loud, start to finish.  She waved off the "overly energetic daughter" with a please excuse us, we didn't know you'd be visiting at this hour.  A playing card in between the sides of the keyhole slid over a view. 

  I marched on knees and sunk my head into her lap.  There, there she patted my hair. 

  "Let's make tea." 

  In the morning my mother crossed her name off a list.  She put her head in the sling of her palm and sighed.  Her breathe blowing out made the lost and found church lady's hat with the feathers dance.  When she went to the bathroom I peeked into the folder under the list of writer's names.  An article about Moslems tipping over a car.  I scrambled back to getting to sit in the rocking chair. 

  "Maybe you might could ask any of them.  The question." 

  "I doubt it." 

  She unwrapped shredded wheat and broke it up just a little so it wouldn't get soggy. 

  "Why do you doubt it?" 

  "Because I can't 

  "Can't what?" 

  "Remember something." She unscrewed a jam jar and spooned brown sugar over the cereal. 

  "What?" 

  "Not like amnesia, don't worry I'm not turning into your father." 

  Silence. 

  "Well, not totally." 

  "What did it have to do with?  What you've forgotten." 

  "The machetes and the windmill people." 

  She put milk on her "masterpiece".  

  "They said a word like interregum or something." 

  "I didn't hear them say that word." 

  "You," she pointed the spoon at me, "don't hear everything in the universe missy." 

  "No, I don't, but I catch a lot of words and impressions." 

  "Like a fishing net." 

  My half a cup of coffee was almost empty.  "I have a writing thing at the library today.  I'll just walk up." 

  She smiled goofy.  "Then I get to play in the workshop." 

  "All day." 

  "Until I have to make dinner."