It appeared that Sam had a temporary advantage. He was eating something or another directly out of one of the familiar little white cartons. The food was going down with great enthusiasm, and he was asking Ryan in an interested voice just how many albums Dexy's Midnight Runners had released over the years. Ryan was seated across the room, glowering fiercely at Sam and shoveling in the contents of a plate of boiled potatoes. He had no response to make to the Dawg, and it was killing him.

Meantime, Jade and Elmore were observing this little Mexican Standoff with vast interest. Jade was moving steadily through some Imperial Beef and Elmore appeared to have a plate of eggrolls and fried dumplings. Both of them were shifting their heads back and forth from one to the other like spectators at a tennis match. I noticed, from the position that Elmore had taken, that he was a little ahead of Jade and appeared to be trying to protect her from harm.

Deb: You suppose they've been playing rock 'em sock 'em robots?

Bill: Look at Gaerity. He's ready t'go right now.

Deb: Dexy's Midnight Runners?

Ryan: Feckin'...

Jade: He means U2.

Jade was barely holding it in. Her chin was quivering and 
her eyes sparkled with amusement. Elmore favored us with a 
sunny grin.

Deb: Come on Eileen? Bono?

Bill: Who in hell's Eileen?

Sam: What the hell ya call 'em, Ryan...how often do the Bay 
City Rollers tour, anyway?

Uh-oh. Double insult. A Scottish bubble gum band. Ryan was 
ready to fly.

Deb: Billy...what's going on here?

Bill: And where've I been for the last month or so?

Sam: Didn't they do that song that went 'I will walk 500 
miles and I will walk 500 more...' something-something-
something somebody's front door?

Bill: Sometimes that boy's mouth's bigger than it oughta be.

The chewing motion of Ryan's jaws had slowed to a rate 
almost imperceptible to the human eye. It looked to me like the 
potatoes were going to be digested before they ever hit his 
stomach. There was murder in his eye. Sam regarded him with 
cheerful curiosity, forked something up from the white carton 
and bit down hugely on it.

Elmore: They been whalin' the piss outa each other since ya 
left, Bill.

Bill: Looks like it, boy. What for?

Jade: They've been fighting about food. Just food.

She ducked her head as Ryan shot her a foul look.

Bill: Food? Shit sakes, what's t'fight about, got a goddamn 
fridge full of it.

Jade: Go look.

Bill only opened the fridge door to retrieve beer. Any time 
there was a requirement for something more solid, I was sent 
for it. His statement, therefore, was only semi-informed. I 
squeezed past Ryan and went to the kitchen.

Deb: What the goddamn hell????

The counter was covered with empty white cartons and the 
trash overflowed with more of them. Vaguely I noticed the 
neatly mended and freshly painted wall, but mostly I was 
concerned with the sheer numbers of waxed cardboard containers 
taking up space in the room.

Deb: Samuel Phillip Gerard!! You ass!!!

Sam's voice rumbled contritely back to me.

Sam: Sorry, Li'l Sis. I meant t'throw those out before you got 
back. 

Deb: To hell with sorry, ricehead, take care of these things or 
I'll show you another ancient Chinese secret.

Ryan: No, lass...I have an ancient Hibernian secret I'd like to 
acquaint the wee garda with.

Deb: You shut up, too, spudnugget.

I had found the neatly stacked styrofoam containers of 
KFC potatoes, all scraped out.
 
The refrigerator was empty...well, not empty. There was 
one staple in it - Sam's Budweiser was aligned neatly on 
one side of the cabinet while Elmore's PBR had been chucked 
on the other side. For the rest, there was a half-empty jar 
of pickles, a bottle of liquid suspension penicillin for Jade, 
a chunk of a Subway sandwich and an empty white carton lying 
forlornly on its side.

I heard a muffled snort, and turned to find Augustus trying 
to shake off a white carton that had become lodged on his snout.

Deb: Jesus, this makes Mother Hubbard look well-stocked.

I slouched back into the living room and flopped on the 
floor next to Elmore's chair. There was room next to Sam, 
but I didn't want to be nearby when Ryan finally got fed 
up and gave him the bum's rush.

Elmore offered me a piece of eggroll, but I shook my head.

Deb: Didn't it occur to anyone to just go out and get more food?

Jade: I would have, but the only thing those two idiots could 
agree on was that they thought I was too weak to be up and 
running around. And even if someone had come back with something, 
they would never have let me cook it.

Bill: Boy, here's a pretty decent cook, if you're just lookin' 
for the basics.

Bill nudged Elmore. Elmore nudged him back.

Elmore: It'd done for the rest of us, but not for Jade.

Deb: So you ate carry out?

Elmore: Sam's been in 'n out the whole time an' Ryan's been 
lookin' after Jade. Sam volunteered...seemed easier just t'let 
him take care of it.

Sam snarfed up a broccoli stalk as I watched, and I 
remembered the times I had watched him in the kitchen as food 
was prepared. Usually three times as many vegetables had to 
be chopped as were actually required for the meal, since Sam 
would stand around and talk, eating the entire time. When 
there was nobody there to perform the offices of chief cook 
and bottle washer, Sam had an unerring nose for carry out 
restaurants. His entire food budget, when he was alone, was 
devoted to feeding himself in this manner. He was partial to 
Chinese since it was filling and could be eaten on the run.

Jade: Ryan's been joyful about it.

Jade was telling a lie. I knew about Gaerity's eating 
habits. I had been accomodating them, off and on, since I'd 
known him. He was ferociously Irish in most things, including 
food, and since the things he enjoyed eating were, for the 
most part, readily available, there was no reason for him to 
go without. Granted, what he liked eating was hardly the 
stuff of epicurean legend, but the fried bread and boiled 
potatoes and corned beef made him happy. Bill was willing to 
eat anything that would fuel him, and Elmore had always been 
easy to satisfy. Jade ate what Ryan ate because it pleased him 
to think she enjoyed it. She thought it was tasteless shit and 
the Guinness was the piss of a diseased demon.

The boys chose that precise, combustible moment to strut 
in. Number One had driven them in his proudest possession, a 
1971 Ford Custom pickup truck that would make any sufferer of 
Hansen's disease feel wildly fortunate. Truly scrofulous, the 
truck made me nervous to look at it and with bad country western 
music blasting out of the five hundred dollar stereo system to 
make the imagery complete, I had flatly refused to ride in it 
for fear of either being blown up or driven mad.

Number Two was 'throwing off' little whitebread gang signs.

Elmore: He okay, Ma?

Bill: Whitest little black boy in America, aintcha?

Two: You're phat.

I'd heard this a time or two. The boy could keep it up 
indefinitely. Bill was testy. He hadn't heard it.

Bill: What?

Two: You don't understand. You're phat.

Elmore was staring fondly at the instrument of my son's 
destruction.

Elmore: Had a truck like that once. How's she run?

Number One launched into a long, involved recitation of 
the myriad ailments of his ride, any one of whixh should 
have been fatal. I ignored the veiled hints for funding his 
favorite charity. If Bill had caught on to them he'd have 
gone ballistic with his horror of throwing good money after 
bad. He might have even turned up with a used truck for the 
boy, masking his generosity with growled warnings to 'take 
care of the goddamned thing' and 'tell your mother if the 
sonofabitch needs fixing.'

Number Three, meantime, had sidled over to Ryan and was 
avidly eyeing the remains of the potatoes. Childlike, his 
first concern was his belly.

Ryan: Ye like taties, boyo?

Exaggerated response with eager, porcine noises. It 
reminded me that many a fine piece of pork had been spud-fed. 
Ryan handed over his plate and the boy fell to.

Ryan: Along with ye, lad.

Bill: Who you callin fat, boy?

Two: You. You're phat. Soupy.

Elmore: Might be able t'help ya get that thing runnin' 
right. Usedta do all m'own engine work. Don't mess with 
it now I got th'Hummer...

One: You got a Hummer???

Elmore: Wanna see it? C'mon out here...

Ryan: Ye want more, wee one?

Number Three was holding the plate and wearing a 
waif-like Oliver Twist sort of expression. He made his 
brown eyes puppy-like, and nodded. Ryan caved, took the 
plate and wandered away, with Number Three bringing up 
the rear much like a fishing boat trailing along in the 
wake of a battleship.

Bill: Whaddaya think'll make ya go away...money? You punks 
want money?

Two threw himself at Bill.

Two: Ayyyyeeeeee looooooooove yoooooooooooo....

Bill: Goddammit...little...knock it the...

Bill was sputtering, trying to peel the boy off his chest.

Jade: These your boys?

I looked outside. The hood was up on the truck and a 
couple of asses were hanging out of the engine well. Bill 
was growling and flailing at the limpet-like form of Two, 
Ryan was doing something inhuman in the kitchen and 
attempting to teach Three elementary Irish, Sam was laughing 
like a maniac at all of them.

Deb: Yup.

Jade: No wonder I never wanted kids.

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