Shoebag Read Online Free Page B

for himself as he hopped down to the hot burner.
    So Shoebag was filled with concern for Drainboard, which was why he had sneaked down to the first floor, past his bedtime.
    He could hear the television weatherman from inside Mrs. Biddle’s studio, forecasting snow.
    Mrs. Biddle had left the little light on over the stove, and Shoebag climbed up on the kitchen stool and snapped it off.
    “Mama?” he whispered. “Mama, it’s me, your little boy, are you there?”
    “Don’t say that, honey, please,” he heard her voice from somewhere. “It is bad enough what has happened to you, but call yourself my little son, not my little boy. Little boys kill roaches.”
    “I promised I wouldn’t, Mama, and I won’t. Are you all right?”
    “I am, but your poor father is feeling badly. Look around and see if there’s a choice morsel for him.”
    “There’s salami grease on the knife, Mama, but I was hoping you’d have it.”
    “Would you put the knife up on the spice shelf for a moment? Your father is sleeping behind the cloves.”
    “What’s wrong with him?” Shoebag asked as he snapped on the stove light, got the knife from the counter, and opened the cupboard.
    “He caught his left antenna in the oven door yesterday,” said Drainboard. “It hurts him badly. He can’t forage for food, or be the lookout, or any of that.”
    “Are you sure he isn’t faking? He’s done that before so that you end up doing all the work.”
    “SHUT THAT DOOR UNTIL YOU TURN OFF THE LIGHT!”
    Shoebag turned off the light and stood in the dark on the stool. He was still very much afraid of his father’s bad temper. Shoebag had not changed that much.
    “There’s salami grease on that knife, dear,” said Drainboard to Under The Toaster.
    “Don’t you think I can see that? Do you think I’m blind?”
    “Mama?” Shoebag said. “There are rye bread crumbs out here. Your favorite kind. Come out and get them.”
    “Thank heavens for Mrs. Biddle’s gigantic appetite!” said Drainboard.
    “Rye bread crumbs go with salami,” said Under The Toaster. “Get me those rye bread crumbs!”
    “They’re for Mama,” Shoebag said.
    “Let Daddy have them,” said Drainboard. “I’ll come out later and look around for something.”
    “You could share them, there’s plenty,” said Shoebag.
    “I need them all,” said Under The Toaster. “I have an injured antenna, and I need to build up my strength.”
    “Get them for Daddy, dear. Make sure his door is shut, turn on the light, gather them up, turn the light off, open the door, and put them beside the knife.”
    Shoebag did all that, saying, “What about you, Mama?”
    “Don’t be such a mama’s roach,” snapped Under The Toaster. “I thought you were a person now.”
    “She’s still my mother!” Shoebag said.
    “And I’m still your father!” said Under The Toaster. “Show some respect. I eat first and best. I deserve special attention, too, now that I have injured my antenna…. Get this knife away, or someone will come along and suspect I’m behind the cloves!”
    “Yes, sir!” said Shoebag, and he did as he was told.
    “Don’t worry about me, Shoebag,” said his mother. “I’m not hungry now. I’ll eat later.”
    That was what she always said.
    “These rye bread crumbs are too fresh,” said Under The Toaster. “I like them a little crustier.”
    “Then let Mama have them.”
    “I just ate the last one,” said Under The Toaster with his mouth full. “Now see if you can find me something sweet for dessert.”
    “Is everything all right, my son?” Drainboard asked.
    “Find me some cake,” said Under The Toaster. “I feel like cake.”
    “Are you happy, Son?” said Drainboard.
    “Let him find me some cake before you start all that questioning,” Under The Toaster said.
    “Don’t you care how our little son is doing?” she asked him.
    “I did, when he looked like me … but now …”
    “Now what?” Shoebag asked him.
    “Now get me some