his eye. “That shit hurts doesn’t it?” he said. “The dirty fucker did the same thing to me the other day!”
Arty bent forward and kissed Patrick on the top of his head, began petting his hair like he would a dog’s. “Okay, you know what? I’m sorry. You were just scaring me there for a minute.” He gave Patrick’s head a final stroke that finished with a gentle pat. “Why don’t we watch some TV? You can use the other eye for now. Jim, you mind turning the television on?”
Jim did as he was told, and the black screen came to life. The image was from above and slightly angled, but it was a clear shot of the family room. Maria Fannelli sat with Caleb at her feet, and Carrie next to her on the sofa. The impact of seeing their children on camera caused both parents to cry out through their gags.
Both brothers ignored the muffled wails as though they never happened. Arty spoke over them with an even tone, like a teacher to a noisy classroom, refusing to resort to shouting in order to regain control.
“Our mother,” Arty said. “And your kids of course.”
Amy and Patrick both gaped at the screen. The silent movie showed their children entertaining the older woman, blissfully ignorant to the goings-on above their heads.
“Look how happy she is,” Arty said. “She thinks they’re her grandchildren.”
The couple’s heads turned simultaneously towards Arty, their confused frowns neon signs.
“The doctor called it dementia,” Arty said. “It’s not a specific diagnosis really— kind of like calling a flower a flower when it could be a rose or a tulip or something else I guess.
“We tried medicine but all it did was make her want to sleep. And when she’d wake up she’d forget where the hell she was half the time. It’s weird too, this dementia. Unpredictable. She’s got no problem remembering Jim and I, or shit she did when she was a kid, but recent stuff…” He made the motion of something spiraling down a drain. “There one second, and then…pfft! Gone.”
Arty walked in front of the television and stopped, blocking the couple’s view. “My brother and I love our mother. Deeply. And before you start running weird thoughts in your head, I can assure you there’s no Norman Bates shit going on here. We had a father, and we loved him a great deal as well. They were wonderful parents; a blessing to any child.”
Arty switched off the television and shuffled over to the opposite wall from where his brother was leaning. He took a seat on the wooden floor, his knees up, both arms resting on them.
“I’m an avid reader. Always have been. Being educated is unquestionably the single best weapon in one’s arsenal.” He paused. Waited for some reason. Then, “I read a lot about psychology. Especially the whole nature versus nurture thing when it comes to naughty people in the world.
“Some folks will tell you bad people are made through their environment. And then some folks will tell you it’s a hereditary thing—bad people give birth to more bad people. Makes sense right? It’s genetics; it’s in the bloodline.”
Arty paused, looked up at the ceiling for a moment. A wicked smile then slowly curled his lips, a light-bulb moment evident. He lowered his head, face alive with revelation. “Are you two Three Stooges fans?” he asked. “Jim and I are. Diehard. Absolutely love The Boys. We even like the Shemp episodes; Larry’s character was much more developed in those, and Shemp definitely had some serious skills—his ability to improv was brilliant.
“But Joe? Don’t even get me started. The pussy had some kind of clause in his contract stating that Moe was never allowed to slap him too hard.” Arty pursed his lips, rolled his eyes. “And never mind what a whiny little bitch he was on screen. Guy held the distinction of watching legends like Moe and Larry all but impossible. I swear if the fucker wasn’t already dead, Jim and I would find a way to pay him a visit.”
Jim grunted in agreement.
“I’m getting carried away, aren’t I?” he asked. “Okay. Anyway, there was an early short—one with Curly called ‘Hoi Polloi.’” He thought for a second. “1935, right, Jim?”
Jim nodded.
“Yeah, it was done in 1935,” Arty continued. “Over seventy years ago. You know what that means?” He chuckled. “Of course you don’t; I haven’t told you what the episode was about yet.”
Jim chuckled too.
“You see in ‘Hoi Polloi,’ two rich