The Garden Of Eden And Other Criminal Delights

“Yeah, yeah. Open your mouth.”

He complies, then complains once again that I’m feeding him like a baby. And on and on it goes until he polishes off his sherbet and snack time’s over. By the time I finish wiping his mouth, plumping his pillow, and adjusting the footrests of his wheelchair, Great-aunt Kate has set up the board on one of the cleared tables. Great-aunt Renee wheels Great-gra

“We have enough tokens for eight,” I say to Grandma.

“Rules are rules,” she answers.

“Yeah, but who makes up the rules?” I contest. “We do. So that means we can change them.”

“Rules are rules,” Renee answers.

“That’s right,” Kate agrees. “Rules are rules.”

“Rules are a state of mind,” my mother interjects. “In the universe, there are no absolutes.”

“I want the thimble,” Renee states.

“You had the thimble last week,” Grandma says.

“No, I had the hat,” Renee corrects.

“You had the thimble,” Grandma repeats.

“Kate had the thimble,” Renee says. “I had the hat.”

I reach over and grab the thimble. “Here, Renee.”

Renee takes the thimble. “I had the hat last week. You’re thinking two weeks ago.”

“Who wants to go first?” I say.

“Wait, Christy,” Grandma says. “I don’t even have my token yet. I think I’ll be the iron.”

“I was going to be the iron,” Kate says. “Why don’t you be the rocking horse? You had good luck with that last week.”

“No, I had good luck with the shoe,” Grandma says. “Okay, you be the iron, I’ll be the shoe.”

“I’ll be the race car,” I say. “I’ll roll first to see who goes first.”

“Wait, wait,” Grandma says. “Your mother doesn’t have her token. And nobody has any money. Who’s the bank?”

“I can be the bank,” my mom says.

“Mom, I’ll be the bank,” I say, picking up a stack of apricot-colored five-hundred-dollar bills. “By the time you count out the money, it’ll be dark.”

My mom gives me a gentle rap on the shoulder. “Have a little patience.”

“You’re so impatient, Christy,” my grandma chides.

“It’s because she’s young,” Renee pronounces.

“I know she’s young,” Grandma says. “But she’s also impatient. Allison isn’t impatient.”

“That’s because Allison has time,” Renee mutters out loud under her breath.

“That’s because her husband makes a good living and she doesn’t have to work,” Grandma mutters even louder under her breath.

I start doling out the cash. “Mom, did you choose a token yet?”

“You choose one for me.”

I hand her the wheelbarrow. At this point Mom closes her eyes and puts on her Buddha smile.

“You’re not going to chant first, Allison.” Renee turns to my grandma. “Ida, she’s not going to chant, is she?”

Grandma reaches out and touches my mother’s arm. “Allison, honey, we don’t have time for the chant today. Renee has a hairdresser’s appointment.”

Kate says, “Why are you going to the hairdresser’s, Renee?”

My grandma gets a teasing look on her face. “She’s got a date tonight-”

“Oh, hush up,” Renee scolds. “It’s not a date.”

My mother says, “I refuse to play without some acknowledgment of the Higher Spirit.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sakes!” Renee mutters.

Grandma says, “Hush up. How about the hands thing, Allison?”

“The universal hand circle would be lovely,” Mom states. “Let’s all join together and give praise to our spirits and souls.”

We all take each other’s hands. I’m sitting next to Great-gra

My mother closes her eyes and says, “Heavenly Being, we thank You for the opportunity to address You, and for the many blessings You have bestowed upon this family. Please bless the game we are about to play.”

Mom opens her eyes and says, “Great-gra

Great-gra

“I’ll roll first,” I say. “Just to see who goes first.”

“Just go, Christy,” Grandma says. “I can see you’re very impatient.”

I roll the dice. I get a five. I buy a railroad.

Kate says, “Mom, you can be next.” She rolls the dice for her and says, “Mom, do you want to buy Oriental?”

Great-gra

Renee says, “There’s nothing to tell.”

Kate says, “So tell me the nothing. Who is he?”

“He’s William the ex-insurance agent,” Grandma says.

“Not ex,” Renee clarifies. “He’s retired.”

“Did I ever meet him?” Mom wants to know.

Renee says, “He insured your house, Allison. Don’t you remember?”

“I remember someone.” She thinks for a moment. “I’m usually good at faces. What does he look like?”

“It’s someone’s turn,” I state. “Whose turn is it?”

Grandma says, “He’s nice-looking. Except for the beard. The beard has to go.”

“I like the beard,” Renee says.

“It’s too white.”

Renee says, “He’s old, Ida. Of course it’s white.”

Grandma says, “It looks like someone threw a pie in his face.”

“I don’t think I know him,” my mother says. “But David usually deals with the insurance agents.”

“Whose turn is it?” I say in a singsong voice.

Nobody knows. Mom shrugs. “I’ll go.” She rolls a seven and lands on Co

“Why?” I ask.

“Because if I buy the property, Great-gra

I stare at her. “Mom, that’s why you should buy the property. You want to block anyone else from getting a monopoly.”

My mom smiles at me and whispers, “Christy, don’t you know that Great-gra

I frown. “You mean the game is fixed?”

“We prefer to think of it as predetermined.”

Grandma says, “You’re upsetting Christy’s bile, Allison. Buy the property. Trade it to Great-gra

“It’s okay if I buy it, Great-gra

“I don’t believe this,” I say to myself.

Great-gra

“Such avarice,” Renee states, handing me five five-dollar bills.

“It’s the rules,” I say.

“I know it’s the rules. It’s just that you ask me for money with such relish!”

“She’s young,” Kate says. “So where are you and William your nondate going to go, Renee?”

“Probably the Submarine Station for a tuna sandwich.”

“That’s your date?” I say to my great-aunt. “A tuna sandwich at the Submarine Station?”

“I told you, it isn’t a date.” Renee talks to me like I’m a child.

“Then why are you getting your hair done?” I ask.

“Because she wants to look nice,” Grandma says as if I’m a moron. “Why are you going to the Submarine Station instead of the Salad Shop?”

“Because the Submarine Station is closer.”

“Two blocks closer,” my grandma says.

“Two blocks is two blocks,” Renee says.

“Whose turn is it?” I’m dying of boredom.

Grandma picks up the dice and rolls. “I still don’t understand why you’d want to go to the Submarine Station. I thought you like plate food.”

Renee says, “I do like plate food.”

“So do I,” Kate pipes in. “I never could understand the breast-of-chicken sandwich. I like chicken on a plate, with a fork and a knife and a nice glass of tea. Chicken does not belong in a sandwich.”

“1 can even understand the chicken sandwich,” Grandma states. “But meatballs? Meatballs belong on spaghetti-”

“Or on rice,” Renee interrupts.