"Ongola!"
What did she want now? Is there nothing sacred to her? This was his time to explore the Bander Forest. He could smell his prey, just behind the waving weeds.
"It's supper time, ya little doof! We're having Sloppy Joes a la Mode!'
That was a heaping serving of ground turkey, resting atop a mound of mashed sweet potatoes. Dang! That was his favorite. Guess it was time to call a temporary truce in his gorki hunt.
Ongola was last to the table. He was beaten out by his mother, his mother, his brother, and his sister. "Have you washed your hands?" asked his Ma.
"Yes," Ongola lied.
He scooped a generous portion of mashed sweet potatoes, buttered it, and topped it with a dollop of honey. Then the seasoned ground turkey was added, so much that you could no longer see the sweet potato. Finally, he suirted on almost a thid of a bottle of ketchup. Some of the other family members added pickles and mustard. Pa even added some diced onions. Pa was weird.
"We need to go over what chores y'all are responsible for," Pa said, talking while he was still chewing. That made a pretty picture. "Some of y'all are getting pretty lax."
His brother, Kicker, was three years older than Ongola and waited politely until he finished chewing. Where those kind of manners came from in this family, Ongola wasn't sure. Not even Ma taught that. "You can be exhausting, Pa. Did you just have us so you could exploit us for slave labor?"
"Nah," said Pa, still chewing, flecks of food going everywhere. "If that was the case, I would have a dozen of ya instead of just three."
The children laughed, but Ma did not. She turned pale, as if she couldn't keep her food down. Ongola felt like Ma thought that three difficult childbirths were enough for her, thank you very much.
"Don't mind Kicker, Pa," reassured Phoenix. "He fusses at everything. Just tell us what you want, I'm sure we can fit it in." Phoenix was the oldest, fifteen, struggling with the march through puberty toward adulthood.
Pa re-divvied out the chores, and the children reluctantly agreed. They knew they would do the best they could, but also knew they would be hearing this again in a couple of months. Pa was not a cruel taskmaster, and drifting from the ideal was inevitable.
There was a loud knock on the door. Pa got up and opened it, and there was the towering, blubberly figure of Constable Billy Wheat. With him was a man none in the house knew. He wasn't quite as tall as Constable Billy, but he was in much better shape. "This here is Knight Ezekiel Smith. We got a special message regarding your son, Kicker."
Well, this can't be good. You didn't want to do anything that would cause a Knight to visit you. They never have good news.
"Well, Mr. Byrd, I must inform you of the trouble your son, Kicker, is causing at the Divine Kingdom School. He is repeating half-cracked-pot stories of godless communism. Where he's getting ideas like that in his head, we don't know. But we aim to find out."
"Well, he ain't getting them here. We don't cotton to such books here. We got the Holy Bible, and the Kingdom Guide to Greater Glory. That's it!" Pa said.
"At this point, we make no illusions about where he got those ideas. That's what we need to find out. To discover the truth, we need to take Kicker with us and bring him to the Young Followers Reeducation Camp."
Sweat dripped down Pa's face. "Now that ain't necessary, Mr. Knight, Sir. I'll get him straightened out toot sweet, you better believe it."
The Knight was stoic. Nothing could shake him. "We need to find out where he learned this heresy. We can only do that at the Camp. We need to be certain of the truth."
Pa pleaded. "No. You won't need to do that. He'll tell you right here and now. Tell 'em, Kicker. Where did you get these fool notions?"
Kicker didn't want to go with him, but there was no way he was throwing anyone else under the bus. "Can't say for sure. I think it was mostly osmosis."
The Knight scoffed. "You have raised a very sarcastic child, Mr. Byrd. Discussion time is over. Constable, take this wicked child away."
The constable grabbed Kicker by the arm. Ma threw herself at Kicker, trying to hold him back. "No!" she cried. "We're good people. You can't just take our son!"
"You need to teach your woman her place in the hierarchy," the Knight said.
They left with Kicker. There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth.
A fire of defiance built in Ongola's heart. Somehow, some way, he was going to get his brother back.
'
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