The Wolf House

The Wolf House THE WOLF HOUSE/'Peter Selgin THAT SUNDAY MORNING, when I told her, "Mrs. Wolff is dead," my mother groaned, cocked her head, pursed her lips and said, in a voice barely loud enough to hear, "Che peccato." The next day she lay in her bed, sick, calling to me in her Death Voice, "Andrew? Andrew? Sei tu, Andrew?" Of course it was me; who else would it be? Not Geordie, my twin, who preaches in Vermont. I stood at her bedroom door, like I've always did something different. "That's it," I said, marching over, tearing the bedclothes off her. "Tm taking you to the emergency room. They'll do a million useless tests, then we'll go home. Okay?" I felt just like Geordie, saying it. gitis. She doesn't have meningitis. stood there, like I've stood there my whole life, helpless. But this time I Having piled her into her mint-condition green '68 Rambler American, I drove my mother to the hospital, where they're testing her for menin- So I leave my mother in the hands of medical experts and go pick up Lenny Wolff, whose mother is dead. It rains. Lenny's father, wife and eight-month-old baby boy huddle in a http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png The Missouri Review University of Missouri

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Abstract

THE WOLF HOUSE/'Peter Selgin THAT SUNDAY MORNING, when I told her, "Mrs. Wolff is dead," my mother groaned, cocked her head, pursed her lips and said, in a voice barely loud enough to hear, "Che peccato." The next day she lay in her bed, sick, calling to me in her Death Voice, "Andrew? Andrew? Sei tu, Andrew?" Of course it was me; who else would it be? Not Geordie, my twin, who preaches in Vermont. I stood at her bedroom door, like I've always did something different. "That's it," I said, marching over, tearing the bedclothes off her. "Tm taking you to the emergency room. They'll do a million useless tests, then we'll go home. Okay?" I felt just like Geordie, saying it. gitis. She doesn't have meningitis. stood there, like I've stood there my whole life, helpless. But this time I Having piled her into her mint-condition green '68 Rambler American, I drove my mother to the hospital, where they're testing her for menin- So I leave my mother in the hands of medical experts and go pick up Lenny Wolff, whose mother is dead. It rains. Lenny's father, wife and eight-month-old baby boy huddle in a

Journal

The Missouri ReviewUniversity of Missouri

Published: Oct 5, 2003

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