Idiots First A Story
THE THICK TICKING of the tin clock stopped. Mendel, dozing in the dark, awoke in fright. The pain returned as he listened for it. He drew on his cold, embittered clothing, and wasted minutes sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Isaac,” he ultimately sighed.
In the kitchen, Isaac, his astonished mouth open, held six peanuts in his palm. He placed each on the table. “One . . . two . . . eight.”
He gathered each peanut and appeared in the doorway. Mendel, in loose hat and long overcoat, still sat on the bed. Isaac watched with small eyes and ears, thick hair graying the sides of his head.
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