Anna in Chains Read Free

stared up at her from a photograph. It was clear her grandson had been working on some kind of report. Anna was having trouble breathing deeply. Not only could Abram the hoodlum maybe read, but he could also maybe write.
    She carefully backed out of the room and closed the door. In the TV room Mr. T had started barking violently. He ran from one end of the room to another, convulsed with hysterical yaps. David came out of his bedroom.
    â€œI better go see what’s up.” His voice had suddenly become deep. “Someone might be in the yard.” Boy and dog went outside through the patio door, and Anna found her way again to the couch, dragging her foot in its cast in the hospital-issue Abominable Snowman slipper. She heard Mr. T still yapping maniacally. David rushed inside and grabbed one of the burning Chanukah candles from the menorah, the one on top, the shamesh , and ran out again. “I need to see over the fence,” he yelled. “Something bad is out there. Maybe a rat.”
    The next thing Anna saw through the plate glass window was an explosion. A flash of fire like an atom bomb. Then: David’s screams.
    She ran outside—she didn’t know how she got there with her broken foot—to find her grandson on fire: there he was, huddled by the fence, a screaming flare of flame.
    Don’t , she commanded God. Don’t you dare do this .
    She found the hose, turned it on full, aimed it, tripped on the dog, saw stars overhead in the sky, found her balance, forced a Red Sea of water on his precious life. He was now down in the dirt; he knew to roll around on the ground, from television. She had seen him see that very scene on television on a murder mystery program. Thank God for television.
    â€œCall 911! Call 911!” he yelled to Anna. That, too, from the movies. Last weekend Carol had rented Down and Out in Beverly Hills . Thank God for Hollywood. She pulled the wet child with her into the house and called 911.
    When Carol and Abram came home, Anna and David were under a Charlie Brown quilt on the couch, watching a movie called Pee Wee’s Big Adventure . David was in dry clothes and Anna was holding his hand; she was surprised at how huge it was, almost a man’s hand. In the movie some daffy guy with a beanie on his head kept pedalling his bike backwards. David laughed everytime Pee Wee made a funny face, and when his body vibrated against Anna’s chest, she laughed too.
    â€œShould I tell them now?” David whispered into Anna’s ear.
    â€œWait a few minutes. Let your mother get her breath.” She touched David’s face gently. His eyelashes had been singed off, but that was all. The paramedic had told Anna he would be fine. By some miracle, the Angel of Death had passed over the house like a silver jet.
    But if it hadn’t been Chanukah, David wouldn’t have taken a candle out into the yard. If there hadn’t been a can of charcoal lighter at the fence, he wouldn’t have stood on it. If it hadn’t tipped over, the cap wouldn’t have come off. If the hot wax hadn’t dripped down and ignited the charcoal lighter…
    Well, never mind. If Anna had been born a Russian princess! If the world were square! If God were a kind man with a long beard!
    Carol was busy in the kitchen unpacking bags of groceries. “I just stopped off to get a few more things we need,” she called to her mother. Abram was standing by, yelling “Neato” every time she unpacked an item that pleased him: a six-pack of Pepsi; frozen burritos; chocolate mint cream pie. When she pulled out bags of carrots, oranges, broccoli, he rolled his eyes and said, “Retch,” accompanied by sound effects. Anna noticed that he was wearing new white tennis shoes after all. They had orange lightning bolts on them.
    â€œHey, David,” Abram yelled into the dimness of the TV room. “Mom let me rent Ghostbusters again.”
    â€œRad,” David