ABSTRACT
I was ten or so. We were invited to a goose dinner. I think it was the only time we were invited there as a family. I don’t know why we were invited, or why only that one time. I think it’s the only time I ate goose as a child. Mrs. Krakauer was a square, powerful woman with big arms, a babushka always on her head. Her husband was a tall man with dead eyes. He looked through us kids, not at us, not at anyone. I think he was at the table but truthfully I cannot remember. He was a tall absence, an emptiness, a non-existence.
