第8部分 (第6/7頁)
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ey were all
chickens； but what did that mean？ I sure didn't want him
ing down on me again； but it still didn't make sense。 Finally I asked him； “You mean
there's no rooster？”
“Correctomundo。”
“How can you tell？”
He shrugged。 “Roosters strut。”
“Strut。”
“That's right。 And look — none of them have long feathers。 Or very much of that rubbery red
stuff。” He nodded。 “Yeah。 They're definitely all
chickens。”
That night my father got right to the point。 “So； son； mission acplished？” he asked as he
stabbed into a mountain of fettuccine and whirled his
fork around。
I attacked my noodles too and gave him a smile。 “Uhhuh；” I said as I sat up tall to deliver the
news。 “They're all chickens。”
The turning of his fork came to a grinding halt。 “And…？”
I could tell something was wrong； but I didn't know what。 I tried to keep the smile plastered
on my face as I said； “And what？”
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He rested his fork and stared at me。 “Is that what she said？ ‘They're all chickens’？”
“Uh； not exactly。”
“Then exactly what did she say？”
“Uh … she didn't exactly say anything。”
“Meaning？”
“Meaning I went over there and took a look for myself。” I tried very hard to sound like this was
a major acplishment； but he wasn't buying。
“You didn't ask her？”
“I didn't have to。 Garrett knows a lot about chickens； and we went over there and found out
for ourselves。”
Lyta came back from rinsing the Romano sauce off her seven and a half noodles； then
reached for the salt and scowled at me； saying； “You're
the chicken。”
“Lyta！” my mother said。 “Be nice。”
Lyta stopped shaking the sa
