Que los Niños Duermen

I asked her to please be quiet, that the children might sleep. She ignored me. 'La la la la la la,' she continued. 'La la la la-la-la-la.'

I could hear movement from their bedroom.

'La la la la la la,' she went on. 'La la la la-la-la-la.'

I could see her nicotine tongue, so wide was her mouth. The children stormed in. 'What's the matter with Mummy?'

'Nothing,' I said. 'She's singing. That means she's happy.'

'But we're trying to sleep!' they wailed.

'I know,' I said. 'And Mummy is trying to sing.'

'La la la la la la.'

The younger began to scream and kick, while the other swore and spat. I cursed my genes for being so badly defeated during gestation. Pitiful man! Pitiful genes!

'La la la la-la-la-la.'

The children were trying to get under her, to get some leverage. They attempted to lift her from the floor, where she was on her back, flapping her arms, still singing out of tune. They couldn't move her. She carried on conducting the orchestra in her mind with an empty bottle.

I lit another cigarette and wondered if it made me a bad person to wish them all dead.