3

Always before, Cal wanted to build a dark accumulation of things seen and things heard--a kind of a warehouse of materials that, like obscure tools, might come in handy, but after the visit to Kate’s he felt a desperate need for help.
One night Lee, tapping away at his typewriter, heard a quiet knock on his door and let Cal in. The boy sat down on the edge of the bed, and Lee let his thin body down in the Morris chair. He was amused that a chair could give him so much pleasure. Lee folded his hands over his stomach as though he wore Chinese sleeves and waited patiently. Cal was looking at a spot in the air right over Lee’s head.
Cal spoke softly and rapidly. “I know where my mother is and what she’s doing. I saw her.”
Lee’s mind said a convulsive prayer for guidance. “What do you want to know?” he asked softly.
“I haven’t thought yet. I’m trying to think. Would you tell me the truth?”
“Of course.”
The questions whirling in Cal’s head were so bewildering he had trouble picking one out. “Does my father know?”
“Yes.”
“Why did he say she was dead?”
“To save you from pain.”
Cal considered. “What did my father do to make her leave?”
“He loved her with his whole mind and body. He gave her everything he could imagine.”
“Did she shoot him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he didn’t want her to go away.”
“Did he ever hurt her?”
“Not that I know of. It wasn’t in him to hurt her.”
“Lee, why did she do it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t know or won’t say?”
“Don’t know.”
Cal was silent for so long that Lee’s fingers began to creep a little, holding to his wrists. He was relieved when Cal spoke again. The boy’s tone was different. There was a pleading in it.
“Lee, you knew her. What was she like?”
Lee sighed and his hands relaxed. “I can only say what I think. I may be wrong.”
“Well, what did you think?”
“Cal,” he said, “I’ve thought about it for a great many hours and I still don’t know. She is a mystery. It seems to me that she is not like other people. There is something she lacks. Kindness maybe, or conscience. You can only understand people if you feel them in yourself. And I can’t feel her. The moment I think about her my feeling goes into darkness. I don’t know what she wanted or what she was after. She was full of hatred, but why or toward what I don’t know. It’s a mystery. And her hatred wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t angry. It was heartless. I don’t know that it is good to talk to you like this.”
“I need to know.”
“Why? Didn’t you feel better before you knew?”
“Yes. But I can’t stop now.”
“You’re right,” said Lee. “When the first innocence goes, you can’t stop--unless you’re a hypocrite or a fool. But I can’t tell you any more because I don’t know any more.
Cal said, “Tell me about my father then.”
“That I can do,” said Lee. He paused. “I wonder if anyone can hear us talking? Speak softly.”
“Tell me about him,” said Cal.
“I think your father has in him, magnified, the things his wife lacks. I think in him kindness and conscience are so large that they are almost faults. They trip him up and hinder him.”
“What did he do when she left?”
“He died,” said Lee. “He walked around but he was dead. And only recently has he come half to life again.” Lee saw a strange new expression on Cal’s face. The eyes were open wider, and the mouth, ordinarily tight and muscular, was relaxed. In his face, now for the first time, Lee could see Aron’s face in spite of the different coloring. Cal’s shoulders were shaking a little, like a muscle too long held under a strain.
“What is it, Cal?” Lee asked.
“I love him,” Cal said.
“I love him too,” said Lee. “I guess I couldn’t have stayed around so long if I hadn’t. He is not smart in a worldly sense but he’s a good man. Maybe the best man I have ever known.”
Cal stood up suddenly. “Good night, Lee,” he said.
“Now you wait just a moment. Have you told anyone?”
“No.”
“Not Aron--no, of course you wouldn’t.”
“Suppose he finds out?”
“Then you’d have to stand by to help him. Don’t go yet. When you leave this room we may not be able to talk again. You may dislike me for knowing you know the truth. Tell me this--do you hate your mother?”
“Yes,” said Cal.
“I wondered,” said Lee. “I don’t think your father ever hated her. He had only sorrow.”
Cal drifted toward the door, slowly, softly. He shoved his fists deep in his pockets. “It’s like you said about knowing people. I hate her because I know why she went away. I know--because I’ve got her in me.” His head was down and his voice was heartbroken.
Lee jumped up. “You stop that!” he said sharply. “You hear me? Don’t let me catch you doing that. Of course you may have that in you. Everybody has. But you’ve got the other too. Here--look up! Look at me!”
Cal raised his head and said wearily, “What do you want?”
“You’ve got the other too. Listen to me! You wouldn’t even be wondering if you didn’t have it. Don’t you dare take the lazy way. It’s too easy to excuse yourself because of your ancestry. Don’t let me catch you doing it! Now--look close at me so you will remember. Whatever you do, it will be you who do it--not your mother.”
“Do you believe that, Lee?”
“Yes, I believe it, and you’d better believe it or I’ll break every bone in your body.”
After Cal had gone Lee went back to his chair. He thought ruefully, I wonder what happened to my Oriental repose?

4

Cal’s discovery of his mother was more a verification than a new thing to him. For a long time he had known without details that the cloud was there. And his reaction was twofold. He had an almost pleasant sense of power in knowing, and he could evaluate actions and expressions, could interpret vague references, could even dip up and reorganize the past. But these did not compensate for the pain in his knowledge.
His body was rearranging itself toward manhood, and he was shaken by the veering winds of adolescence. One moment he was dedicated and pure and devoted; the next he wallowed in filth; and the next he groveled in shame and emerged rededicated.
His discovery sharpened all of his emotions. It seemed to him that he was unique, having such a heritage. He could not quite believe Lee’s words or conceive that other boys were going through the same thing.
The circus at Kate’s remained with him. At one moment the memory inflamed his mind and body with pubescent fire, and the next moment nauseated him with revulsion and loathing.
He looked at his father more closely and saw perhaps more sadness and frustration in Adam than may have been there. And in Cal there grew up a passionate love for his father and a wish to protect him and to make it up to him for the things he had suffered. In Cal’s own sensitized mind that suffering was unbearable. He blundered into the bathroom while Adam was bathing and saw the ugly bullet scar and heard himself ask against his will, “Father, what’s that scar?”
Adam’s fingers went up as though to conceal the scar. He said, “It’s an old wound, Cal. I was in the Indian campaigns. I’ll tell you about it some time.”
Cal, watching Adam’s face, had seen his mind leap into the past for a lie. Cal didn’t hate the lie but the necessity for telling it. Cal lied for reasons of profit of one kind or another. To be driven to a lie seemed shameful to him. He wanted to shout, “I know how you got it and it’s all right.” But, of course, he did not. “I’d like to hear about it,” he said.
Aron was caught in the roil of change too, but his impulses were more sluggish than Cal’s. His body did not scream at him so shrilly. His passions took a religious direction. He decided on the ministry for his future. He attended all services in the Episcopal church, helped with the flowers and leaves at feast times, and spent many hours with the young and curly-haired clergyman, Mr. Rolf. Aron’s training in worldliness was gained from a young man of no experience, which gave him the agility for generalization only the inexperienced can have.
Aron was confirmed in the Episcopal church and took his place in the choir on Sundays. Abra followed him. Her feminine mind knew that such things were necessary but unimportant.
It was natural that the convert Aron should work on Cal. First Aron prayed silently for Cal, but finally he approached him. He denounced Cal’s godlessness, demanded his reformation.
Cal might have tried to go along if his brother had been more clever. But Aron had reached a point of passionate purity that made everyone else foul. After a few lectures Cal found him unbearably smug and told him so. It was a relief to both of them when Aron abandoned his brother to eternal damnation.
Aron’s religion inevitably took a sexual turn. He spoke to Abra of the necessity for abstinence and decided that he would live a life of celibacy. Abra in her wisdom agreed with him, feeling and hoping that this phase would pass. Celibacy was the only state she had known. She wanted to marry Aron and bear any number of his children, but for the time being she did not speak of it. She had never been jealous before, but now she began to find in herself an instinctive and perhaps justified hatred of the Reverend Mr. Rolf.
Cal watched his brother triumph over sins he had never committed. He thought sardonically of telling him about his mother, to see how he would handle it, but he withdrew the thought quickly. He didn’t think Aron could handle it at all.

Chapter 39


1
At intervals Salinas suffered from a mild eructation of morality. The process never varied much. One burst was like another. Sometimes it started in the pulpit and sometimes with a new ambitious president of the Women’s Civic Club. Gambling was invariably the sin to be eradicated. There were certain advantages in attacking gambling. One could discuss it, which was not true of prostitution. It was an obvious evil and most of the games were operated by Chinese. There was little chance of treading on the toes of a relative.
From church and club the town’s two newspapers caught fire. Editorials demanded a clean-up. The police agreed but pleaded short-handedness and tried for increased budget and sometimes succeeded.
When it got to the editorial stage everyone knew the cards were down. What followed was as carefully produced as a ballet. The police got ready, the gambling houses got ready, and the papers set up congratulatory editorials in advance. Then came the raid, deliberate and sure. Twenty or more Chinese, imported from Pajaro, a few bums, six or eight drummers, who, being strangers, were not warned, fell into the police net, were booked, jailed, and in the morning fined and released. The town relaxed in its new spotlessness and the houses lost only one night of business plus the fines. It is one of the triumphs of the human that he can know a thing and still not believe it.
In the fall of 1916 Cal was watching the fan-tan game at Shorty Lim’s one night when the raid scooped him up. In the dark no one noticed him, and the chief was embarrassed to find him in the tank in the morning. The chief telephoned Adam, got him up from his breakfast. Adam walked the two blocks to the City Hall, picked up Cal, crossed the street to the post office for his mail, and then the two walked home.
Lee had kept Adam’s eggs warm and had fried two for Cal.
Aron walked through the dining room on his way to school. “Want me to wait for you?” he asked Cal.
“No,” said Cal. He kept his eyes down and ate his eggs.
Adam had not spoken except to say, “Come along!” at the City Hall after he had thanked the Chief.
Cal gulped down a breakfast he did not want, darting glances up through his eyelashes at his father’s face. He could make nothing of Adam’s expression. It seemed at once puzzled and angry and thoughtful and sad.
Adam stared down into his coffee cup. The silence grew until it had the weight of age so hard to lift aside.
Lee looked in. “Coffee?” he asked.
Adam shook his head slowly. Lee withdrew and this time closed the kitchen door.
In the clock-ticking silence Cal began to be afraid. He felt a strength flowing out of his father he had never known was there. Itching prickles of agony ran up his legs, and he was afraid to move to restore the circulation. He knocked his fork against his plate to make a noise and the clatter was swallowed up. The clock struck nine deliberate strokes and they were swallowed up.
As the fear began to chill, resentment took its place. So might a trapped fox feel anger at the paw which held him to the trap.
Suddenly Cal jumped up. He hadn’t known he was going to move. He shouted and he hadn’t known he was going to speak. He cried, “Do what you’re going to do to me! Go ahead! Get it over!”
And his shout was sucked into the silence.
Adam slowly raised his head. It is true that Cal had never looked into his father’s eyes before, and it is true that many people never look into their father’s eyes. Adam’s irises were light blue with dark radial lines leading into the vortices of his pupils. And deep down in each pupil Cal saw his own face reflected, as though two Cals looked out at him.
Adam said slowly, “I’ve failed you, haven’t I?”
It was worse than an attack. Cal faltered, “What do you mean?”
“You were picked up in a gambling house. I don’t know how you got there, what you were doing there, why you went there.”
Cal sat limply down and looked at his plate.
“Do you gamble, son?”
“No, sir. I was just watching.”
“Had you been there before?”
“Yes, sir. Many times.”
“Why do you go?”
“I don’t know. I get restless at night--like an alley cat, I guess.” The thought of Kate and his weak joke seemed horrible to him. “When I can’t sleep I walk around,” he said, “to try to blot it out.”
Adam considered his words, inspected each one. “Does your brother walk around too?”
“Oh, no, sir. He wouldn’t think of it. He’s--he’s not restless.”
“You see, I don’t know,” said Adam. “I don’t know anything about you.”
Cal wanted to throw his arms about his father, to hug him and to be hugged by him. He wanted some wild demonstration of sympathy and love. He picked up his wooden napkin ring and thrust his forefinger through it. “I’d tell you if you asked,” he said softly.
“I didn’t ask. I didn’t ask! I’m as bad a father as my father was.”
Cal had never heard this tone in Adam’s voice. It was hoarse and breaking with warmth and he fumbled among his words, feeling for them in the dark.
“My father made a mold and forced me into it,” Adam said. “I was a bad casting but I couldn’t be remelted. Nobody can be remelted. And so I remained a bad casting.”
Cal said, “Sir, don’t be sorry. You’ve had too much of that.”
“Have I? Maybe--but maybe the wrong kind. I don’t know my sons. I wonder whether I could learn.”
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Just ask me.”
“Where would I start? Right at the beginning?”
“Are you sad or mad because I was in jail?”
To Cal’s surprise Adam laughed. “You were just there, weren’t you? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Maybe being there was wrong.” Cal wanted a blame for himself.
“One time I was just there,” said Adam. “I was a prisoner for nearly a year for just being there.”
Cal tried to absorb this heresy. “I don’t believe it,” he said.
“Sometimes I don’t either, but I know that when I escaped I robbed a store and stole some clothes.”
“I don’t believe it,” Cal said weakly, but the warmth, the closeness, was so delicious that he clung to it. He breathed shallowly so that the warmth might not be disturbed.
Adam said, “Do you remember Samuel Hamilton?--sure you do. When you were a baby he told me I was a bad father. He hit me, knocked me down, to impress it on me.”
“That old man?”
“He was a tough old man. And now I know what he meant. I’m the same as my father was. He didn’t allow me to be a person, and I haven’t seen my sons as people. That’s what Samuel meant.” He looked right into Cal’s eyes and smiled, and Cal ached with affection for him.
Cal said, “We don’t think you’re a bad father.”
“Poor things,” said Adam. “How would you know? You’ve never had any other kind.”
“I’m glad I was in jail,” said Cal.
“So am I. So am I.” He laughed. “We’ve both been in jail--we can talk together.” A gaiety grew in him. “Maybe you can tell me what kind of a boy you are--can you?”
“Yes sir.”
“Will you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, tell me. You see, there’s a responsibility in being a person. It’s more than just taking up space where air would be. What are you like?”
“No joke?” Cal asked shyly.
“No joke--oh, surely, no joke. Tell me about yourself--that is, if you want to.”
Cal began, “Well--I’m--” He stopped. “It’s not so easy when you try,” he said.
“I guess it would be--maybe impossible. Tell me about your brother.”
“What do you want to know about him?”
“What you think of him, I guess. That’s all you could tell me.”
Cal said, “He’s good. He doesn’t do bad things. He doesn’t think bad things.”
“Now you’re telling about yourself.”
“Sir?”
“You’re saying you do and think bad things.”
Cal’s cheeks reddened. “Well, I do.”
“Very bad things?”
“Yes, sir. Do you want me to tell?”
“No, Cal. You’ve told. Your voice tells and your eyes tell you’re at war with yourself. But you shouldn’t be ashamed. It’s awful to be ashamed. Is Aron ever ashamed?”
“He doesn’t do anything to be ashamed of.”
Adam leaned forward. “Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
“Tell me, Cal--do you protect him?”
“How do you mean, sir?”
“I mean like this--if you heard something bad or cruel or ugly, would you keep it from him?”
“I--I think so.”
“You think he’s too weak to bear things you can bear?”
“It’s not that, sir. He’s good. He’s really good. He never does anyone harm. He never says bad things about anyone. He’s not mean and he never complains and he’s brave. He doesn’t like to fight but he will.”
“You love your brother, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir. And I do bad things to him. I cheat him and I fool him. Sometimes I hurt him for no reason at all.”
“And then you’re miserable?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is Aron ever miserable?”
“I don’t know. When I didn’t want to join the Church he felt bad. And once when Abra got angry and said she hated him he felt awful bad. He was sick. He had a fever. Don’t you remember? Lee sent for the doctor.”
Adam said with wonder, “I could live with you and not know any of these things! Why was Abra mad?”
Cal said, “I don’t know if I ought to tell.”
“I don’t want you to then.”
“It’s nothing bad. I guess it’s all right. You see, sir, Aron wants to be a minister. Mr. Rolf--well, he likes high church, and Aron liked that, and he thought maybe he would never get married and maybe go to a retreat.”
“Like a monk, you mean?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Abra didn’t like that?”
“Like it? She got spitting mad. She can get mad sometimes. She took Aron’s fountain pen and threw it on the sidewalk and tramped on it. She said she’d wasted half her life on Aron.”
Adam laughed. “How old is Abra?”
“Nearly fifteen. But she’s--well, more than that some ways.”
“I should say she is. What did Aron do?”
“He just got quiet but he felt awful bad.”
Adam said, “I guess you could have taken her away from him then.”
“Abra is Aron’s girl,” said Cal.
Adam looked deeply into Cal’s eyes. Then he called, “Lee!” There was no answer. “Lee!” he called again. He said, ‘“I didn’t hear him go out. I want some fresh coffee.”
Cal jumped up. “I’ll make it.”
“Say,” said Adam, “you should be in school.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“You ought to go. Aron went.”
“I’m happy,” Cal said. “I want to be with you.”
Adam looked down at his hands. “Make the coffee,” he said softly and his voice was shy.
When Cal was in the kitchen Adam looked inward at himself with wonder. His nerves and muscles throbbed with an excited hunger. His fingers yearned to grasp, his legs to run. His eyes avidly brought the room into focus. He saw the chairs, the pictures, the red roses on the carpet, and new sharp things--almost people things but friendly things. And in his brain was born sharp appetite for the future--a pleased warm anticipation, as though the coming minutes and weeks must bring delight. He felt a dawn emotion, with a lovely day to slip golden and quiet over him. He laced his fingers behind his head and stretched his legs out stiff.
In the kitchen Cal urged on the water heating in the coffeepot, and yet he was pleased to be waiting. A miracle once it is familiar is no longer a miracle; Cal had lost his wonder at the golden relationship with his father but the pleasure remained. The poison of loneliness and the gnawing envy of the unlonely had gone out of him, and his person was clean and sweet, and he knew it was. He dredged up an old hatred to test himself, and he found the hatred gone. He wanted to serve his father, to give him some great gift, to perform some huge good task in honor of his father.
The coffee boiled over and Cal spent minutes cleaning up the stove. He said to himself, “I wouldn’t have done this yesterday.”
Adam smiled at him when he carried in the steaming pot. Adam sniffed and said, “That’s a smell could raise me out of a concrete grave.”
“It boiled over,” said Cal.
“It has to boil over to taste good,” Adam said. “I wonder where Lee went.”
“Maybe in his room. Shall I look?”
“No. He’d have answered.”
“Sir, when I finish school, will you let me run the ranch?”
“You’re planning early. How about Aron?”
“He wants to go to college. Don’t tell him I told you. Let him tell you, and you be surprised.”
“Why, that’s fine,” said Adam. “But don’t you want to go to college too?”
“I bet I could make money on the ranch--enough to pay Aron’s way through college.”
Adam sipped his coffee. “That’s a generous thing,” he said. “I don’t know whether I ought to tell you this but--well, when I asked you earlier what kind of boy Aron was, you defended him so badly I thought you might dislike him or even hate him.”
“I have hated him,” Cal said vehemently. “And I’ve hurt him too. But, sir, can I tell you something? I don’t hate him now. I won’t ever hate him again. I don’t think I will hate anyone, not even my mother--” He stopped, astonished at his slip, and his mind froze up tight and helpless.
Adam looked straight ahead. He rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. Finally he said quietly, “You know about your mother.” It was not a question.
“Yes--yes, sir.”
“All about her?”
“Yes, sir.”
Adam leaned back in his chair. “Does Aron know?”
“Oh, no! No--no, sir. He doesn’t know.”
“Why do you say it that way?”
“I wouldn’t dare to tell him.”
“Why not?”
Cal said brokenly, “I don’t think he could stand it. He hasn’t enough badness in him to stand it.” He wanted to continue, “--any more than you could, sir,” but he left the last unsaid.
Adam’s face looked weary. He moved his head from side to side. “Cal, listen to me. Do you think there’s any chance of keeping Aron from knowing? Think carefully.”
Cal said, “He doesn’t go near places like that. He’s not like me.”
“Suppose someone told him?”
“I don’t think he would believe it, sir. I think he would lick whoever told him and think it was a lie.”
“You’ve been there?”
“Yes, sir. I had to know.” And Cal went on excitedly, “If he went away to college and never lived in this town again--”
Adam nodded. “Yes. That might be. But he has two more years here.”
“Maybe I could make him hurry it up and finish in one year. He’s smart.”
“But you’re smarter?”
“A different kind of smart,” said Cal.
Adam seemed to grow until he filled one side of the room. His face was stern and his blue eyes sharp and penetrating. “Cal!” he said harshly.
“Sir?”
“I trust you, son,” said Adam.

2

Adam’s recognition brought a ferment of happiness to Cal. He walked on the balls of his feet. He smiled more often than he frowned, and the secret darkness was seldom on him.
Lee, noticing the change in him, asked quietly, “You haven’t found a girl, have you?”
“Girl? No. Who wants a girl?”
“Everybody,” said Lee.
And Lee asked Adam, “Do you know what’s got into Cal?”
Adam said, “He knows about her.”
“Does he?” Lee stayed out of trouble. “Well, you remember I thought you should have told them.”
“I didn’t tell him. He knew.”
“What do you think of that!” said Lee. “But that’s not information to make a boy hum when he studies and play catch with his cap when he walks. How about Aron?”
“I’m afraid of that,” said Adam. “I don’t think I want him to know.”
“It might be too late.”
“I might have a talk with Aron. Kind of feel around.”
Lee considered. “Something’s happened to you too.”
“Has it? I guess it has,” said Adam.
But humming and sailing his cap, driving quickly through his schoolwork, were only the smallest of Cal’s activities. In his new joy he appointed himself guardian of his father’s content. It was true what he had said about not feeling hatred for his mother. But that did not change the fact that she had been the instrument of Adam’s hurt and shame. Cal reasoned that what she could do before, she could do again. He set himself to learn all he could about her. A known enemy is less dangerous, less able to surprise.
At night he was drawn to the house across the tracks. Sometimes in the afternoon he lay hidden in the tall weeds across the street, watching the place. He saw the girls come out, dressed somberly, even severely. They left the house always in pairs, and Cal followed them with his eyes to the corner of Castroville Street, where they turned left toward Main Street. He discovered that if you didn’t know where they had come from you couldn’t tell what they were. But he was not waiting for the girls to come out. He wanted to see his mother in the light of day. He found that Kate emerged every Monday at one-thirty.
Cal made arrangements in school, by doing extra and excellent work, to make up for his absences on Monday afternoons. To Aron’s questions he replied that he was working on a surprise and was duty bound to tell no one. Aron was not much interested anyway. In his self-immersion Aron soon forgot the whole thing.
Cal, after he had followed Kate several times, knew her route. She always went to the same places--first to the Monterey County Bank where she was admitted behind the shining bars that defended the safe-deposit vault. She spent fifteen or twenty minutes there. Then she moved slowly along Main Street, looking in the store windows. She stepped into Porter and Irvine’s and looked at dresses and sometimes made a purchase--elastic, safety pins, a veil, a pair of gloves. About two-fifteen she entered Minnie Franken’s beauty parlor, stayed an hour, and came out with her hair pinned up in tight curls and a silk scarf around her head and tied under her chin.
At three-thirty she climbed the stairs to the offices over the Farmers’ Mercantile and went into the consulting room of Dr. Rosen. When she came down from the doctor’s office she stopped for a moment at Bell’s candy store and bought a two-pound box of mixed chocolates. She never varied the route. From Bell’s she went directly back to Castroville Street and thence to her house.
There was nothing strange about her clothing. She dressed exactly like any well-to-do Salinas woman out shopping on a Monday afternoon--except that she always wore gloves, which was unusual for Salinas.
The gloves made her hands seem puffed and pudgy. She moved as though she were surrounded by a glass shell. She spoke to no one and seemed to see no one. Occasionally a man turned and looked after her and then nervously went about his business. But for the most part she slipped past like an invisible woman.
For a number of weeks Cal followed Kate. He tried not to attract her attention. And since Kate walked always looking straight ahead, he was convinced that she did not notice him.
When Kate entered her own yard Cal strolled casually by and went home by another route. He could not have said exactly why he followed her, except that he wanted to know all about her.
The eighth week he took the route she completed her journey and went into her overgrown yard as usual.
Cal waited a moment, then strolled past the rickety gate.
Kate was standing behind a tall ragged privet. She said to him coldly, “What do you want?”
Cal froze in his steps. He was suspended in time, barely breathing. Then he began a practice he had learned when he was very young. He observed and catalogued details outside his main object. He noticed how the wind from the south bent over the new little leaves of the tall privet bush. He saw the muddy path beaten to black mush by many feet, and Kate’s feet standing far to the side out of the mud. He heard a switch engine in the Southern Pacific yards discharging steam in shrill dry spurts. He felt the chill air on the growing fuzz on his cheeks. And all the time he was staring at Kate and she was staring back at him. And he saw in the set and color of her eyes and hair, even in the way she held her shoulders--high in a kind of semi-shrug--that Aron looked very like her. He did not know his own face well enough to recognize her mouth and little teeth and wide cheekbones as his own. They stood thus for the moment, between two gusts of the southern wind.
Kate said, “This isn’t the first time you’ve followed me. What do you want?”
He dipped his head. “Nothing,” he said.
“Who told you to do it?” she demanded.
“Nobody--ma’am.”
“You won’t tell me, will you?”
Cal heard his own next speech with amazement. It was out before he could stop it. “You’re my mother and I wanted to see what you’re like.” It was the exact truth and it had leaped out like the stroke of a snake.
“What? What is this? Who are you?”
“I’m Cal Trask,” he said. He felt the delicate change of balance as when a seesaw moves. His was the upper seat now. Although her expression had not changed Cal knew she was on the defensive.
She looked at him closely, observed every feature. A dim remembered picture of Charles leaped into her mind. Suddenly she said, “Come with me!” She turned and walked up the path, keeping well to the side, out of the mud.
Cal hesitated only for a moment before following her up the steps. He remembered the big dim room, but the rest was strange to him. Kate preceded him down a hall and into her room. As she went past the kitchen entrance she called, “Tea. Two cups!”
In her room she seemed to have forgotten him!. She removed her coat, tugging at the sleeves with reluctant fat gloved fingers. Then she went to a new door cut in the wall in the end of the room where her bed stood. She opened the door and went into a new little lean-to. “Come in here!” she said. “Bring that chair with you.”
He followed her into a box of a room. It had no windows, no decorations of any kind. Its walls were painted a dark gray. A solid gray carpet covered the floor. The only furniture in the room was a huge chair puffed with gray silk cushions, a tilted reading table, and a floor lamp deeply hooded. Kate pulled the light chain with her gloved hand, holding it deep in the crotch between her thumb and forefinger as though her hand were artificial.
“Close the door!” Kate said.
The light threw a circle on the reading table and only diffused dimly through the gray room. Indeed the gray walls seemed to suck up the light and destroy it.
Kate settled herself gingerly among the thick down cushions and slowly removed her gloves. The fingers of both hands were bandaged.
Kate said angrily, “Don’t stare. It’s arthritis. Oh--so you want to see, do you?” She unwrapped the oily-looking bandage from her right forefinger and stuck the crooked finger under the light. “There--look at it,” she said. “It’s arthritis.” She whined in pain as she tenderly wrapped the bandage loosely. “God, those gloves hurt!” she said. “Sit down.”
Cal crouched on the edge of his chair.
“You’ll probably get it,” Kate said. “My great-aunt had it and my mother was just beginning to get it--” She stopped. The room was very silent.
There was a soft knock on the door. Kate called, “Is that you, Joe? Set the tray down out there. Joe, are you there?”
A mutter came through the door.
Kate said tonelessly, “There’s a litter in the parlor. Clean it up. Anne hasn’t cleaned her room. Give her one more warning. Tell her it’s the last. Eva got smart last night. I’ll take care of her. And, Joe, tell the cook if he serves carrots again this week he can pack up. Hear me?”
The mutter came through the door.
“That’s all,” said Kate. “The dirty pigs!” she muttered. “They’d rot if I didn’t watch them. Go out and bring in the tea tray.”
The bedroom was empty when Cal opened the door. He carried the tray into the lean-to and set it gingerly on the tilted reading table. It was a large silver tray, and on it were a pewter teapot, two paper-thin white teacups, sugar, cream, and an open box of chocolates.
“Pour the tea,” said Kate. “It hurts my hands.” She put a chocolate in her mouth. “I saw you looking at this room,” she went on when she had swallowed her candy. “The light hurts my eyes. I come in here to rest.” She saw Cal’s quick glance at her eyes and said with finality, “The light hurts my eyes.” She said harshly, “What’s the matter? Don’t you want tea?”
“No, ma’am,” said Cal, “I don’t like tea.”
She held the thin cup with her bandaged fingers. “All right. What do you want?”
“Nothing, ma’am.”
“Just wanted to look at me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Are you satisfied?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How do I look?” She smiled crookedly at him and showed her sharp white little teeth.
“All right.”
“I might have known you’d cover up. Where’s your brother?”
“In school, I guess, or home.”
“What’s he like?”
“He looks more like you.”
“Oh, he does? Well, is he like me ?”
“He wants to be a minister,” said Cal.
“I guess that’s the way it should be--looks like me and wants to go into the church. A man can do a lot of damage in the church. When someone comes here, he’s got his guard up. But in church a man’s wide open.”
“He means it,” said Cal.
She leaned toward him, and her face was alive with interest. “Fill my cup. Is your brother dull?”
“He’s nice,” said Cal.
“I asked you if he’s dull.”
“No, ma’am,” said Cal.
She settled back and lifted her cup. “How’s your father?”
“I don’t want to talk about him,” Cal said.
“Oh, no! You like him then?”
“I love him,” said Cal.
Kate peered closely at him, and a curious spasm shook her--an aching twist rose in her chest. And then she closed up and her control came back.
“Don’t you want some candy?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am. Why did you do it?”
“Why did I do what?”
“Why did you shoot my father and run away from us.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“No. He didn’t tell us.”
She touched one hand with the other and her hands leaped apart as though the contact burned them. She asked, “Does your father ever have any--girls or young women come to your house?”
“No,” said Cal. “Why did you shoot him and go away?”
Her cheeks tightened and her mouth straightened, as though a net of muscles took control. She raised her head, and her eyes were cold and shallow.
“You talk older than your age,” she said. “But you don’t talk old enough. Maybe you’d better run along and play--and wipe your nose.”
“Sometimes I work my brother over,” he said. “I make him squirm, I’ve made him cry. He doesn’t know how I do it. I’m smarter than he is. I don’t want to do it. It makes me sick.”
Kate picked it up as though it were her own conversation. “They thought they were so smart,” she said. “They looked at me and thought they knew about me. And I fooled them. I fooled every one of them. And when they thought they could tell me what to do--oh! that’s when I fooled them best. Charles, I really fooled them then.”
“My name is Caleb,” Cal said. “Caleb got to the Promised Land. That’s what Lee says, and it’s in the Bible.”
“That’s the Chinaman,” Kate said, and she went on eagerly, “Adam thought he had me. When I was hurt, all broken up, he took me in and he waited on me, cooked for me. He tried to tie me down that way. Most people get tied down that way. They’re grateful, they’re in debt, and that’s the worst kind of handcuffs. But nobody can hold me. I waited and waited until I was strong, and then I broke out. Nobody can trap me,” she said. “I knew what he was doing. I waited.”
The gray room was silent except for her excited wheezing breath.
Cal said, “Why did you shoot him?”
“Because he tried to stop me. I could have killed him but I didn’t. I just wanted him to let me go.”
“Did you ever wish you’d stayed?”
“Christ, no! Even when I was a little girl I could do anything I wanted. They never knew how I did it. Never. They were always so sure they were right. And they never knew--no one ever knew.” A kind of realization came to her. “Sure, you’re my kind. Maybe you’re the same. Why wouldn’t you be?”
Cal stood up and clasped his hands behind his back. He said, “When you were little, did you”--he paused to get the thought straight--”did you ever have the feeling like you were missing something? Like as if the others knew something you didn’t--like a secret they wouldn’t tell you? Did you ever feel that way?”
While he spoke her face began to close against him, and by the time he paused she was cut off and the open way between them was blocked.
She said, “What am I doing, talking to kids!”
Cal unclasped his hands from behind him and shoved them in his pockets.
“Talking to snot-nosed kids,” she said. “I must be crazy.”
Cal’s face was alight with excitement, and his eyes were wide with vision.
Kate said, “What’s the matter with you?”
He stood still, his forehead glistening with sweat, his hands clenched into fists.
Kate, as she had always, drove in the smart but senseless knife of her cruelty. She laughed softly. “I may have given you some interesting things, like this--” She held up her crooked hands. “But if it’s epilepsy--fits--you didn’t get it from me.” She glanced brightly up at him, anticipating the shock and beginning worry in him.
Cal spoke happily. “I’m going,” he said. “I’m going now. It’s all right. What Lee said was true.”
“What did Lee say?”
Cal said, “I was afraid I had you in me.”
“You have,” said Kate.
“No, I haven’t. I’m my own. I don’t have to be you.”
“How do you know that?” she demanded.
“I just know. It just came to me whole. If I’m mean, it’s my own mean.”
“This Chinaman has really fed you some pap. What are you looking at me like that for?”
Cal said, “I don’t think the light hurts your eyes. I think you’re afraid.”
“Get out!” she cried. “Go on, get out!”
“I’m going.” He had his hand on the doorknob. “I don’t hate you,” he said. “But I’m glad you’re afraid.”
She tried to shout “Joe!” but her voice thickened to a croak.
Cal wrenched open the door and slammed it behind him.
Joe was talking to one of the girls in the parlor. They heard the stutter of light quick footsteps. But by the time they looked up a streaking figure had reached the door, opened it, slipped through, and the heavy front door banged. There was only one step on the porch and then a crunch as jumping feet struck earth.
“What in hell was that?” the girl asked.
“God knows,” said Joe. “Sometimes I think I’m seeing things.”
“Me too,” said the girl. “Did I tell you Clara’s got bugs under her skin?”
“I guess she seen-the shadow of the needle,” said Joe. “Well, the way I figure, the less you know, the better off you are.”
“That’s the truth you said there,” the girl agreed.

Chapter 40


1
Kate sat back in her chair against the deep down cushions. Waves of nerves cruised over her body, raising the little hairs and making ridges of icy burn as they went.
She spoke softly to herself. “Steady now,” she said. “Quiet down. Don’t let it hit you. Don’t think for a while. The goddam snot-nose!”
She thought suddenly of the only person who had ever made her feel this panic hatred. It was Samuel Hamilton, with his white beard and his pink cheeks and the laughing eyes that lifted her skin and looked underneath.
With her bandaged forefinger she dug out a slender chain which hung around her neck and pulled the chain’s burden up from her bodice. On the chain were strung two safe-deposit keys, a gold watch with a fleur-de-lis pin, and a little steel tube with a ring on its top. Very carefully she unscrewed the top from the tube and, spreading her knees, shook out a gelatine capsule. She held the capsule under the light and saw the white crystals inside--six grains of morphine, a good, sure margin. Very gently she eased the capsule into its tube, screwed on the cap, and dropped the chain inside her dress.
Cal’s last words had been repeating themselves over and over in her head. “I’m glad you’re afraid.” She said the words aloud to herself to kill the sound. The rhythm stopped, but a strong picture formed in her mind and she let it form so that she could inspect it again.

2

It was before the lean-to was built. Kate had collected the money Charles had left. The check was converted to large bills, and the bills in their bales were in the safe-deposit box at the Monterey County Bank.
It was about the time the first pains began to twist her hands. There was enough money now to go away. It was just a matter of getting the most she could out of the house. But also it was better to wait until she felt quite well again.
She never felt quite well again. New York seemed cold and very far away.
A letter came to her signed “Ethel.” Who in hell was Ethel? Whoever she was, she must be crazy to ask for money. Ethel--there were hundreds of Ethels. Ethels grew on every bush. And this one scrawled illegibly on a lined pad.
Not very long afterward Ethel came to see Kate, and Kate hardly recognized her.
Kate sat at her desk, watchful, suspicious, and confident. “It’s been a long time,” she said.
Ethel responded like a soldier who comes in his cushion age upon the sergeant who trained him. “I’ve been poorly,” she said. Her flesh had thickened and grown heavy all over her. Her clothes had the strained cleanliness that means poverty.
“Where are you--staying now?” Kate asked, and she wondered how soon the old bag would be able to come to the point.
“Southern Pacific Hotel. I got a room.”
“Oh, then you don’t work in a house now?”
“I couldn’t never get started again,” said Ethel. “You shouldn’t of run me off.” She wiped big tears from the corners of her eyes with the tip of a cotton glove. “Things are bad,” she said. “First I had trouble when we got that new judge. Ninety days, and I didn’t have no record--not here anyways. I come out of that and I got the old Joe. I didn’t know I had it. Give it to a regular--nice fella, worked on the section gang. He got sore an’ busted me up, hurt my nose, lost four teeth, an’ that new judge he give me a hundred and eighty. Hell, Kate, you lose all your contacts in a hundred and eighty days. They forget you’re alive. I just never could get started.”
Kate nodded her head in cold and shallow sympathy. She knew that Ethel was working up to the bite. Just before it came Kate made a move. She opened her desk drawer and took out some money and held it out to Ethel. “I never let a friend down,” she said. “Why don’t you go to a new town, start fresh? It might change your luck.”
Ethel tried to keep her fingers from grabbing at the money. She fanned the bills like a poker hand--four tens. Her mouth began to work with emotion.
Ethel said, “I kind of hoped you’d see your way to let me take more than forty bucks.”
“What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you get my letter?”
“What letter?”
“Oh’“ said Ethel. “Well, maybe it got lost in the mail. They don’t take no care of things. Anyways, I thought you might look after me. I don’t feel good hardly ever. Got a kind of weight dragging my guts down.” She sighed and then she spoke so rapidly that Kate knew it had been rehearsed.
“Well, maybe you remember how I’ve got like second sight,” Ethel began. “Always predicting things that come true. Always dreaming stuff and it come out. Fella says I should go in the business. Says I’m a natural medium. You remember that?”
“No,” said Kate, “I don’t.”
“Don’t? Well, maybe you never noticed. All the others did. I told ’em lots of things and they come true.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I had this-here dream. I remember when it was because it was the same night Faye died.” Her eves flicked up at Kate’s cold face. She continued doggedly, “It rained that night, and it was raining in my dream--anyways, it was wet. Well, in my dream I seen you come out the kitchen door. It wasn’t pitch-dark--moon was coming through a little. And the dream thing was you. You went out to the back of the lot and stooped over. I couldn’t see what you done. Then you come creeping back.
“Next thing I knew--why, Faye was dead.” She paused and waited for some comment from Kate, but Kate’s face was expressionless.
Ethel waited until she was sure Kate would not speak. “Well, like I said, I always believed in my dreams. It’s funny, there wasn’t nothing out there except some smashed medicine bottles and a little rubber tit from an eye-dropper.”
Kate said lazily, “So you took them to a doctor. What did he say had been in the bottles?”
“Oh, I didn’t do nothing like that.”
“You should have,” said Kate.
“I don’t want to see nobody get in trouble. I’ve had enough trouble myself. I put that broke glass in an envelope and stuck it away.”
Kate said softly, “And so you are coming to me for advice?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ll tell you what I think,” said Kate. “I think you’re a worn-out old whore and you’ve been beaten over the head too many times.”
“Don’t you start saying I’m nuts--” Ethel began.
“No, maybe you’re not, but you’re tired and you’re sick. I told you I never let a friend down. You can come back here. You can’t work but you can help around, clean and give the cook a hand. You’ll have a bed and you’ll get your meals. How would that be? And a little spending money.”
Ethel stirred uneasily. “No, ma’am,” she said. “I don’t think I want to--sleep here. I don’t carry that envelope around. I left it with a friend.”
“What did you have in mind?” Kate asked.
“Well, I thought if you could see your way to let me have a hundred dollars a month, why, I could make out and maybe get my health back.”
“You said you lived at the Southern Pacific Hotel?”
“Yes, ma’am--and my room is right up the hall from the desk. The night clerk’s a friend of mine. He don’t never sleep when he’s on duty. Nice fella.”
Kate said, “Don’t wet your pants, Ethel. All you’ve got to worry about is how much does the ‘nice fella’ want. Now wait a minute.” She counted six more ten-dollar bills from the drawer in front of her and held them out.
“Will it come the first of the month or do I have to come here for it?”
“I’ll send it to you,” said Kate. “And, Ethel,” she continued quietly, “I still think you ought to have those bottles analyzed.”
Ethel clutched the money tightly in her hand. She was bubbling over with triumph and good feeling. It was one of the few things that had ever worked out for her. “I wouldn’t think of doing that,” she said. “Not unless I had to.”
After she had gone Kate strolled out to the back of the lot behind the house. And even after years she could see from the unevenness of the earth that it must have been pretty thoroughly dug over.
The next morning the judge heard the usual chronicle of small violence and nocturnal greed. He only half listened to the fourth case and at the end of the terse testimony of the complaining witness he asked, “How much did you lose?”
The dark-haired man said, “Pretty close to a hundred dollars.”
The judge turned to the arresting officer. “How much did she have?”
“Ninety-six dollars. She got whisky and cigarettes and some magazines from the night clerk at six o’clock this morning.”
Ethel cried, “I never seen this guy in my life.”
The judge looked up from his papers. “Twice for prostitution and now robbery. You’re costing too much. I want you out of town by noon.” He turned to the officer. “Tell the sheriff to run her over the county line.” And he said to Ethel, “If you come back, I’ll give you to the county for the limit, and that’s San Quentin. Do you understand?”
Ethel said, “Judge, I want to see you alone.”
“Why?”
“I got to see you,” said Ethel. “This is a frame.”
“Everything’s a frame,” said the judge. “Next.”
While a deputy sheriff drove Ethel to the county line on the bridge over the Pajaro River, the complaining witness strolled down Castroville Street toward Kate’s, changed his mind and went back to Kenoe’s barbershop to get a hair cut.

3

Ethel’s visit did not disturb Kate very much when it happened. She knew about what attention would be paid to a whore with a grievance, and that an analysis of the broken bottles would not show anything recognizable as poison. She had nearly forgotten Faye. The forcible recalling was simply an unpleasant memory.
Gradually, however, she found herself thinking about it. One night when she was checking the items on a grocery bill a thought shot into her mind, shining and winking like a meteor. The thought flashed and went out so quickly that she had to stop what she was doing to try to find it. How was the dark face of Charles involved in the thought? And Sam Hamilton’s puzzled and merry eyes? And why did she get a shiver of fear from the flashing thought?
She gave it up and went back to her work, but the face of Charles was behind her, looking over her shoulder. Her fingers began to hurt her. She put the accounts away and made a tour through the house. It was a slow, listless night--a Tuesday night. There weren’t even enough customers to put on the circus.
Kate knew how the girls felt about her. They were desperately afraid of her. She kept them that way. It was probable that they hated her, and that didn’t matter either. But they trusted her, and that did matter. If they followed the rules she laid down, followed them exactly, Kate would take care of them and protect them. There was no love involved and no respect. She never rewarded them and she punished an offender only twice before she removed her. The girls did have the security of knowing that they would not be punished without cause.
As Kate walked about, the girls became elaborately casual. Kate knew about that too and expected it. But on this night she felt that she was not alone. Charles seemed to walk to the side and behind her.
She went through the dining room and into the kitchen, opened the icebox and looked in. She lifted the cover of the garbage can and inspected it for waste. She did this every night, but this night she carried some extra charge.
When she had left the parlor the girls looked at each other and raised their shoulders in bewilderment. Eloise, who was talking to the dark-haired Joe, said, “Anything the matter?”
“Not that I know of. Why?”
“I don’t know. She seems nervous.”
“Well, there was some kind of rat race.”
“What was it?”
“Wait a minute!” said Joe. “I don’t know and you don’t know.”
“I get it. Mind my own business.”
“You’re goddam right,” said Joe. “Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”
“I don’t want to know,” said Eloise.
“Now you’re talking,” Joe said.
Kate ranged back from her tour. “I’m going to bed,” she said to Joe. “Don’t call me unless you have to.”
“Anything I can do?”
“Yes, make me a pot of tea. Did you press that dress, Eloise?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You didn’t do it very well.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Kate was restless. She put all of her papers neatly in the pigeonholes of her desk, and when Joe brought the tea tray she had him put it beside her bed.
Lying back among her pillows and sipping the tea, she probed for her thought. What about Charles? And then it came to her.
Charles was clever. In his crazy way Sam Hamilton was clever. That was the fear-driven thought--there were clever people. Both Sam and Charles were dead, but maybe there were others. She worked it out very slowly.
Suppose I had been the one to dig up the bottles? What would I think and what would I do? A rim of panic rose in her breast. Why were the bottles broken and buried? So it wasn’t a poison! Then why bury them? What had made her do that? She should have dropped them in the gutter on Main Street or tossed them in the garbage can. Dr. Wilde was dead. But what kind of records did he keep? She didn’t know. Suppose she had found the glass and learned what had been in them. Wouldn’t she have asked someone who knew--“Suppose you gave croton oil to a person. What would happen?”
“Well, suppose you gave little doses and kept it up a long time?” She would know. Maybe somebody else would know.
“Suppose you heard about a rich madam who willed everything to a new girl and then died.” Kate knew perfectly well what her first thought would be. What insanity had made her get Ethel floated? Now she couldn’t be found. Ethel should have been paid and tricked into turning over the glass. Where was the glass now? In an envelope--but where? How could Ethel be found?
Ethel would know why and how she had been floated. Ethel wasn’t bright, but she might tell somebody who was bright. That chattering voice might tell the story, how Faye was sick, and what she looked like, and about the will.
Kate was breathing quickly and little prickles of fear were beginning to course over her body. She should go to New York or someplace--not bother to sell the house. She didn’t need the money. She had plenty. Nobody could find her. Yes, but if she ran out and the clever person heard Ethel tell the story, wouldn’t that cinch it?
Kate got up from her bed and took a heavy dose of bromide.
From that time on the crouching fear had always been at her side. She was almost glad when she learned that the pain in her hands was developing arthritis. An evil voice had whispered that it might be a punishment.
She had never gone out in the town very much, but now she developed a reluctance to go out at all. She knew that men stared secretly after her, knowing who she was. Suppose one of those men should have Charles’ face or Samuel’s eyes. She had to drive herself to go out once a week.
Then she built the lean-to and had it painted gray. She said it was because the light troubled her eyes, and gradually she began to believe the light did trouble her eyes. Her eyes burned after a trip to the town. She spent more and more time in her little room.
It is possible to some people, and it was possible for Kate, to hold two opposing thoughts at the same time. She believed that the light pained her eyes, and also that the gray room was a cave to hide in, a dark burrow in the earth, a place where no eyes could stare at her. Once, sitting in her pillowed chair, she considered having a secret door built so that she would have an avenue of escape. And then a feeling rather than a thought threw out the plan. She would not be protected then. If she could get out, something could get in--that something which had begun to crouch outside the house, to crawl close to the walls at night, and to rise silently, trying to look through the windows. It required more and more will power for Kate to leave the house on Monday afternoons.
When Cal began to follow her she had a terrible leap of fear. And when she waited for him behind the privet she was very near to panic.
But now her head dug deep in her soft pillows and her eyes felt the gentle weight of the bromide.

Chapter 41


1
The nation slid imperceptibly toward war, frightened and at the same time attracted. People had not felt the shaking emotion of war in nearly sixty years. The Spanish affair was more nearly an expedition than a war. Mr. Wilson was re-elected President in November on his platform promise to keep us out of war, and at the same time he was instructed to take a firm hand, which inevitably meant war. Business picked up and prices began to rise. British purchasing agents roved about the country, buying food and cloth and metals and chemicals. A charge of excitement ran through the country. People didn’t really believe in war even while they planned it. The Salinas Valley lived about as it always had.

2
Cal walked to school with Aron.
“You look tired,” Aron said.
“Do I?”
“I heard you come in last night. Four o’clock. What do you do so late?”
“I was walking around--thinking. How would you like to quit school and go back to the ranch?”
“What for?”
“We could make some money for Father.”
“I’m going to college. I wish I could go now. Everybody is laughing at us. I want to get out of town.”
“You act mad.”
“I’m not mad. But I didn’t lose the money. I didn’t have a crazy lettuce idea. But people laugh at me just the same. And I don’t know if there’s enough money for college.”
“He didn’t mean to lose the money.”
“But he lost it.”
Cal said, “You’ve got this year to finish and next before you can go to college.”
“Do you think I don’t know it?”
“If you worked hard, maybe you could take entrance examinations next summer and go in the fall.”
Aron swung around. “I couldn’t do it.”
“I think you could. Why don’t you talk to the principal? And I bet the Reverend Rolf would help you.”
Aron said, “I want to get out of this town. I don’t ever want to come back. They still call us Lettuce-heads. They laugh at us.”
“How about Abra?”
“Abra will do what’s best.”
Cal asked, “Would she want you to go away?”
“Abra’s going to do what I want her to do.”
Cal thought for a moment. “I’ll tell you what. I’m going to try to make some money. If you knuckle down and pass examinations a year early, why, I’ll help you through college.”
“You will?”
“Sure I will.”
“Why, I’ll go and see the principal right away.” He quickened his steps.
Cal called, “Aron, wait! Listen! If he says he thinks you can do it, don’t tell Father.”
“Why not?”
“I was just thinking how nice it would be if you went to him and told him you’d done it.”
“I don’t see what difference it makes.”
“You don’t?”
“No, I don’t,” said Aron. “It sounds silly to me.”
Cal had a violent urge to shout, “I know who our mother is! I can show her to you.” That would cut through and get inside of Aron.
Cal met Abra in the hall before the schoolbell rang.
“What’s the matter with Aron?” he demanded.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do,” he said.
“He’s just in a cloud. I think it’s that minister.”
“Does he walk home with you?”
“Sure he does. But I can see right through him. He’s wearing wings.”
“He’s still ashamed about the lettuce.”
“I know he is,” said Abra. “I try to talk him out of it. Maybe he’s enjoying it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” said Abra.
After supper that night Cal said, “Father, would you mind if I went down to the ranch Friday afternoon?”
Adam turned in his chair. “What for?”
“Just want to see. Just want to look around.”
“Does Aron want to go?”
“No. I want to go alone.”
“I don’t see why you shouldn’t. Lee, do you see any reason why he shouldn’t go?”
“No,” said Lee. He studied Cal. “Thinking seriously of going to farming?”
“I might. If you’d let me take it over, I’d farm it, Father.”
“The lease has more than a year to run,” Adam said.
“After that can I farm it?”
“How about school?”
“I’ll be through school.”
“Well, we’ll see,” said Adam. “You might want to go to college.”
When Cal started for the front door Lee followed and walked out with him.
“Can you tell me what it’s about?” Lee asked.
“I just want to look around.”
“All right, I guess I’m left out.” Lee turned to go back into the house. Then he called, “Cal!” The boy stopped. “You worried, Cal?”
“No.”
“I’ve got five thousand dollars if you ever need it.”
“Why would I need it?”
“I don’t know,” said Lee.

3
Will Hamilton liked his glass cage of an office in the garage. His business interests were much wider than the automobile agency, but he did not get another office. He loved the movement that went on outside his square glass cage. And he had put in double glass to kill the noise of the garage.
He sat in his big red leather swivel chair, and most of the time he enjoyed his life. When people spoke of his brother Joe making so much money in advertising in the East, Will always said he himself was a big frog in a little puddle.
“I’d be afraid to go to a big city,” he said. “I’m just a country boy.” And he liked the laugh that always followed. It proved to him that his friends knew he was well off.
Cal came in to see him one Saturday morning. Seeing Will’s puzzled look, he said, “I’m Cal Trask.”
“Oh, sure. Lord, you’re getting to be a big boy. Is your father down?”
“No. I came alone.”
“Well, sit down. I don’t suppose you smoke.”
“Sometimes. Cigarettes.”
Will slid a package of Murads across the desk. Cal opened the box and then closed it. “I don’t think I will right now.”
Will looked at the dark-faced boy and he liked him. He thought, This boy is sharp. He’s nobody’s fool. “I guess you’ll be going into business pretty soon,” he said.
“Yes, sir. I thought I might run the ranch when I get out of high school.”
“There’s no money in that,” said Will. “Farmers don’t make any money. It’s the man who buys from him and sells. You’ll never make any money farming.” Will knew that Cal was feeling him, testing him, observing him, and he approved of that.
And Cal had made up his mind, but first he asked, “Mr. Hamilton, you haven’t any children, have you?”
“Well, no. And I’m sorry about that. I guess I’m sorriest about that.” And then, “What makes you ask?”
Cal ignored the question. “Would you give me some advice?”
Will felt a glow of pleasure. “If I can, I’ll be glad to. What is it you want to know?”
And then Cal did something Will Hamilton approved even more. He used candor as a weapon. He said, “I want to make a lot of money. I want you to tell me how.”
Will overcame his impulse to laugh. Naïve as the statement was, he didn’t think Cal was naïve. “Everybody wants that,” he said. “What do you mean by a lot of money?”
“Twenty or thirty thousand dollars.”
“Good God!” said Will, and he screeched his chair forward. And now he did laugh, but not in derision. Cal smiled along with Will’s laughter.
Will said, “Can you tell me why you want to make so much?”
“Yes, sir,” said Cal, “I can.” And Cal opened the box of Murads and took out one of the oval cork-tipped cigarettes and lighted it. “I’ll tell you why,” he said.
Will leaned his chair back in enjoyment.
“My father lost a lot of money.”
“I know,” said Will. “I warned him not to try to ship lettuce across the country.”
“You did? Why did you?”
“There were no guarantees,” said Will. “A businessman has to protect himself. If anything happened, he was finished. And it happened. Go on.”
“I want to make enough money to give him back what he lost.”
Will gaped at him. “Why?” he asked.
“I want to.”
Will said, “Are you fond of him?”
“Yes.”
Will’s fleshy face contorted and a memory swept over him like a chilling wind. He did not move slowly over the past, it was all there in one flash, all of the years, a picture, a feeling and a despair, all stopped the way a fast camera stops the world. There was the flashing Samuel, beautiful as dawn with a fancy like a swallow’s flight, and the brilliant, brooding Tom who was dark fire, Una who rode the storms, and the lovely Mollie, Dessie of laughter, George handsome and with a sweetness that filled a room like the perfume of flowers, and there was Joe, the youngest, the beloved. Each one without effort brought some gift into the family.
Nearly everyone has his box of secret pain, shared with no one. Will had concealed his well, laughed loud, exploited perverse virtues, and never let his jealousy go wandering. He thought of himself as slow, doltish, conservative, uninspired. No great dream lifted him high and no despair forced self-destruction. He was always on the edge, trying to hold on to the rim of the family with what gifts he had--care, and reason, application. He kept the books, hired the attorneys, called the undertaker, and eventually paid the bills. The others didn’t even know they needed him. He had the ability to get money and to keep it. He thought the Hamiltons despised him for his one ability. He had loved them doggedly, had always been at hand with his money to pull them out of their errors. He thought they were ashamed of him, and he fought bitterly for their recognition. All of this was in the frozen wind that blew through him.
His slightly bulging eyes were damp as he stared past Cal, and the boy asked, “What’s the matter, Mr. Hamilton? Don’t you feel well?”
Will had sensed his family but he had not understood them. And they had accepted him without knowing there was anything to understand. And now this boy came along. Will understood him, felt him, sensed him, recognized him. This was the son he should have had, or the brother, or the father. And the cold wind of memory changed to a warmth toward Cal which gripped him in the stomach and pushed up against his lungs.
He forced his attention to the glass office. Cal was sitting back in his chair, waiting.
Will did not know how long his silence had lasted. “I was thinking,” he said lamely. He made his voice stern. “You asked me something. I’m a businessman. I don’t give things away. I sell them.”
“Yes, sir.” Cal was watchful but he felt that Will Hamilton liked him.
Will said, “I want to know something and I want the truth. Will you tell me the truth?”
“I don’t know,” said Cal.
“I like that. How do you know until you know the question? I like that. That’s smart--and honest. Listen--you have a brother. Does your father like him better than you?”
“Everybody does,” said Cal calmly. “Everybody loves Aron.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, sir. At least--yes, I do.”
“What’s the ‘at least’?”
“Sometimes I think he’s stupid but I like him.”
“Now how about your father?”
“I love him,” said Cal.
“And he loves your brother better.”
“I don’t know.”
“Now, you say you want to give back the money your father lost. Why?”
Ordinarily Cal’s eyes were squinted and cautious, but now they were so wide that they seemed to look around and through Will. Cal was as close to his own soul as it is possible to get.
“My father is good,” he said. “I want to make it up to him because I am not good.”
“If you do that, wouldn’t you be good?”
“No,” said Cal. “I think bad.”
Will had never met anyone who spoke so nakedly. He was near to embarrassment because of the nakedness, and he knew how safe Cal was in his stripped honesty. “Only one more,” he said, “and I won’t mind if you don’t answer it. I don’t think I would answer it. Here it is. Suppose you should get this money and give it to your father--would it cross your mind that you were trying to buy his love?”
“Yes, sir. It would. And it would be true.”
“That’s all I want to ask. That’s all.” Will leaned forward and put his hands against his sweating, pulsing forehead. He could not remember when he had been so shaken. And in Cal there was a cautious leap of triumph. He knew he had won and he closed his face against showing it.
Will raised his head and took off his glasses and wiped the moisture from them. “Let’s go outside,” he said. “Let’s go for a drive.”
Will drove a big Winton now, with a hood as long as a coffin and a powerful, panting mutter in its bowels. He drove south from King City over the county road, through the gathering forces of spring, and the meadowlarks flew ahead, bubbling melody from the fence wires. Pico Blanco stood up against the West with a full head of snow, and in the valley the lines of eucalyptus, which stretched across the valley to break the winds, were gleaming silver with new leaves.
When he came to the side road that led into the home draw of the Trask place Will pulled up on the side of the road. He had not spoken since the Winton rolled out of King City. The big motor idled with a deep whisper.
Will, looking straight ahead, said, “Cal--do you want to be partners with me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t like to take a partner without money. I could lend you the money, but there’s only trouble in that.”
“I can get money,” said Cal.
“How much?”
“Five thousand dollars.”
“You--I don’t believe it.”
Cal didn’t answer.
“I believe it,” said Will. “Borrowed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What interest?”
“None.”
“That’s a good trick. Where will you get it?”
“I won’t tell you, sir.”
Will shook his head and laughed. He was filled with pleasure. “Maybe I’m being a fool, but I believe you--and I’m not a fool.” He gunned his motor and then let it idle again. “I want you to listen. Do you read the papers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’re going to be in this war any minute now.”
“That’s what it looks like.”
“Well, a lot of people think so. Now, do you know the present price of beans? I mean, what can you sell a hundred sacks for in Salinas?”
“I’m not sure. I think about three to three and a half cents a pound.”
“What do you mean you’re not sure? How do you know that?”
“Well, I was thinking about asking my father to let me run the ranch.”
“I see. But you don’t want to farm. You’re too smart. Your father’s tenant is named Rantani. He’s a Swiss Italian, a good farmer. He’s put nearly five hundred acres under cultivation. If we can guarantee him five cents a pound and give him a seed loan, he’ll plant beans. So will every other farmer around here. We could contract five thousand acres of beans.”
Cal said, “What are we going to do with five-cent beans in a three-cent market? Oh, yes! But how can we be sure?”
Will said, “Are we partners?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, Will!”
“Yes, Will.”
“How soon can you get five thousand dollars?”
“By next Wednesday.”
“Shake!” Solemnly the stout man and the lean dark boy shook hands.
Will, still holding Cal’s hand, said, “Now we’re partners. I have a contract with the British Purchasing Agency. And I have a friend in the Quartermaster Corps. I bet we can sell all the dried beans we can find at ten cents a pound or more.”
“When can you sell?”
“I’ll sell before we sign anything. Now, would you like to go up to the old place and talk to Rantani?”
“Yes sir,” said Cal.
Will double-clutched the Winton and the big green car lumbered into the side road.

Chapter 42


A war comes always to someone else. In Salinas we were aware that the United States was the greatest and most powerful nation in the world. Every American was a rifleman by birth, and one American was worth ten or twenty foreigners in a fight.
Pershing’s expedition into Mexico after Villa had exploded one of our myths for a little while. We had truly believed that Mexicans can’t shoot straight and besides were lazy and stupid. When our own Troop C came wearily back from the border they said that none of this was true. Mexicans could shoot straight, goddam it! And Villa’s horsemen had outridden and outlasted our town boys. The two evenings a month of training had not toughened them very much. And last, the Mexicans seemed to have outthought and outambushed Black Jack Pershing. When the Mexicans were joined by their ally, dysentery, it was godawful. Some of our boys didn’t really feel good again for years.
Somehow we didn’t connect Germans with Mexicans. We went right back to our myths. One American was as good as twenty Germans. This being true, we had only to act in a stern manner to bring the Kaiser to heel. He wouldn’t dare interfere with our trade--but he did. He wouldn’t stick out his neck and sink our ships--and he did. It was stupid, but he did, and so there was nothing for it but to fight him.
The war, at first anyway, was for other people. We, I, my family and friends, had kind of bleacher seats, and it was pretty exciting. And just as war is always for somebody else, so it is also true that someone else always gets killed. And Mother of God! that wasn’t true either. The dreadful telegrams began to sneak sorrowfully in, and it was everybody’s brother. Here we were, over six thousand miles from the anger and the noise, and that didn’t save us.
It wasn’t much fun then. The Liberty Belles could parade in white caps and uniforms of white sharkskin. Our uncle could rewrite his Fourth of July speech and use it to sell bonds. We in high school could wear olive drab and campaign hats and learn the manual of arms from the physics teacher, but Jesus Christ! Marty Hopps dead, the Berges boy, from across the street, the handsome one our little sister was in love with from the time she was three, blown to bits!
And the gangling, shuffling loose-jointed boys carrying suitcases were marching awkwardly down Main Street to the Southern Pacific Depot. They were sheepish, and the Salinas Band marched ahead of them, playing the “Stars and Stripes Forever,” and the families walking along beside them were crying, and the music sounded like a dirge. The draftees wouldn’t look at their mothers. They didn’t dare. We’d never thought the war could happen to us.
There were some in Salinas who began to talk softly in the poolrooms and the bars. These had private information from a soldier--we weren’t getting the truth. Our men were being sent in without guns. Troopships were sunk and the government wouldn’t tell us. The German army was so far superior to ours that we didn’t have a chance. That Kaiser was a smart fellow. He was getting ready to invade America. But would Wilson tell us this? He would not. And usually these carrion talkers were the same ones who had said one American was worth twenty Germans in a scrap--the same ones.
Little groups of British in their outlandish uniforms (but they did look smart) moved about the country, buying everything that wasn’t nailed down and paying for it and paying big. A good many of the British purchasing men were crippled, but they wore their uniforms just the same. Among other things they bought beans, because beans are easy to transport and they don’t spoil and a man can damn well live on them. Beans were twelve and a half cents a pound and hard to find. And farmers wished they hadn’t contracted their beans for a lousy two cents a pound above the going price six months ago.
The nation and the Salinas Valley changed its songs. At first we sang of how we would knock the hell out of Helgoland and hang the Kaiser and march over there and clean up the mess them damn foreigners had made. And then suddenly we sang, “In the war’s red curse stands the Red Cross nurse. She’s the rose of No Man’s Land,” and we sang, “Hello, central, give me Heaven, ’cause my Daddy’s there,” and we sang, “Just a baby’s prayer at twilight, when lights are low. She climbs upstairs and says her prayers--Oh, God! please tell my daddy thaddy must take care--” I guess we were like a tough but inexperienced little boy who gets punched in the nose in the first flurry and it hurts and we wished it was over.

Chapter 43


1
Late in the summer Lee came in off the street, carrying his big market basket. Lee had become American conservative in his clothes since he had lived in Salinas. He regularly wore black broadcloth when he went out of the house. His shirts were white, his collars high and stiff, and he affected narrow black string ties, like those which once were the badge for Southern senators. His hats were black, round of crown and straight of brim, and uncrushed as though he still left room for a coiled queue. He was immaculate.
Once Adam had remarked on the quiet splendor of Lee’s clothes, and Lee had grinned at him. “I have to do it,” he said. “One must be very rich to dress as badly as you do. The poor are forced to dress well.”
“Poor!” Adam exploded. “You’ll be lending us money before we’re through.”
“That might be,” said Lee.
This afternoon he set his heavy basket on the floor. “I’m going to try to make a winter melon soup,” he said. “Chinese cooking. I have a cousin in Chinatown, and he told me how. My cousin is in the firecracker and fan-tan business.”
“I thought you didn’t have any relatives,” said Adam.
“All Chinese are related, and the ones named Lee are closest,” said Lee. “My cousin is a Suey Dong. Recently he went into hiding for his health and he learned to cook. You stand the melon in a pot, cut off the top carefully, put in a whole chicken, mushrooms, water chestnuts, leeks, and just a touch of ginger. Then you put the top back on the melon and cook it as slowly as possible for two days. Ought to be good.”
Adam was lying back in his chair, his palms clasped behind his head, and he was smiling at the ceiling. “Good, Lee, good,” he said.
“You didn’t even listen,” said Lee.
Adam drew himself upright. He said, “You think you know your own children and then you find you don’t at all.”
Lee smiled. “Has some detail of their lives escaped you?” he asked.
Adam chuckled. “I only found out by accident,” he said. “I knew that Aron wasn’t around very much this summer, but I thought he was just out playing.”
“Playing!” said Lee. “He hasn’t played for years.”
“Well, whatever he does.” Adam continued, “Today I met Mr. Kilkenny--you know, from the high school? He thought I knew all about it. Do you know what that boy is doing?”
“No,” said Lee.
“He’s covered all next year’s work. He’s going to take examinations for college and save a year. And Kilkenny is confident that he will pass. Now, what do you think of that?”
“Remarkable,” said Lee. “Why is he doing it?”
“Why, to save a year!”
“What does he want to save it for?”
“Goddam it, Lee, he’s ambitious. Can’t you understand that?”
“No,” said Lee. “I never could.”
Adam said, “He never spoke of it. I wonder if his brother knows.”
“I guess Aron wants it to be a surprise. We shouldn’t mention it until he does.”
“I guess you’re right. Do you know, Lee?--I’m proud of him. Terribly proud. This makes me feel good. I wish Cal had some ambition.”
“Maybe he has,” said Lee. “Maybe he has some kind of a secret too.”
“Maybe. God knows we haven’t seen much of him lately either. Do you think it’s good for him to be away so much?”
“Cal’s trying to find himself,” said Lee. “I guess this personal hide-and-seek is not unusual. And some people are ‘it’ all their lives--hopelessly ‘it’.”
“Just think,” said Adam. “A whole year’s work ahead. When he tells us we ought to have a present for him.”
“A gold watch,” said Lee.
“That’s right,” said Adam. “I’m going to get one and have it engraved and ready. What should it say?”
“The jeweler will tell you,” said Lee. “You take the chicken out after two days and cut it off the bone and put the meat back.”
“What chicken?”
“Winter melon soup,” said Lee.
“Have we got money enough to send him to college, Lee?”
“If we’re careful and he doesn’t develop expensive tastes.”
“He wouldn’t,” Adam said.
“I didn’t think I would--but I have.” Lee inspected the sleeve of his coat with admiration.

2
The rectory of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church was large and rambling. It had been built for ministers with large families. Mr. Rolf, unmarried and simple in his tastes, closed up most of the house, but when Aron needed a place to study he gave him a large room and helped him with his studies.
Mr. Rolf was fond of Aron. He liked the angelic beauty of his face and his smooth cheeks, his narrow hips, and long straight legs. He liked to sit in the room and watch Aron’s face straining with effort to learn. He understood why Aron could not work at home in an atmosphere not conducive to hard clean thought. Mr. Rolf felt that Aron was his product, his spiritual son, his contribution to the church. He saw him through his travail of celibacy and felt that he was guiding him into calm waters.
Their discussions were long and close and personal. “I know I am criticized,” Mr. Rolf said. “I happen to believe in a higher church than some people. No one can tell me that confession is not just as important a sacrament as communion. And you mind my word--I am going to bring it back, but cautiously, gradually.”
“When I have a church I’ll do it too.”
“It requires great tact,” said Mr. Rolf.
Aron said, “I wish we had in our church, well--well, I might as well say it. I wish we had something like the Augustines or the Franciscans. Someplace to withdraw. Sometimes I feel dirty. I want to get away from the dirt and be clean.”
“I know how you feel,” Mr. Rolf said earnestly. “But there I cannot go along with you. I can’t think that our Lord Jesus would want his priesthood withdrawn from service to the world. Think how he insisted that we preach the Gospel, help the sick and poor, even lower ourselves into filth to raise sinners from the slime. We must keep the exactness of His example always before us.”
His eyes began to glow and his voice took on the throatiness he used in sermons. “Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you this. And I hope you won’t find any pride in me in telling it. But there is a kind of glory in it. For the last five weeks a woman has been coming to evening service. I don’t think you can see her from the choir. She sits always in the last row on the left-hand side--yes, you can see her too. She is off at an angle. Yes, you can see her. She wears a veil and she always leaves before I can get back after recessional.”
“Who is she?” Aron asked.
“Well, you’ll have to learn these things. I made very discreet inquiries and you would never guess. She is the--well--the owner of a house of ill fame.”
“Here in Salinas?”
“Here in Salinas.” Mr. Rolf leaned forward. “Aron, I can see your revulsion. You must get over that. Don’t forget our Lord and Mary Magdalene. Without pride I say I would be glad to raise her up.”
“What does she want here?” Aron demanded.
“Perhaps what we have to offer--salvation. It will require great tact. I can see how it will be. And mark my words--these people are timid. One day there will come a tap on my door and she will beg to come in. Then, Aron, I pray that I may be wise and patient. You must believe me--when that happens, when a lost soul seeks the light, it is the highest and most beautiful experience a priest can have. That’s what we are for, Aron. That’s what we are for.”
Mr. Rolf controlled his breathing with difficulty. “I pray God I may not fail,” he said.

3
Adam Trask thought of the war in terms of his own now dimly remembered campaign against the Indians. No one knew anything about huge and general war. Lee read European history, trying to discern from the filaments of the past some pattern of the future.
Liza Hamilton died with a pinched little smile on her mouth, and her cheekbones were shockingly high when the red was gone from them.
And Adam waited impatiently for Aron to bring news of his examinations. The massive gold watch lay under his handkerchiefs in the top drawer of his bureau, and he kept it wound and set and checked its accuracy against his own watch.
Lee had his instructions. On the evening of the day of the announcement he was to cook a turkey and bake a cake.
“We’ll want to make a party of it,” Adam said. “What would you think of champagne?”
“Very nice,” said Lee. “Did you ever read von Clausewitz?”
“Who is he?”
“Not very reassuring reading,” said Lee. “One bottle of champagne?”
“That’s enough. It’s just for toasts, you know. Makes a party of it.” It didn’t occur to Adam that Aron might fail.
One afternoon Aron came in and asked Lee, “Where’s father?”
“He’s shaving.”
“I won’t be in for dinner,” said Aron. In the bathroom he stood behind his father and spoke to the soap-faced image in the mirror. “Mr. Rolf asked me to have dinner at the rectory.”
Adam wiped his razor on a folded piece of toilet paper. “That’s nice,” he said.
“Can I get a bath?”
“I’ll be out of here in just a minute,” said Adam.
When Aron walked through the living room and said good night and went out, Cal and Adam looked after him. “He got into my cologne,” said Cal. “I can still smell him.”
“It must be quite a party,” Adam said.
“I don’t blame him for wanting to celebrate. That was a hard job.”
“Celebrate?”
“The exams. Didn’t he tell you? He passed them.”
“Oh, yes--the exams,” said Adam. “Yes, he told me. A fine job. I’m proud of him. I think I’ll get him a gold watch.”
Cal said sharply, “He didn’t tell you!”
“Oh, yes--yes, he did. He told me this morning.”
“He didn’t know this morning,” said Cal, and he got up and went out.
He walked very fast in the gathering darkness, out Central Avenue, past the park and past Stonewall Jackson Smart’s house clear to the place beyond the streetlights where the street became a county road and angled to avoid Tollot’s farm house.
At ten o’clock Lee, going out to mail a letter, found Cal sitting on the lowest step of the front porch. “What happened to you?” he asked.
“I went for a walk.”
“What’s the matter with Aron?”
“I don’t know.”
“He seems to have some kind of grudge. Want to walk to the post office with me?”
“No.”
“What are you sitting out here for?”
“I’m going to beat the hell out of him.”
“Don’t do it,” said Lee.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t think you can. He’d slaughter you.”
“I guess you’re right,” said Cal. “The son of a bitch!”
“Watch your language.”
Cal laughed. “I guess I’ll walk along with you.”
“Did you ever read von Clausewitz?”
“I never even heard of him.”
When Aron came home it was Lee who was waiting for him on the lowest step of the front porch. “I saved you from a licking,” Lee said. “Sit down.”
“I’m going to bed.”
“Sit down! I want to talk to you. Why didn’t you tell your father you passed the tests?”
“He wouldn’t understand.”
“You’ve got a bug up your ass.”
“I don’t like that kind of language.”
“Why do you think I used it? I am not profane by accident. Aron, your father has been living for this.”
“How did he know about it?”
“You should have told him yourself.”
“This is none of your business.”
“I want you to go in and wake him up if he’s asleep, but I don’t think he’ll be asleep. I want you to tell him.”
“I won’t do it.”
Lee said softly, “Aron, did you ever have to fight a little man, a man half your size?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s one of the most embarrassing things in the world. He won’t stop and pretty soon you have to hit him and that’s worse. Then you’re really in trouble all around.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If you don’t do as I tell you, Aron, I’m going to fight you. Isn’t that ridiculous?”
Aron tried to pass. Lee stood up in front of him, his tiny fists doubled ineffectually, his stance and position so silly that he began to laugh. “I don’t know how to do it, but I’m going to try,” he said.
Aron nervously backed away from him. And when finally he sat down on the steps Lee sighed deeply. “Thank heaven that’s over,” he said. “It would have been awful. Look, Aron, can’t you tell me what’s the matter with you? You always used to tell me.”
Suddenly Aron broke down. “I want to go away. It’s a dirty town.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s just the same as other places.”
“I don’t belong here. I wish we hadn’t ever come here. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I want to go away.” His voice rose to a wail.
Lee put his arm around the broad shoulders to comfort him. “You’re growing up. Maybe that’s it,” he said softly. “Sometimes I think the world tests us most sharply then, and we turn inward and watch ourselves with horror. But that’s not the worst. We think everybody is seeing into us. Then dirt is very dirty and purity is shining white. Aron, it will be over. Wait only a little while and it will be over. That’s not much relief to you because you don’t believe it, but it’s the best I can do for you. Try to believe that things are neither so good nor so bad as they seem to you now. Yes, I can help you. Go to bed now, and in the morning get up early and tell your father about the tests. Make it exciting. He’s lonelier than you are because he has no lovely future to dream about. Go through the motions. Sam Hamilton said that. Pretend it’s true and maybe it will be. Go through the motions. Do that. And go to bed. I’ve got to bake a cake--for breakfast. And, Aron--your father left a present on your pillow.”