Boy, I was bad.
Thinking about my badness made me sleepy. Dreamed of Apple, who loved me. I woke up and it was almost dark. John Amos was grinning down at me, smirking too. "Hello, Bart. Do you feel lonely in Apple's stall?"
Towering above me, John Amos didn't notice the hay that fell from the loft above and caught on his stringy mustache and made him look gruesome.
"How did Malcolm make all his money, John Amos?" I asked just to see if the hay fell off his mustache when he spoke.
"By being more clever than those who would stop him."
"Stop him from what?" The hay didn't fall off. "From ge
tting what he wanted."
"What did he want?"
"Everything. Everything that wasn't his he wanted-- and to get everything that belongs to others you have to be ruthless and determined."
"What's ruthless?"
"Doing what you have to to get what you want." "Doing anything?"
"Anything," he repeated. Stiffly he bent over to peer into my eyes. "And don't hesitate to step on those who get in your way--including members of your own family. For they would do the same to you if you stood in their way." He smiled thinly. "You know, of course, that sooner or later that doctor who is dissecting your personality bit by bit will lock you in an institution. That's what your parents are doing-- getting ready to remove from their lives a little boy who is proving to be too much of a problem."
Baby tears got in my eyes.
John Amos scowled. "Don't show weakness with tears that belong to women. Be hard, like your great-grandfather Malcolm was." He paused to eye me up and down. "Yes, you have inherited many of his genes. Someday, if you keep going as you are, you will be just as powerful as Malcolm."
"Where've you been, Bart?" snapped Emma, who looked at me all the time like she was disgusted, even when I was clean. "Never in my life have I seen a boy who could get dirtier more quickly than you. Look at your shirt, your pants, your face and hands! Filthy, that's what. What do you do, make mud puddles and wallow in them?"
Didn't answer. Headed for the bathroom down the hall.
Momma looked up from her desk in her bedroom. "Bart, I've been wondering where you were. You've been gone for hours."
Was my own business, none of hers.
"Bart . . . answer me."
"Was outside."
"I know that. Where outside?"
"Near the wall."
"What were you doing there?"
"Digging."
"Digging for what?"
"For worms."
"Why do you need worms?"
"Goin' fishin."
She sighed. "It's too late to go fishing, and you know I don't like you to go off by yourself. Ask your father if he will take you fishing this Saturday."
"He won't."