Lee asked softly, “Did he speak to you?”
Cal shook his head back and forth as though he couldn’t stop.
“It’s going to be dreadful. But the doctor is right. You can stand anything. We’re wonderful animals that way.”
“I am not.” Cal’s voice was flat and dull. “I can’t stand it. No, I can’t stand it. I won’t be able to. I’ll have to—I’ll have to—”
Lee gripped his wrist fiercely. “Why, you mouse—you nasty cur. With goodness all around you—don’t you dare suggest a thing like that! Why is your sorrow more refined than my sorrow?”
“It’s not sorrow. I told him what I did. I killed my brother. I’m a murderer. He knows it.”
“Did he say it? Tell the truth—did he say it?”
“He didn’t have to. It was in his eyes. He said it with his eyes. There’s nowhere I can go to get away—there’s no place.”
Lee sighed and released his wrist. “Cal”—he spoke patiently—“listen to me. Adam’s brain centers are affected. Anything you see in his eyes may be pressure on that part of his brain which governs his seeing. Don’t you remember?—he couldn’t read. That wasn’t his eyes—that was pressure. You don’t know he accused you. You don’t know that.”
“He accused me. I know it. He said I’m a murderer.”
“Then he will forgive you. I promise.”
The nurse stood in the doorway. “What are you promising, Charley? You promised me a cup of coffee.”
“I’ll make it now. How is he?”
“Sleeping like a baby. Have you got anything to read in this house?”
“What would you like?”
“Something to take my mind off my feet.”
“I’ll bring the coffee to you. I’ve got some dirty stories written by a French queen. They might be too—”
“You bring ’em with the coffee,” she said. “Why don’t you get some shuteye, sonny? Me and Charley’ll hold the fort. Don’t forget the book, Charley.”
Lee set the percolator on the gas jet. He came to the table and said, “Cal!”
“What do you want?”
“Go to Abra.”
2
Cal stood on the neat porch and kept his finger on the bell until the harsh overlight flashed on and the night bolt rasped and Mrs. Bacon looked out. “I want to see Abra,” Cal said.
Her mouth dropped open in amazement. “You want what?”
“I want to see Abra.”
“You can’t. Abra’s gone to her room. Go away.”
Cal shouted, “I tell you I want to see Abra.”
“You go away or I’ll call the police.”
Mr. Bacon called, “What is it? Who is it?”
“Never you mind—go back to bed. You aren’t well. I’ll handle this.”
She turned back to Cal. “Now you get off the porch. And if you ring the bell again I’ll phone the police. Now, get!” The door slammed, the bolt scraped, and the hard overlight went off.
Cal stood smiling in the dark for he thought of Tom Meek lumbering up, saying, “Hello, Cal. What you up to?”
Mrs. Bacon shouted from inside. “I see you. Go on now! Get off the porch!”
He walked slowly down the walk and turned toward home, and he hadn’t gone a block before Abra caught up with him. She was panting from her run. “Got out the back way,” she said.
“They’ll find you gone.”
“I don’t care.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
Cal said, “Abra, I’ve killed my brother and my father is paralyzed because of me.”
She took his arm and clung to it with both hands.
Cal said, “Didn’t you hear me?”
“I heard you.”
“Abra, my mother was a whore.”
“I know. You told me. My father is a thief.”
“I’ve got her blood, Abra. Don’t you understand?”
“I’ve got his,” she said.
They walked along in silence while he tried to rebalance himself. The wind was cold, and they quickened their steps to keep warm. They passed the last streetlight on the very edge of Salinas, and blackness lay ahead of them and the road was unpaved and sticky with black ’dobe mud.
They had come to the end of the pavement, to the end of the streetlights. The road under their feet was slippery with spring mud, and the grass that brushed against their legs was wet with dew.
Abra asked, “Where are we going?”
“I wanted to run away from my father’s eyes. They’re right in front of me all the time. When I close my eyes I still see them. I’ll always see them. My father is going to die, but his eyes will still be looking at me, telling me I killed my brother.”
“You didn’t.”
“Yes, I did. And his eyes say I did.”
“Don’t talk like that. Where are we going?”
“A little farther. There’s a ditch and a pump house—and a willow tree. Do you remember the willow tree?”
“I remember it.”
He said, “The branches come down like a tent and their tips touch the ground.”
“I know.”
“In the afternoons—the sunny afternoons—you and Aron would part the branches and go inside—and no one could see you.”
“You watched?”
“Oh, sure. I watched.” And he said, “I want you to go inside the willow tree with me. That’s what I want to do.”
She stopped and her hand pulled him to a stop. “No,” she said. “That’s not right.”
“Don’t you want to go in with me?”
“Not if you’re running away—no, I don’t.”
Cal said, “Then I don’t know what to do. What shall I do? Tell me what to do.”
“Will you listen?”
“I don’t know.”
“We’re going back,” she said.
“Back? Where?”
“To your father’s house,” said Abra.
3
The light of the kitchen poured down on them. Lee had lighted the oven to warm the chilly air.
“She made me come,” said Cal.
“Of course she did. I knew she would.”
Abra said, “He would have come by himself.”
“We’ll never know that,” said Lee.
He left the kitchen and in a moment he returned. “He’s still sleeping.” Lee set a stone bottle and three little translucent porcelain cups on the table.