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.