“Was he bad?”
“Oh yes. He was really bad and that was part of his secret. He liked being bad and he didn’t have remorse.”
“Were he and I good friends?”
“Very. He used to call you The Monster.”
“Gee,” said young Tom, happily. “The Monster.”
“Have we got any pictures of Mr. Pascin’s, papa?” David asked.
“A couple.”
“Did he ever paint Tommy?”
“No. He used to draw Tommy mostly on napkins and on the marble top of café tables. He called him the horrible, beer-swilling monster of the Left Bank.”
“Get that tide down, Tom,” David said.
“Did Mr. Pascin have a dirty mind?” young Tom asked.
“I believe so.”
“Don’t you know?”
“I believe you could say he had. I think that was part of his secret.”
“But Mr. Joyce didn’t.”
“No.”
“And you haven’t.”
“No,” Thomas Hudson said. “I don’t think so.”
“Do you have a dirty mind, Mr. Davis?” Tommy asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“That’s good,” young Tom said. “I told the headmaster neither papa nor Mr. Joyce had dirty minds and now I can tell him about Mr. Davis if he asks me. He was pretty set on it that I had a dirty mind. But I wasn’t worried. There’s a boy at school that really has one and you can tell the difference all right. What was Mr. Pascin’s first name?”
“Jules.”
“How do you spell it?” David asked. Thomas Hudson told him.
“What ever became of Mr. Pascin?” young Tom asked.
“He hanged himself,” Thomas Hudson said.
“Oh gee,” Andrew said.
“Poor Mr. Pascin,” young Tom said in benediction. “I’ll pray for him tonight.”
“I’m going to pray for Mr. Davis,” Andrew said.
“And do it often,” Roger said.
VI
That night after the boys had gone to bed Thomas Hudson and Roger Davis sat up in the big room talking. It had been too rough to do much goggle-fishing and after supper the boys had gone off with Joseph to go snapper fishing. They had come back tired and happy and said good night and gone to bed. The men had heard them talking for a while and then they were asleep.
Andrew was afraid of the dark and the other boys knew it but they never teased him about it.
“Why do you think he’s afraid of the dark?” Roger asked.
“I don’t know,” Thomas Hudson said. “Weren’t you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I was,” Thomas Hudson said. “Is it supposed to mean anything?”
“I don’t know,” Roger said. “I was afraid of dying and that something would happen to my brother.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother. Where is he?”
“Dead,” Roger said.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be. It was when we were kids.”
“Was he older than you?”
“A year younger.”
“What was it?”
“A canoe turned over with us.”
“How old were you?”
“About twelve.”
“Don’t talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“I’m not sure it did me a lot of good,” Roger said. “Didn’t you know about it really?”
“Never.”
“For a long time I thought everybody in the world knew about it. It’s strange when you are a boy. The water was too cold and he let go. But what it added up to was that I came back and he didn’t.”
“Poor bloody Roger.”
“No,” said Roger. “But it was early to learn about that stuff. And then I loved him very much and I’d always been afraid something would happen to him. The water was cold for me too. But I couldn’t say that.”
“Where was it?”
“Up in Maine. I don’t think my father ever forgave me although he tried to understand it. I’ve wished it was me every day since. But that’s hardly a career.”
“What was your brother’s name?”
“Dave.”
“Hell. Was that why you wouldn’t go goggle-fishing today?”
“I guess so. But I’m going every other day. You never work those things out, though.”
“You’re grown up enough not to talk that way.”
“I tried to go down after him. But I couldn’t find him,” Roger said. “It was too deep and it was really cold.”
“David Davis,” Thomas Hudson said.
“Yes. In our family the first one is called Roger and the second one David.”