Dad looked up at the hidden rungs coming down out of the starlight to the running-free world of sidewalks that invited the one-thousand-yard dash, and the high hurdles of the dark bushes, and the pole-vault cemetery trellises and walls…
“You know what I hate most of all, Will? Not being able to run any more, like you.”
“Yes, sir,” said his son.
“Let’s have it clear now,” said Dad. “Tomorrow, go apologize to Miss Foley again. Check her lawn. We may have missed some of the — stolen property — with matches and flashlights. Then go to the Police Chief to report. You’re lucky you turned yourself in. You’re lucky Miss Foley won’t press charges.”
“Yes, sir.”
They walked back to the side of their own house. Dad raked his hand in the ivy.
“Our place, too?”
His hand found a rung Will had nailed away among the leaves.
“Our place, too.”
He took out his tobacco pouch, filled his pipe as they stood by the ivy, the hidden rungs leading up to warm beds, safe rooms, then lit his pipe and said, “I know you. You’re not acting guilty. You didn’t steal anything.”
“No.”
“Then why did you say you did, to the police?”
“Because Miss Foley — who knows why? — wants us guilty. If she says we are, we are. You saw how surprised she was to see us come in through the window? She never figured we”d confess. Well, we did. We got enough enemies without the law on us, too. I figured if we made a clean breast, they”d go easy. They did. At the same time, boy, Miss Foley’s won, too, because now we’re criminals. Nobody’ll believe what we say.”
“I’ll believe.”
“Will you?” Will searched the shadows on his father’s face, saw whiteness of skin, eyeball, and hair.
“Dad, the other night, at three o”clock in the morning — “
“Three in the morning — “
He saw Dad flinch as from a cold wind, as if he smelled and knew the whole thing and simply could not move, reach out, touch and pat Will.
And he knew he could not say it. Tomorrow, yes, some other day, yes, for perhaps with the sun coming up, the tents would be gone, the freaks off over the world, leaving them alone, knowing they were scared enough not to push it, say anything, just keep their mouths shut. Maybe it would all blow over, maybe…maybe…
“Yes, Will?” said his father, with difficulty, the pipe in his hand going dead. “Go on.”
No, thought Will, let Jim and me be cannibalized, but no one else. Anyone that knows gets hurt. So no one else must know. Aloud he said:
“In a couple of days, Dad, I’ll tell you everything. I swear. Mom’s honour.”
“Mom’s honour” said Dad, at last, “is good enough for me.”
28
The night was sweet with the dust of autumn leaves that smelled as if the fine sands of ancient Egypt were drifting to dunes beyond the town. How come, thought Will, at a time like this, I can even think of four thousand years of dust of ancient people sliding around the world, and me sad because no one notices except me and Dad here maybe, and even us not telling each other.
It was indeed a time between, one second their thoughts all brambled airedale, the next all silken slumbering cat. It was a time to go to bed, yet still they lingered reluctant as boys to give over and wander in wide circles to pillow and night thoughts. It was a time to say much but not all. It was a time after first discoveries but not last ones. It was wanting to know everything and wanting to know nothing. It was the new sweetness of men starting to talk as they must talk. It was the possible bitterness of revelation.
So while they should have gone upstairs, they could not depart this moment that promised others on not so distant nights when man and boy-becoming-man might almost sing. So Will at last said, carefully:
“Dad? Am I a good person?”
“I think so. I know so, yes.”
“Will — will that help when things get really rough?”