Jacks, which I thought was decent of you. I wonder whether you should go to movies. But with television in the house, there seems no point in forbidding them. Of course Tobias can't watch television, either. Your mother promised his mother we'd see to that whenever he comes over, which is often enough to make you miss the Cisco Kid a lot more frequently than you would like. You're not the most sociable child in the world, and I'm a little afraid that, given a choice, Tobias or television, your best chum would be on his own. As it is, he spends more time waiting on the porch than he should. From time to time, you have seemed so lonely to us, and here is Tobias, an estimable chap, an answer to our prayers, and you let him sit on the porch until some cartoon is over. But I'm not inclined to do much forbidding these days. T.'s father is young. He has years and years
with his boys, God willing.
Well, the three of you came in, pleased with yourselves and smelling of popcorn, and I was so relieved I can't tell you. Then after a little talk your mother and Glory helped Boughton out to the car and took him home, which is the only place he is comfortable anymore, and then they made a supper for us all to have there. You went off to find Tobias so you
could contaminate his good Lutheran mind with nonsense about gunslingers and federal marshals. And I sat there at the table with Jack Boughton, who didn't say a word. He just took a little time deciding to leave. He didn't come back to his fa214
ther's house for dinner, and nobody said anything about it, but I know it worried us all.
Your mother and Glory took a walk after the table was cleared, to enjoy the evening, they said, but when they came back, Glory said they had seen Jack, and he had told them he would come home later. I could tell they had found him down at the bar. They didn't offer particulars and Boughton didn't ask.
2 15
JACK BOUGHTON HAS A WIFE AND A CHILD.
He showed me a picture of them. He only let me see it
for half a minute, and then he took it back. I was slightly at a loss, which he must have expected, and still I could tell it was
an effort for him not to take offense. You see, the wife is a colored woman. That did surprise me.
I was over at the church yesterday morning, in my study, sorting through some old papers, thinking if I put aside the interesting ones, the actual records, they might not be discarded
along with all the clutter. There are just boxes and boxes of memoranda and magazine articles and flyers and utility bills. It seems as if I never threw anything away. I'm afraid a new minister might not be patient enough to sort through it all, and that would be my fault.
Well, there I was, feeling a little dirty and cobwebby and also a little morose and, I must say, dreading interruption, too, since I may at any time stop feeling up to this sort of thing. I hadn't been at it half an hour and I was tired already.
And in came Jack Boughton, once again wearing the suit and necktie, once again kempt and shaved, but looking a little frayed for all that, weary about the eyes, God bless him. 1 was interested to see him, more interested than pleased, I admit. I couldn't very well talk to him with dirt all over my face and hands, so I excused myself to go wash, and when I came back, he was still standing by the door—I'd forgotten to offer him a chair, so he was just standing there. He was looking quite pale, and I was ashamed of myself for my thoughtlessness. But he is so afraid of offending unintentionally that he abides by manners most people forget as soon as they learn them, and that
can make it seem almost as if he means to make you ashamed. That is how I felt, at least, and I know it was unfair of me.
Then when he sat down I went to lift some boxes from my desk and he stood up and took one of them right out of my hands, which was good of him, but irked me a little just the same. I'd rather drop dead doing for myself than add a day to my life by acting helpless. But he meant well. He moved both boxes onto the floor, and then his hands were grimy and the front of his jacket, so he took out his handkerchief and wiped himself down a little. I suggested we could go into the sanctuary, but he said the office was fine with him. So we sat there
quiet for a while.
Then he said, 'I stayed away from this town for a long time. As a courtesy to my father, mainly. I might never have come back.'
I asked him what had made him change his mind. It took him a while to answer.
'For several reasons I felt I needed to speak with him. My father. But,' he said, 'somehow, when I came here, I didn't expect him to be so very old.'
'The last few years have been hard on him.' He put his hand to his eyes.
I said, 'It has done him good to have you here.'
He shook his head. 'You talked with him yesterday.' 'Yes. He did seem a little worried about you.'
He laughed. 'A few days ago Glory said to me, 'He's fragile. We don't want to kill him.'
We! It's true, though. I don't want to kill him. So I thought I might be able to speak with you. This will be my last attempt, I promise.'
I almost reminded him my own health is not perfect, which 2 18
would have been foolish, since on second thought I could not really imagine that any revelation he might make would strike me down.
He took a little leather case out of his breast pocket and opened it and held it in front of me. His hand was not steady, and I had to put on my reading glasses, but then I could see it fairly well. It was posed like a portrait photograph—himself, a young woman, and a boy about five or six. The woman was seated in a chair with the child standing next to her, and young Boughton was standing behind them. It was Jack Boughton, a colored woman, and a light-skinned colored boy.
Boughton looked at the picture and then he snapped the case shut and slipped it back into his pocket. He said, 'You see,' and his voice was so controlled it sounded bitter, 'you see, I also have a wife and child.' Then he just
