“No, he just hates the thought that you hurt yourself.”
He nodded. “You can hate thoughts. That’s interesting. I hate most of my thoughts.” He opened the cupboard under the sink and found a scrub brush.
Glory said, “You might rub your hands with shortening. That would probably dissolve the grease. Scrubbing will make them look inflamed.” She took the can from the cupboard, scooped out a spoonful, and put it in his palm. She said, “Remember when you talked to me about your soul, about saving it?”
He shrugged. “I think you may be mistaking me for someone else.”
“And I said I liked it the way it is.”
“Now I know you’re mistaking me for someone else.” He did not look up from the massaging of his hands.
“I’ve thought about what I should have said to you then, and I haven’t changed my mind at all. That’s why it embarrassed me, because it would have been so presumptuous of me — I’m not even sure what it means.” Then she said, “What is a soul?”
He looked up, smiled, studied her face. “Why ask me?”
“It just seems to me that you would know.”
He shrugged. “On the basis of my vast learning and experience, I would say — it is what you can’t get rid of. Insult, deprivation, outright violence—‘If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, thou art there,’ and so on. “‘If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea.’”
“Interesting choice of text.”
“It came to mind. Don’t make too much of it.”
“Well, your soul seems fine to me. I don’t know what that means, either. Anyway, it’s true.”
He said, “Thanks, chum. But you don’t know me. Well, you know I’m a drunk.”
“And a thief.”
He laughed. “Yes, a drunk and a thief. I’m also a terrible coward. Which is one of the reasons I lie so much.”
She nodded. “I’ve noticed that.”
“No kidding. What else have you noticed?”
“I’m not going to mention vulnerable women.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Very generous in the circumstances.”
She nodded. “I think so.”
He said, “I am unaccountably vain, despite all, and I have a streak of malice that does not limit itself to futile efforts at self-defense.”
“I’ve noticed that, too.”
He nodded. “I guess there’s nothing subtle about it.”
She brought a washcloth and began gently to soap away the dingy shortening from his hands. He took the cloth from her.
“So,” he said, “we have made a list of my venial sins.”
“Presbyterians don’t believe in venial sins.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m not described by the word ‘Presbyterian.’”
“Oh, hush!”
He laughed. “All right. My lesser sins. Not that Presbyterians believe in them, either. Do you want a list of the grave ones? The mortal ones?”
“Not really.”
“That’s good.” He said, “Reverend Miles, Della’s father and my biographer, told me I was nothing but trouble. I felt the truth of that. I really am nothing.” He looked at her. “Nothing, with a body. I create a kind of displacement around myself as I pass through the world, which can fairly be called trouble. This is a mystery, I believe.” He said, “It’s why I keep to myself. When I can. Ah. And now the tears.”
“Don’t you think everybody feels that way sometimes, though? I certainly have. While you had Della you didn’t feel that way. If you weren’t alone so much, I mean, Papa’s right about that. If you’d just let us help you.”
He said, “When Mama died I’d been out of jail for a couple days. So I could have come home. Strictly speaking. But it takes awhile to shake that off, you know. Wash it off. To feel you could blend in with the Presbyterians. And the old fellow doesn’t miss anything. I wouldn’t have wanted him to see me. I was terrified at the thought. So I used his check to buy some clothes. I knew what he’d think of me when he saw I’d cashed it.” He smiled at her. “I was grateful for the check, I really was. I hadn’t been at that hotel where he sent it for quite a while. I was surprised the letter found me. But the desk clerk was impressed by the black border, so he brought it to me. He hadn’t even opened it. I spent part of the money in a bar. What was left of it.”
Glory said, “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Not that it matters. I don’t care if you’ve been in jail.”
He said, “No? It made quite an impression on me. I believe it’s as congenial a place to be nothing as I could ever hope to find.” He laughed. “In jail, they call it good behavior. Not a thing I’ve often been accused of.” He said, “Jail reinforced my eccentricities. I’m pretty sure of that.”
“Mama died more than ten years ago. So you were all right after you got out of jail.”
“Yes, I was. And now I know it was an aberration. Nothing I can sustain on my own. I’ve found out I still can’t trust myself. So I’m right back where I started.” He smiled. “You forgive so much, you’ll have to forgive that, too. Well, I guess you won’t
