“Well.”
“I mean, to whether or not she was baptized. I have thought about the rest of it, from time to time. I have.” He laughed. “Never because I chose to.”
She said, “That was all so long ago. You were young.”
“No. I wasn’t young. I don’t believe I ever was young.” Then he said, “Excuses scare me, Glory. They make me feel like I’m losing hold. I can’t explain it. But please don’t try to make excuses for me. I might start believing them sometime. I’ve known people like that.”
She paused. “You did know that she died.”
“That envelope had a black border. I thought it might be—”
“What? Someone who mattered?”
“I didn’t say that. I didn’t mean it. You just never expect a child to die—” He said, “I never thought of it then. Now I do. I think of it now, all the time.” He laughed and put his hands to his face. “That can’t be justice. It would be horrible to think it has anything to do with justice.”
What could she say to comfort him? “These things are hard to talk about. I say things I shouldn’t. I’m sorry.” And after a moment, “I don’t really think justice can be horrible.”
“Really? Isn’t that what vengeance is? Horrible justice? What would your papa say?”
“Well, I don’t know for sure, but grace seems to answer every question, as far as he’s concerned.”
Jack looked at her. “Then he shouldn’t have to worry about his reprobate son, should he. I wish you would point that out to him. I mean, it does seem like a contradiction, doesn’t it?”
She said, “It does. I think we’re beyond the point where we can raise questions about his theology, though. If I pointed out a contradiction in his thinking, I would probably upset him. He’s gotten touchy about that kind of thing. Well, he has been for years. Anyway, I don’t think he worries about all that any more than you do.”
He shrugged. “Like father, like son.”
THE OLD MAN SEEMED TO HAVE ALARMED HIMSELF WITH his candor. He was suddenly anxious to be with Jack, at companionable, fatherly peace with him. He mustered a sociable interest in television, especially baseball, and he and Jack talked about the teams and the season as passionlessly as anything of great moment could be talked about, as if they were summer weather, drought and lightning. He always seemed to nod off if there was news of turbulence anywhere.
Jack must have taken his father to be in fact asleep, because when the news turned to the troubles in the South, he said, softly, “Jesus Christ.”
The old man roused himself. “What is it now?”
“Oh, sorry,” Jack said. “Sorry. It’s Tuscaloosa. A colored woman wants to go to the University of Alabama.”
“It appears they don’t want her there.”
Jack laughed. “It sure doesn’t look like it.”
His father watched for a moment and then he said, “I have nothing against the colored people. I do think they’re going to need to improve themselves, though, if they want to be accepted. I believe that is the only solution.” His look and tone were statesmanlike. He was making such an effort to be mild and conciliatory, even after Jack’s misuse of the name of the Lord, that Jack simply studied him, his hands to his mouth as if to prevent himself from speaking.
Finally he said, “I’m a little unimproved myself. I’ve known a good many Negroes who are more respectable than I am.”
His father looked at him. “I don’t know where you get such a terrible opinion of yourself, Jack.”
“Well, I guess that’s something we should both be grateful for.”
His father said, “I’m serious. There’s a lot you could do if you put your mind to it.”
Jack laughed. “True enough. I could stay in a hotel. I could eat in a cafeteria. I could hail a cab. I could probably exercise my franchise. Unworthy as I am.”
“You’re a college graduate,” his father said firmly.
Jack smiled and glanced at Glory. She shook her head. So he said, “True.” Then he said, “Most people don’t have that advantage, however. I mean, white people.”
“All the more reason you should take some pride in yourself.”
“Oh, I see. Yes, sir. I’ll bear that in mind.”
After a moment his father said, “I know I strayed from the point a little there. But I’ve wanted to mention that to you. I’ve wanted to say you should think better of yourself.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll give it a try.”
“The colored people,” his father said, “appear to me to be creating problems and obstacles for themselves with all this — commotion. There’s no reason for all this trouble. They bring it on themselves.”
Jack looked at him. He drew a long breath, then another. He asked softly, “Have you heard of Emmett Till?”
“Emmett Till. Wasn’t he the Negro fellow that — attacked the white woman?”
Jack said, “He was a kid. He was fourteen. Somebody said he whistled at a white woman.”
His father said, “I think there must have been more to it, Jack. As I remember, he was executed. There was a trial.”
Jack said, “There was no trial.
