Ames was visibly relieved to see the three of them. Robby scrambled into his lap full of the unspent energy the movie had summoned up in him. “You should’ve gone, Papa. You should’ve seen it.” He slapped the bottom of his Cracker Jack box and a few sticky morsels fell out on the table in front of his father. “I’m saving some for Toby.” Then he said, “Here,” and slid off his lap and went to Jack and dug out a few morsels for him. “There’s supposed to be a prize in here,” he said. “Do you see any prize?”
Jack took the box and tilted it to the light and looked into it. He said, “I believe you must have eaten it.”
Robby laughed. “No, I didn’t.”
“You were so interested in that movie you didn’t notice. It could have been a silver dollar and I bet you wouldn’t have noticed it.”
“Oh yes, I would. I’d notice a silver dollar!”
“It was probably a rubber snake. I bet it was a tarantula.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Robby said. “Let me see,” but Jack held the box away from him, peered into it, then extracted something between two fingers. “You’re a pretty lucky kid,” he said. “I’d like to have one of these.”
“What is it? What?”
Jack laid the little toy on the table. “That,” he said, “is a magnifying glass.”
Robby looked at it. “It isn’t very big.”
“Well, you have to start somewhere.”
“Start what?”
“Looking for clues. Here. I think I have a spot on the cuff of my shirt. What does it look like to you?”
Robby peered at it through the little lens. “It just looks like a spot.”
Jack shrugged. “Well, there you are. Case closed.”
Robby laughed, and so did Lila.
Ames said, “Robby, why don’t you run off and find Tobias. He’ll want to see what you’ve got there. Maybe you can find a bug to look at. Now run along.” The boy hesitated, and then he left.
Jack turned to look at Ames, a bland, weary look that meant, “I understand why you do that, why you send your child away.” No doubt Ames and Boughton had just prayed for his soul, probably slandering before heaven whatever life he had had, and had lost, the life he mourned. Deploring it under the name of sin, or some milder word they had agreed on. Transgression. Dishonor. Unmet obligation. He had walked in upon this conjuration of himself in the bleak light of his father’s suspicions, which were innocent and uninformed and therefore no doubt exaggerated to ensure the sufficiency of his intercession. Jack had walked in on a potent thought of himself, like Lazarus with the memory of cerements about him no matter how often he might shave or comb his hair.
“Mrs. Ames,” he said, “did you enjoy the movie? I’ve seen it a few times myself. The newsreel was interesting. A little strange for a matinee, I thought.”
Lila said, to Boughton and Ames, “The newsreel was terrible. It showed an atom bomb going off, and all the buildings that would have been burned down by it. There were dummies inside, like families eating their supper. They shouldn’t be showing that to children.”
“They shouldn’t be doing it in the first place,” Boughton said. “They love those mushrooms. All that racket.” He still had not opened his eyes. “Dulles.”
Jack said, “Yes, Dulles. A Presbyterian gentleman, as I understand.”
Boughton snorted. “So he says.”
Jack had settled back in his chair and folded his arms, as he did when he wanted to seem at ease. He said, “They make it hard to bring up children these days. Hard to protect them. I suppose. Fallout in the milk they drink. You’d expect a Presbyterian gentleman to give these things a little more thought. In St. Louis they did a study of what they called ‘deciduous teeth.’ Baby teeth. There was radioactive material in them. It was alarming. To people trying to bring up children. So I have read.”
Ames looked at Jack, a little reprovingly. “Your father certainly has no brief to offer for John Foster Dulles. Neither have I.”
Boughton muttered, “But he’ll vote for Eisenhower.”
After a moment Jack cleared his throat. “Granting that responsibility is not a standard I myself have adhered to, particularly—”
His father opened his eyes.
“Granting that I have been a disappointment. Worse than a disappointment. Still.”
His father looked at him. “No, you haven’t. What’s your point?”
Lila said, “I know what he means. Things don’t make much sense. It’s hard to know who you’re supposed to look up to. That’s true.”
“Yes. No disrespect intended. I just feel I should put in a word for the reprobate among us. For their relative harmlessness. Being their sole representative, of course.” He smiled. “I’m not making excuses. But those of us who take a moment from our nefarious lives to read the news can find it all a little disorienting. Our fault, no doubt.” Then he said, “Reverend Ames, I would appreciate any insight you could give me.”
Ames glanced at him to appraise his sincerity, as if surprised by the possibility that it might be genuine. He said, “That’s a lot to
