“I’ll go see what I can do for breakfast.” His father strode from the room, and soon he could hear him in the kitchen clanking pans. He put on his overalls and a clean shirt—it was the same kind as the day before; he had seven and his mother had printed the day of the week inside the collar—and went to the bathroom, spying, through the open door, his mother alone and tiny in bed, as fast asleep as ever Walter had been, her black braid looping around her throat like a friendly snake. He brushed his teeth, wet his hair, combed it straight back, and arrived in the kitchen just as his father was sitting down with a mug of coffee. Already at his own place was a glass of orange juice and a bowl of oatmeal. He sat down and began to drink the juice; it was cold and tasted bitter because of the toothpaste. “Why we going so early?”

“Want to be there when it starts.” His father was blowing at his coffee.

“What’s starting, Papa?”

“Don’t know.” His father’s eyes were glassy, a bit red. “Whatever’s started already. You remember what Mister Harper said? I don’t think it’s over yet, and you want to be there to see it, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right then.” His father’s face woke up momentarily with a smile. “Hurry up.”

He ate as fast as he could—once, at the start, he scalded his tongue because he scooped a big spoonful from the center of the bowl, but now ate small rapid spoonfuls from around the edges—and his father sat across from him, drinking his mug of coffee. When his mother drank coffee, she used a cup, but his father’s mug was twice as big. The coffee steamed up into the thin, dark, kind face, making sweat at the end of his nose.

When they were through, after silently putting the dishes in the sink and running water over them, they went out the back door and got Deac. His father lifted him up, climbed up himself, and they began the ride into town. It was still early enough for the fields, the bushes, and tall grass to be angel-haired with mist: going up just like Papa’s coffee steam.

They arrived at Mister Thomason’s and discovered they were not the only ones who had decided to come to the porch early. There were Bobby-Joe, Mister Loomis, and of course Mister Thomason, inside now dusting cans. It was still too early for Mister Harper to have arrived or Mister Stewart: Papa says Mister Stewart starts asking Missus Stewart if he can come into town soon as he wakes up, and worries her so bad, she finally lets him, but not until four or five when she’s made him do all the chores.