The old resentment flooded up: “God damn it, that’s what you ALWAYS say. You NEVER have enough time for ANYTHING.”

His mother looked worried, once again seeing a familiar nightmare. “Dewey, I don’t think your father would say that if—”

“Oh, Mama, grow up. That’s the kind of thing he’s been saying all my life.”

“But this time it’s different, dear.”

“How different?” He had spoken before he realized he was almost arguing with his mother, who was actually speaking in behalf of his father. In the past, the arguments had been between him and his father, with Dewey defending his silent mother. “Well, maybe it is, but I’m finding out for myself.”

This interested Dymphna. “How?”

“I’m going out there and see, talk to somebody. THAT’S how.” He had taken her simple question as a challenge.

“Would you like to take the car?” His father made a peace offering.

“No!” He decided that was too harsh. “No, I’ll ride my bike, thanks. I’ve…I’ve been sitting for two days straight.” He stopped, then added, “Thanks, anyway.”

His father nodded.

No one had any more to say.

The road widened. They passed two Negroes, heavily laden, walking toward New Marsails in the dust they themselves were kicking up. As the car passed them, Dewey thought he recognized them from Sutton, but the car had sped by too fast and he could not be certain.

Dymphna Willson

I SAW SOME ODD THINGS coming home from school yesterday. That was Friday. I go to school in New Marsails; miss binford’s school. It’s very exclusive.

Anyway, when I got on the bus at the depot—they’d let us out early and it was about noon—I noticed there were an awful lot of colored people there. I mean hundreds. But I really didn’t think too much of that. But when the bus came into Sutton, there was a crowd of colored people there too. They were standing on Mister Thomason’s porch with suitcases. As soon as I got off they all got on.

The only reason I’m mentioning this is because I’ve been thinking about the one colored person I really know, Bethrah Caliban, a lot the past couple of days, especially since the fire. I’ve been thinking about when she first came to work for us, and how she happened to marry Tucker, and plenty of other things.

I can remember it all pretty well because I was going through a period in my life when everything was symbolic of SOMETHING, when each second, I thought, I was deciding something big and dramatic. Girls are like that when they’re fifteen, which I was that summer. That was two years ago, almost exactly.