The tennis courts and gym were before him, and he sat down at the end of the walkway, thinking of his grandfather. Early that summer he and his Uncle Lester painted both Zeke’s house and Jonnie Mae’s house. He remembered the paint white and gleaming, sliding over the sides of the house as easy as light slides across grass in the morning. His grandfather sat under an apple tree, his legs crossed, watching, rubbing his chin, and giving his usual advice.

When they first started, Horace—in the words of his grandfather­—­got more paint on himself than on the house. But as time went on he got better, finding the hidden rhythm of the brush, the natural lay of the wood.

People would pass by on the road and stop a spell to talk awhile with Zeke, and to see what the two men were about. Zeke sat there, one eye on Horace, the other on Lester, sipping at a Coke, and regaled them with tales of when he was younger.

“You didn’t do that, now did you Cousin Zeke?” Six men gathered about him, sitting under that apple tree.

“That I did. Like I said, I wont but fourteen or fifteen—not even Horace’s age. I took that gun and I said, ‘Mister, now you think you gone take my money, but you owe me two dollars and fifty cents and I aims to take it’—and you know two dollars and fifty cents was a right smart sum back in them days.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“And he looked at me and said, ‘Now, nigger, a little colored boy like you, pulling a gun on a white man is a good way to get yourself kilt.’ And I looked him square in the eyes and said, ‘Feller, I done worked in your fields for thirteen days. You keep telling me: I pay you end of the week. I pay you end of the week. End of the week come . . . you don’t pay me. I ask you when and you say: Gone away from me, boy. I ain’t got time for you. I got other things on my mind.’ I stuck that gun closer to his face and said, ‘Now you think on this a spell.’”

The men slapped their knees and hollered, saying, “No, you didn’t do that, Bro Zekiel? No, you didn’t.”

“So did you take the money, Zeke?”

“Man, yes I did! I took every penny he had.” He smiled and rubbed his chin. “It amounted to about ten dollars, and I left. I was smart enough not to go home, but I was dumb enough to go down over to Pickettstown, calling myself hiding out.”

“So he put the law in behind you?”

“Yes, sir. You know he did.”

“And did they catch up with you?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Well . . . what did they do to you?”