She paused a second on the stairs. “Good night.”

Presently, he heard a door open and close, and the sound of voices behind it happy and muffled. He took a cigar from the box on the desk, rolled it between his fingers, sniffed it, bit off the pointed end, and lighted it with a candle flame. When it glowed evenly, he went out and walked the grounds as he had done times without number, in an effort to understand himself—not in a total, long-enduring way, just enough to not loathe himself, enough to be able to sleep and rest and wake again and say, “This is a new day.”

11

Roman had observed Leon’s return with Felix and Nell, and Rachel’s running out of the house to meet them, followed by Sarah and Juanita. He had, since parting with Leon three days ago on the creekbank, lived in his own hell which was the more confusing for revealing flashes of joy and revelation.

He hardly remembered (he told himself) what had happened. (Oh, but he did, he did!) The way it ended, he would never forget and never understand. His hands and lips had been on his father’s flesh, taking like from him again as he had taken it at the moment of his conception, when Leon had come, his body arching and thrashing as if in a mad fit. Crying out, he had turned face and body to the ground.

Roman sat beside him. The hidden face, the naked back and shoulders heaving against the creekbank were an accusation as well as a refusal. He did not understand; he did not understand any of it. What had brought him there today? What had moved Leon finally to accept him after years of denying him, only then to turn away? What was wrong? No one had taught him; instinct had bid him do what he had done. Was instinct then wrong? The new idea was to trust it, doubt reason when reason put feeling aside. But sitting there beside the despairing man, he wanted only to go, to be gone, to hide.

He scrambled up from the ground; standing, hesitated. Left alone, would the man be all right? He knelt, touched the man’s head at the back. Leon jerked aside, his whole body quivering. Roman stood again, walked a few steps, paused, then ran, and ran.

When at last he felt safely alone, he stopped by the creek at a place it flowed almost even with the bank. He bathed his face and hands and slapped water on his hot ears and the aching muscles at the back of his neck. Leaning on one elbow, he felt deathly tired. The supporting elbow slid out straight, and Roman slept.