“That’s the one I wrote you about. Gets worse all the time. Why didn’t you write? Are you hungry?” Charles’ hands itched into his pockets and out and touched his chin and scratched his head.

“It may go away. I saw a man once—bartender—he had one that looked like a cat. It was a birthmark. His nickname was Cat.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Sure, I guess I am.”

“Plan to stay home now?”

“I—I guess so. Do you want to get to it now?”

“I—I guess so,” Charles echoed him. “Our father is dead.”

“I know.”

“How the hell do you know?”

“Station agent told me. How long ago did he die?”

“ ’Bout a month.”

“What of?”

“Pneumonia.”

“Buried here?”

“No. In Washington. I got a letter and newspapers. Carried him on a caisson with a flag over it. The Vice-President was there and the President sent a wreath. All in the papers. Pictures too—I’ll show you. I’ve got it all.”

Adam studied his brother’s face until Charles looked away. “Are you mad at something?” Adam asked.

“What should I be mad at?”

“It just sounded—”

“I’ve got nothing to be mad at. Come on, I’ll get you something to eat.”

“All right. Did he linger long?”

“No. It was galloping pneumonia. Went right out.”

Charles was covering up something. He wanted to tell it but he didn’t know how to go about it. He kept hiding in words. Adam fell silent. It might be a good thing to be quiet and let Charles sniff and circle until he came out with it.

“I don’t take much stock in messages from the beyond,” said Charles. “Still, how can you know? Some people claim they’ve had messages—old Sarah Whitburn. She swore. You just don’t know what to think. You didn’t get a message, did you? Say, what the hell’s bit off your tongue?”

Adam said, “Just thinking.” And he was thinking with amazement, Why, I’m not afraid of my brother! I used to be scared to death of him, and I’m not any more. Wonder why not? Could it be the army? Or the chain gang? Could it be Father’s death? Maybe—but I don’t understand it. With the lack of fear, he knew he could say anything he wanted to, whereas before he had picked over his words to avoid trouble. It was a good feeling he had, almost as though he himself had been dead and resurrected.

They walked into the kitchen he remembered and didn’t remember. It seemed smaller and dingier. Adam said almost gaily, “Charles, I been listening. You want to tell me something and you’re walking around it like a terrier around a bush. You better tell before it bites you.”

Charles’ eyes sparked up with anger. He raised his head. His force was gone. He thought with desolation, I can’t lick him any more. I can’t.

Adam chuckled. “Maybe it’s wrong to feel good when our father’s just died, but you know, Charles, I never felt better in my whole life. I never felt as good. Spill it, Charles. Don’t let it chew on you.”