“I was not interested in anything,” Mebane said, “except watching her break. All I wanted then was her gone. She needed something and I gave it to her. What did it matter? She needed that bad news the same way she needed to make the deal with me to get it. She did you know! She needed that deal. Maybe more than me. She had tried to trade her way into a new life. Fancy-go-to-town nigger woman! I wanted her to know what it cost. Cost me. I wanted her to have that weight over her every walking moment of her life.”

“Jesus,” Foster said. “Why? I don’t understand why.”

And for a brief moment Mebane’s eyes were focused on Foster, and when he spoke his voice was triumphant, soft.

“What I’m trying to tell you,” Mebane said. “She had that debility, stronger even than doubt. So there was that. But mostly,” he added, “because I could.”

“Because you could,” Foster repeated. He had grasped the top of the chair before him, the chair tipping on its casters, his arms shaking.

Mebane did not move. His face was pink, filmed with sweat. His shirt beneath his arms drooped dark along his sides. Foster could smell him. He let go of the chair and swung his arms loose along his sides. Mebane smiled once more, gray lips a rictus against the blot of his face. He said, “It wasn’t even that good a piece of tail. She was on top of me of course, her eyes closed. Just slapping up and down against me. I’ve paid for better. It was not the pussy I expected it to be.”

Foster started around the table. Mebane stepped back, away from the flue and leaned against the wall. He raised up the cane and cut several passes with it. “That’s it. Come on, boy,” he cried out. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Foster stopped. He turned from the old man. The rain mapped dissolving continents down the window glass. He thought then of his father, of what he would’ve done. After a moment, he looked back at Mebane, the cane pointed at the ceiling, ready to descend. He said, “No.”

“No? What do you mean, No? It’s what you came after. It’s why you’re here.”

Foster put his hands in his pockets. He stood very still. Again, he said, “No.”

“No? A hunting man like yourself? You got those dogs. I seen you out in the woods with them. What’s the matter with you? Can’t you do the right thing?”

Foster stood silent. Mebane took a step forward, waved the cane in the air. Foster did not move. Mebane looked at him. There was a long silence.

Mebane was wheezing. He placed the cane-tip before him and leaned upon it. His breath broke. “I know you got a gun. I seen you carrying it in to the nigger cabin.”