While Christina put the turkey into the oven, washed the big Canton platter, and set the table, John got his father downstairs, settled in the armchair by the fire. And now the two men were having a smoke while they waited for the multitude to arrive. Cornelius, flushed from the effort of getting downstairs, looked almost like himself, especially in profile on the side that did not show the slight disfiguration temporary paralysis had left around his mouth.

“Well,” he said, “here we are, John.”

“Here we are, Father.”

They looked into the fire. It was, no doubt, in each of their minds that both had had a brush with death since last Thanksgiving, and perhaps Cornelius had wanted to say something about this. He gave a little grunt, often the preface to something he had been ruminating. One of the logs crackled and sent a shower of sparks out into the room, and John stamped them out.

“I haven’t the foggiest notion what it’s all about—life—death,” Cornelius said. Then, “Sometimes it seems as if we were mere sparks, like those. Yet life is precious. I must tell you, John, life has seemed to me infinitely precious lately—the marrow of it, I mean—just being alive, not dead. Being able to see trees, the mountain—I’m overwhelmed by love, John. It’s as if it were all new—your mother and I …” But he could not go on. John was amazed to see the tears shining in his eyes.

“You’ve given your children a great thing—a happy marriage. Maybe we envy you a little.” It was said with a smile, but Cornelius gave his son an intent look, then looked away. They had never talked like this before.

“If you can just hold out, marriages ripen.”

“If they don’t wither away.”

“You and Sybille?”

“No, that’s too harsh. We are forbearing—Sybille has been very forbearing,” John said. “I guess that’s the gist of it.”

“Sad,” Cornelius said. He pondered this. Then, “There are lots of things I have not understood.” Now that he was feeling anxiety, the speech became blurred again, and John leaned forward to catch the words. “I want you to know that. I’ve had time to … to think.”

“It’s all right, Father.” John felt terribly nervous suddenly, as if a secret wound were about to be unbandaged. He got up and stood looking down into the fire. “Don’t say anything.”

“I didn’t love you well,” Cornelius said after a moment’s silence. “I didn’t really listen. Lately I have come to the conclusion that the real trouble is that no one listens. We impose ourselves. We are so busy trying to be heard.”

“Well, let’s face it—I wasn’t exactly the son you had imagined.”