He heard me walking toward him and he turned and looked at me.

“I’m so sorry,” I began. “So terribly sorry. I will never be the same now that I killed Clay. I killed him, Doctor Morgan. I killed your son.”

“No.” He reached and took my hand. “Come here, Rhoda. I want to show you something.” He led me back toward a row of apple trees. Old thick trees with blossoms and leaves and fallen apples piled on the ground beneath them. There was a smell of apples there. Of apples and fallen death and decomposition. He led me to a tree and reached up and laid his hand on a branch. “Atoms into molecules,” he began. “Molecules into bases, into amino acids, into proteins, into cells, into tissues, into simple animals, into complex animals, into you and me. I want you to remember that. I want you to remember that I told you that.” His voice had not changed as he spoke, had not risen or fallen, had not accused or begged or charmed or forgiven. He kept on holding on to my hand as if he could impart something by osmosis.

“Oh, Doctor Morgan. I can’t live after this. I won’t ever forget it. What can I do? There is nothing I can do.”

“You can learn to think, Rhoda. You can think harder than you do. You can do better than you’re doing. You can learn.”

“I don’t know what that means. You hate me. You think I killed him.”

“No. Look at this.” He pulled the branch toward me. “Look at it. Find out what it means. I don’t hate you and I don’t want you to feel guilty. I know you wouldn’t kill another human being. You would never kill anyone, would you? Would you?” He had let go of the branch and was holding my arms. “Would you kill someone? Even to save your life?”

“To save myself I would.” I was fixed by his eyes. It would have been impossible to lie to him, even if I wanted to.

“Did you need to save your life on Saturday night?”

“No. I don’t think so. I wanted him to like me, though. I was driving fast to show off for him. Maybe that was to save my life. Why did I drive so fast?” I kept looking at him. He was still, then he let go of my arms.

“Because we let you drink wine. Because we gave you wine. Because we wanted you to like us and take Clay off our hands and reconcile him to this place.” He walked a few feet away from me and stuck his hands into his pockets and turned his fierce and brilliant eyes on me. This time they were different eyes. This time there was nothing to recognize.