Long ago, Blake told Coot that J. Wilbur once waved his hand over an auditorium and the whole place broke into spontaneous weeping for ninety-one minutes. People went crazy and started tearing their shirts and hiding beneath pews, praying for the wrath of God to spare them. And legend had it that J. Wilbur stood on a piano wearing only his underpants and preached for two hours.

But here, standing before the man, Coot couldn’t help but doubt the facts within these stories. This man seemed quiet and reserved. He was nothing at all like the voice on the tinny radio speakers, and he didn’t seem like a legend.

And all at once, Coot felt ashamed to be here.

“I read about this woman in the paper,” said J. Wilbur. “The papers were not kind to her. They were using some coarse descriptions.”

“So you’ve heard of her?” said Coot.

“Oh, you’d have to be hiding under a rock not to know about this woman they call the harlot.”

J. Wilbur invited Coot to sit on the chair across from him while he ate a late supper. Coot told the man about what had happened. He told him everything, starting from the beginning, about how she brought Joseph back with just a touch.

Coot was surprised to see how kind J. Wilbur was. He did not seem like a man who would stand on a piano wearing only his underpants. He looked like anyone else. At times he was humorous, lighthearted. And he was calm. He was, in fact, one of the nicest men Coot had ever met. And this disappointed Coot. He wanted to hate this man for all he represented, for the world he came from. But there was nothing to hate.

Finally, when Coot had run out of words, J. Wilbur went to his cabinet and removed a can. He held it toward Coot. “Would you like some Ovaltine?”

J. Wilbur shook the can for effect.

“Ovaltine?” said Coot.

“Yessir,” he said. “Ovaltine contains malt, milk, and eggs, fortified with necessary vitamins and minerals, and is America’s food beverage assisting in maintaining and building up health and strength and energy and encouraging health-restorative sleep to keep your body and mind feeling strong and vigorous.”

“Why not.”

J. Wilbur opened the can, stabbed a spoon into it, then mixed the brownish powder with milk. “I never go anywhere without my Ovaltine. There’s nothing like it.” He fixed Coot a glass too.

Maybe he was the kind of man who preached for two hours in his underpants.

Finally J. Wilbur said, “You saw all this yourself, son? You saw her bring this man back to life?” When he said it, he gave Coot the first hint of a look that resembled a preacher’s stare. Then he took a sip of Ovaltine and left a chocolate-colored milk mustache on his upper lip.

“I was holding him when it happened,” said Coot.