Dennis is out under their little carport, working on the motor of his car. “Hi, Dad.” No answer. Jim’s feeling too low for this sort of thing, and he goes into their portion of the house without another word.

Lucy asks about Tom.

“He’s had a cold. He’s not so well.”

Hiss of breath, indrawn. Then she says, “Go out and talk to your father. He needs something to take his mind off work.”

“I just said hello and he didn’t say a thing.”

“Get out there and talk to him!” Fiercely: “He needs to talk to you!”

“All right, all right.” Jim sighs, feeling aggrieved, and goes back outside.

His father stands crouched over the motor compartment, head down under the hood, steadfastly ignoring Jim. Ignoring Jim and everything else, Jim thinks. A retreat into his own private world.

Jim approaches him. “What are you working on?”

“The car.”

“I know that,” Jim snaps.

Dennis glances up briefly at him, turns back to his task.

“Want some help?”

“No.”

Jim grits his teeth. Too much has happened; he’s lost all tolerance for this sort of treatment. “So what are you working on?” he insists, an edge in his voice.

Dennis doesn’t look up this time. “Cleaning the switcher points.”

Jim looks into the motor compartment, at Dennis’s methodically working hands. “They’re already clean.”

Dennis doesn’t reply.

“You’re wasting your time.”

Dennis looks at him balefully. “Maybe I ought to work on your car. I don’t suppose that would be wasting my time.”

“My car doesn’t need work.”

“Have you done any maintenance on it since I last looked at it?”

“No. I’ve been too busy.”

“Too busy.”

“That’s right! I’ve been busy! It isn’t just in the defense industry that people get busy, you know.”

Dennis purses his mouth. “A lot of night classes, I suppose.”

“That’s right!” Angrily Jim walks up to the side of the car, so that only the motor compartment and the hood separate him from Dennis. “I’ve been busy going to the funerals of people we know, and trying to help my friends, and working in a real estate office, and teaching a night class. Teaching, that’s right! It’s the best thing I do—I teach people what they need to know to get by in the world! It’s good work!”

Dennis’s swift, smoldering glance shows he understands very clearly the implication of Jim’s words. He looks back down at the motor, at his hands and their intensely controlled maneuvers. A minute passes as he finishes cleaning the points.

“So you don’t think I do good work, is that it?” he says slowly.

“Dad, people are starving! Half the world is starving!” Jim is almost shaking now, the words burst out of him: “We don’t need more bombs!”