“No,” Robert says.

“ ‘Wilt thou play with him as with a bird? Or wilt thou bind him for thy maidens?’ ”

“No,” Robert says.

“Robert, don’t say ‘no’ every time. Sometimes just stand there. ‘Shall the companions make a banquet of him? Shall they part him among the merchants?’ ”

Then Robert stands and looks helplessly about him.

“ ‘Canst thou fill his skin with barbed irons? or his head with fish spears?’ ”

“Now should I say ‘no’?”

“Robert, say it when you think Job would have said it. Say it when you feel it’s right, when you’re ready. ‘Who can open the doors of his face? His teeth are terrible round about.’ ”

Then Matthew turns to me and shows me his teeth in a fierce manner, and I show him my teeth back in a disapproving way.

“ ‘His scales are his pride, shut up together as with a close seal. One is so near to another that no air can come between them.’ ”

And Robert, who is distracted, says, “No.”

“Now, Robert, sure, the Lord is not asking a question from now on. ‘By his nessings a light doth shine, and his eyes are like the eyelids of the morning. Out of his mouth go burning lamps, and sparks of fire leap out. Out of his nostrils goeth smoke, as out of a seething pot or cauldron. His breath kindleth coals, and a flame goeth out of his mouth.’ ”

“ ‘Nessings’?”

“Like little fens. Secret, watery places.”

“Say the part about iron and brass.” I had always loved the part about iron and brass.

“ ‘He esteemeth iron as straw, and brass as rotten wood.’ ”

“ ‘The arrow,’ ” I say.

“ ‘The arrow cannot make him flee: slingstones are turned with him into stubble. Darts are counted as stubble: he laugheth at the shaking of a spear. He maketh the deep to boil like a pot: he maketh the sea like a pot of ointment. He maketh a path to shine after him; one would think the deep to be hoary.’ ” Father stops. “Tell the end for us, Mary. What Job says.”

“ ‘I know,’ ” I begin, “ ‘thou canst do everything, and that no thought can be withholden from thee. Who is he that hideth counsel without knowledge? Therefore have I uttered that I understand not; things too wonderful for me, which I knew not.’ ”

One morning when I started to rise from our pallet, Hiokatoo rolled over, touched my hair, and stopped breathing.

After a time I went to the doorway and then walked through it and looked to see if I could discern his spirit as it left his body. I had seen him coming back to me across a field after the Sullivan campaign. I always knew he would leave me that same way, all his vigor now returned, concentrated in his spirit since he had shaken himself free of his wrinkled skin, wasted lungs, shriveled penis, and softening bones. He was going away, he was crossing our fields.