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The
country
all
around
us
is
rolling
hills
covered
with
trees
,
some
scrub
pine
and
some
with
second
-
growth
oak
,
and
hickory
and
some
cedars
.
Once
,
long
before
I
was
born
,
the
oaks
were
monsters
,
so
big
that
the
local
-
built
ships
had
cut
their
keels
and
ribs
and
planking
within
a
short
distance
of
the
shipyards
until
it
was
all
gone
.
In
this
roly
-
poly
country
the
Taylors
once
had
a
house
set
in
the
middle
of
a
big
meadow
,
the
only
level
place
for
miles
around
.
It
must
once
have
been
a
lake
bottom
because
it
was
flat
as
a
table
and
surrounded
by
low
hills
.
Maybe
sixty
years
ago
,
the
Taylor
house
burned
down
and
was
never
rebuilt
.
As
kids
Danny
and
I
used
to
ride
out
there
on
bicycles
.
We
played
in
the
stone
cellar
and
built
a
hunting
lodge
of
bricks
from
the
old
foundation
.
The
gardens
must
have
been
wonderful
.
We
could
see
avenues
of
trees
and
a
suggestion
of
formal
hedges
and
borders
among
the
scrabble
of
the
returned
forest
.
Here
and
there
would
be
a
stretch
of
stone
balustrade
,
and
once
we
found
a
bust
of
Pan
on
a
tapering
stand
.
It
had
fallen
on
its
face
and
buried
its
horns
and
beard
in
the
sandy
loam
.
We
stood
it
up
and
cleaned
it
and
celebrated
it
for
a
time
,
but
greed
and
girls
got
the
better
of
us
.
We
finally
carted
it
into
Floodhampton
and
sold
it
to
a
junk
man
for
five
dollars
.
It
must
have
been
a
good
piece
,
maybe
an
old
one
.
Danny
and
I
were
friends
as
all
boys
must
have
friends
.
Then
his
appointment
to
the
Naval
Academy
came
through
.
I
saw
him
once
in
uniform
and
not
again
for
years
.
New
Baytown
was
and
is
a
tight
,
close
-
made
town
.
Everyone
knew
Danny
was
expelled
and
no
one
discussed
it
.
Taylors
died
out
,
well
,
just
as
Hawleys
died
out
.
I
’
m
the
only
one
left
,
and
,
of
course
,
Allen
,
my
son
.
Danny
didn
’
t
come
back
until
they
were
all
dead
,
and
he
came
back
a
drunk
.
At
first
I
tried
to
help
but
he
didn
’
t
want
me
.
He
didn
’
t
want
anybody
.
But
,
in
spite
of
it
,
we
were
close
—
very
close
.
I
went
over
everything
I
could
remember
right
up
to
that
very
morning
when
I
gave
him
the
dollar
to
let
him
find
his
local
oblivion
.
The
structure
of
my
change
was
feeling
,
pressures
from
without
,
Mary
’
s
wish
,
Allen
’
s
desires
,
Ellen
’
s
anger
,
Mr
.
Baker
’
s
help
.
Only
at
the
last
when
the
move
is
mounted
and
prepared
does
thought
place
a
roof
on
the
building
and
bring
in
words
to
explain
and
to
justify
.
Suppose
my
humble
and
interminable
clerkship
was
not
virtue
at
all
but
a
moral
laziness
?
For
any
success
,
boldness
is
required
.
Perhaps
I
was
simply
timid
,
fearful
of
consequences
—
in
a
word
,
lazy
.
Successful
business
in
our
town
is
not
complicated
or
obscure
and
it
is
not
widely
successful
either
,
because
its
practicers
have
set
artificial
limits
for
their
activities
.
Their
crimes
are
little
crimes
and
so
their
success
is
small
success
.
If
the
town
government
and
the
business
complex
of
New
Baytown
were
ever
deeply
investigated
it
would
be
found
that
a
hundred
legal
and
a
thousand
moral
rules
were
broken
,
but
they
were
small
violations
—
petty
larceny
.
They
abolished
part
of
the
Decalogue
and
kept
the
rest
.
And
when
one
of
our
successful
men
had
what
he
needed
or
wanted
,
he
re
-
assumed
his
virtue
as
easily
as
changing
his
shirt
,
and
for
all
one
could
see
,
he
took
no
hurt
from
his
derelictions
,
always
assuming
that
he
didn
’
t
get
caught
.
Did
any
of
them
think
about
this
?
I
don
’
t
know
.
And
if
small
crimes
could
be
condoned
by
self
,
why
not
a
quick
,
harsh
,
brave
one
?
Is
murder
by
slow
,
steady
pressure
any
less
murder
than
a
quick
and
merciful
knife
-
thrust
?
I
don
’
t
feel
guilt
for
the
German
lives
I
took
.
Suppose
for
a
limited
time
I
abolished
all
the
rules
,
not
just
some
of
them
.
Once
the
objective
was
reached
,
could
they
not
all
be
re
-
assumed
?
There
is
no
doubt
that
business
is
a
kind
of
war
.
Why
not
,
then
,
make
it
all
-
out
war
in
pursuit
of
peace
?
Mr
.
Baker
and
his
friends
did
not
shoot
my
father
,
but
they
advised
him
and
when
his
structure
collapsed
they
inherited
.
And
isn
’
t
that
a
kind
of
murder
?
Have
any
of
the
great
fortunes
we
admire
been
put
together
without
ruthlessness
?
I
can
’
t
think
of
any
.
And
if
I
should
put
the
rules
aside
for
a
time
,
I
knew
I
would
wear
scars
but
would
they
be
worse
than
the
scars
of
failure
I
was
wearing
?
To
be
alive
at
all
is
to
have
scars
.
All
this
wondering
was
the
weather
vane
on
top
of
the
building
of
unrest
and
of
discontent
.
It
could
be
done
because
it
had
been
done
.
But
if
I
opened
up
that
door
,
could
I
ever
get
it
closed
again
?
I
did
not
know
.
I
could
not
know
until
I
had
opened
it
.
.
.
.
Did
Mr
.
Baker
know
?
Had
Mr
.
Baker
even
thought
of
it
?
.
.
.
Old
Cap
’
n
thought
the
Bakers
burned
the
Belle
-
Adair
for
the
insurance
.
Could
that
and
my
father
’
s
misfortune
be
the
reason
Mr
.
Baker
wanted
to
help
me
?
Were
these
his
scars
?
What
was
happening
could
be
described
as
a
great
ship
being
turned
and
bunted
and
shoved
about
and
pulled
around
by
many
small
tugs
.
Once
turned
by
tide
and
tugs
,
it
must
set
a
new
course
and
start
its
engines
turning
.
On
the
bridge
which
is
the
planning
center
,
the
question
must
be
asked
:
All
right
,
I
know
now
where
I
want
to
go
.
How
do
I
get
there
,
and
where
are
lurking
rocks
and
what
will
the
weather
be
?
One
fatal
reef
I
knew
was
talk
