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One
thing
troubled
me
.
Aunt
Deborah
and
old
Cap
’
n
and
my
father
would
not
come
clear
.
Their
outlines
were
vague
and
wavery
where
they
should
have
been
sharp
as
photographs
.
Well
,
perhaps
the
mind
fades
in
its
memories
as
old
tintypes
do
—
the
background
reaching
out
to
engulf
the
subjects
.
I
couldn
’
t
hold
them
forever
.
Mary
should
have
been
next
but
I
laid
her
aside
for
later
.
I
raised
Allen
.
I
could
not
find
his
early
face
,
the
face
of
joy
and
excitement
that
made
me
sure
of
the
perfectability
of
man
.
He
appeared
what
he
had
become
—
sullen
,
conceited
,
resentful
,
remote
and
secret
in
the
pain
and
perplexity
of
his
pubescence
,
a
dreadful
,
harrowing
time
when
he
must
bite
everyone
near
,
even
himself
,
like
a
dog
in
a
trap
.
Even
in
my
mind
’
s
picture
he
could
not
come
out
of
his
miserable
discontent
,
and
I
put
him
aside
,
only
saying
to
him
,
I
know
.
I
remember
how
bad
it
is
and
I
can
’
t
help
.
No
one
can
.
I
can
only
tell
you
it
will
be
over
.
But
you
can
’
t
believe
that
.
Go
in
peace
—
go
with
my
love
even
though
during
this
time
we
can
’
t
stand
each
other
.
Ellen
brought
a
surge
of
pleasure
.
She
will
be
pretty
,
prettier
even
than
her
mother
,
because
when
her
little
face
jells
into
its
final
shape
she
will
have
the
strange
authority
of
Aunt
Deborah
.
Her
moods
,
her
cruelties
,
her
nervousness
are
the
ingredients
of
a
being
quite
beautiful
and
dear
.
I
know
,
because
I
saw
her
standing
in
her
sleep
holding
the
pink
talisman
to
her
little
breast
and
looking
a
woman
fulfilled
.
And
as
the
talisman
was
important
and
still
is
to
me
,
so
it
is
to
Ellen
.
Maybe
it
is
Ellen
who
will
carry
and
pass
on
whatever
is
immortal
in
me
.
And
in
my
greeting
I
put
my
arms
around
her
and
she
,
true
to
form
,
tickled
my
ear
and
giggled
.
My
Ellen
.
My
daughter
.
I
turned
my
head
to
Mary
,
sleeping
and
smiling
on
my
right
.
That
is
her
place
so
that
,
when
it
is
good
and
right
and
ready
,
she
can
shelter
her
head
on
my
right
arm
,
leaving
my
left
hand
free
for
caressing
.
A
few
days
before
,
I
snicked
my
forefinger
with
the
curved
banana
knife
at
the
store
,
and
a
callusy
scab
toughened
the
ball
of
my
fingertip
.
And
so
I
stroked
the
lovely
line
from
ear
to
shoulder
with
my
second
finger
but
gently
enough
not
to
startle
and
firmly
enough
not
to
tickle
.
She
sighed
as
she
always
does
,
a
deep
,
gathered
breath
and
a
low
release
of
luxury
.
Some
people
resent
awakening
,
but
not
Mary
.
She
comes
to
a
day
with
expectancy
that
it
will
be
good
.
And
,
knowing
this
,
I
try
to
offer
some
small
gift
to
justify
her
conviction
.
And
I
try
to
hold
back
gifts
for
occasions
,
such
as
the
one
I
now
produced
from
my
mind
’
s
purse
.
Her
eyes
opened
,
hazed
with
sleep
.
"
Already
?
"
she
asked
,
and
she
glanced
at
the
window
to
see
how
near
the
day
had
come
.
Over
the
bureau
the
picture
hangs
—
trees
and
a
lake
and
a
small
cow
standing
in
the
water
of
the
lake
.
I
made
out
the
cow
’
s
tail
from
my
bed
,
and
knew
the
day
had
come
.
"
I
bring
you
tidings
of
great
joy
,
my
flying
squirrel
.
"
