“He wouldn’t need any clothes in the army, and they don’t want gold watches there either. Everything’s brown.”
“I guess you’re right. But I don’t understand it. I’ve got to do something about my eyes. Can’t ask you to read everything to me.” His eyes really troubled him. “I can see a letter,” he said. “But the words jumble all around.” A dozen times a day he seized a paper or a book and stared at it and put it down.
Lee read the papers to him to keep him from getting restless, and often in the middle of the reading Adam went to sleep.
He would awaken and say, “Lee? Is that you, Cal? You know I never had any trouble with my eyes. I’ll just go tomorrow and get my eyes tested.”
About the middle of February Cal went into the kitchen and said, “Lee, he talks about it all the time. Let’s get his eyes tested.”
Lee was stewing” apricots. He left the stove and closed the kitchen door and went back to the stove. “I don’t want him to go,” he said.
“Why not?”
“I don’t think it’s his eyes. Finding out might trouble him. Let him be for a while. He’s had a bad shock. Let him get better. I’ll read to him all he wants.”
“What do you think it is?”
“I don’t want to say. I’ve thought maybe Dr. Edwards might just come by for a friendly call—just to say hello.”
“Have it your own way,” said Cal.
Lee said, “Cal, have you seen Abra?”
“Sure, I see her. She walks away.”
“Can’t you catch her?”
“Sure—and I could throw her down and punch her in the face and make her talk to me. But I won’t.”
“Maybe if you’d just break the ice. Sometimes the barrier is so weak it just falls over when you touch it. Catch up with her. Tell her I want to see her.”
“I won’t do it.”
“You feel awful guilty, don’t you?”
Cal did not answer.
“Don’t you like her?”
Cal did not answer.
“If you keep this up, you’re going to feel worse, not better. You’d better open up. I’m warning you. You’d better open up.”
Cal cried, “Do you want me to tell Father what I did? I’ll do it if you tell me to.”
“No, Cal. Not now. But when he gets well you’ll have to. You’ll have to for yourself. You can’t carry this alone. It will kill you.”
“Maybe I deserve to be killed.”
“Stop that!” Lee said coldly. “That can be the cheapest kind of self-indulgence. You stop that!”
“How do you go about stopping it?” Cal asked.
Lee changed the subject. “I don’t understand why Abra hasn’t been here—not even once.”
“No reason to come now.”
“It’s not like her. Something’s wrong there. Have you seen her?”
Cal scowled. “I told you I have. You’re getting crazy too. Tried to talk to her three times. She walked away.”
“Something’s wrong. She’s a good woman—a real woman.”
“She’s a girl,” said Cal. “It sounds funny you calling her a woman.”
“No,” Lee said softly. “A few are women from the moment they’re born. Abra has the loveliness of woman, and the courage—and the strength—and the wisdom. She knows things and she accepts things. I would have bet she couldn’t be small or mean or even vain except when it’s pretty to be vain.”
“You sure do think well of her.”
“Well enough to think she wouldn’t desert us.” And he said, “I miss her. Ask her to come to see me.”
“I told you she walked away from me.”
“Well, chase her then. Tell her I want to see her. I miss her.”
Cal asked, “Shall we go back to my father’s eyes now?”
“No,” said Lee.
“Shall we talk about Aron?”
“No.”
3
Cal tried all the next day to find Abra alone, and it was only after school that he saw her ahead of him, walking home. He turned a corner and ran along the parallel street and then back, and he judged time and distance so that he turned in front of her as she strolled along.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello. I thought I saw you behind me.”
“You did. I ran around the block to get in front of you. I want to talk to you.”
She regarded him gravely. “You could have done that without running around the block.”
“Well, I tried to talk to you in school. You walked away.”
“You were mad. I didn’t want to talk to you mad.”
“How do you know I was?”
“I could see it in your face and the way you walked. You’re not mad now.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Do you want to take my books?” She smiled.
A warmth fell on him. “Yes—yes, I do.” He put her schoolbooks under his arm and walked beside her. “Lee wants to see you. He asked me to tell you.”
She was pleased. “Does he? Tell him I’ll come. How’s your father?”
“Not very well. His eyes bother him.”
They walked along in silence until Cal couldn’t stand it any more. “You know about Aron?”
“Yes.” She paused. “Open my binder and look next to the first page.”
He shifted the books. A penny postcard was in the binder. “Dear Abra,” it said. “I don’t feel clean. I’m not fit for you. Don’t be sorry. I’m in the army. Don’t go near my father. Good-by, Aron.”
Cal snapped the book shut. “The son of a bitch,” he said under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“I heard what you said.”
“Do you know why he went away?”
“No. I guess I could figure out—put two and two together. I don’t want to. I’m not ready to—that is, unless you want to tell me.”
Suddenly Cal said, “Abra—do you hate me?”
“No, Cal, but you hate me a little. Why is that?”
“I—I’m afraid of you.”
“No need to be.”
“I’ve hurt you more than you know. And you’re my brother’s girl.”
“How have you hurt me? And I’m not your brother’s girl.”