"Broken?" Angel said, and they both howled.
"Yes!" Homer said. "And when I turned on the light and he got a look at himself, he said, 'Oh, God, it went off!'--as if he were talking about a gun, and he'd just shot himself with it!"
Father and son laughed over that for a while.
Then Homer said, more seriously, "Of course I tried to explain it all to him. It was hard to make him understand that he hadn't done anything wrong--because it's natural; it's perfectly healthy and normal, but these things have a way of getting distorted."
Angel was quiet now; perhaps he saw the reason for the story.
"But just imagine me trying to explain to this kid--he was quite a bit younger than you are--that it was only natural that he would have feelings about girls, and about sex, long before he would have the opportunity to have anything to do with girls. Or to actually have sex," Homer added. He had truly labored the point into submission, and he paused to see how his son was taking it in; Angel, who had a long stalk of grass in his mouth, lay on his back staring at the sprawling trunk of the huge tree.
They were quiet for a while, and then Homer said: "Is there anything you'd like to ask me--about anything?"
Angel gave a short laugh; then he paused. "Yes," Angel said to his father. "I wonder why you don't have a girlfriend--why you don't even seem interested."
This was not the question Homer had expected, following his birds-and-bees invitation, but after a few seconds he realized that the question should have been anticipated and that some reasonable answer was doubtlessly pressing more on Angel's mind than any truths regarding masturbation.
"I had a girlfriend, in Saint Cloud's," Homer said. "She was kind of rough on me. She was something of a bully. Older than me, and at the time, she was stronger than me!" he said, laughing.
"No kidding," Angel said; he wasn't laughing; he had rolled over on his elbows and was watching his father intently.
"Well, we weren't very much alike," Homer said. "It was one of those cases of the sex happening before there was a friendship, or there really being no friendship--and, after a short while, there wasn't any more sex, either. After that, I'm not sure what the relationship was."
"It was a sort of bad way to start, you mean?" Angel asked.
"Right," his father said.
"So what happened after that?" Angel asked.
"I met Wally and Candy," Homer said carefully. "I guess I would have married Candy--if she hadn't married Wally. She was almost my girlfriend, for about five minutes. That was when Wally was in the war, when we wondered if he was still alive," Homer said quickly. "I've always been so close to Wally and Candy, and then--once I had you--I started to feel that I already had everything I wanted."
Angel Wells rolled over on his back, gazing up the trunk of the tree. "So you still kind of like Candy?" he asked. "You're not interested in anybody else?"
"Kind of," said Homer Wells. "Have you met anybody you're interested in?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.
"Nobody who'd be interested in me," his son said. "I mean, the girls I think about are all too old to even look at me."
"That will change," Homer said, poking Angel in the ribs; the boy doubled up his knees and rolled on his side, poking back at his father. "Pretty soon," Homer said, "the girls are going to stand in line to look at you." He grabbed Angel in a headlock and they started wrestling. Wrestling with Angel was one way Homer could keep in close physical contact with the boy--long after Angel had grown self-conscious about being hugged and kissed, in public. A fifteen-year-old boy doesn't want his father draped all over him, but wrestling was perfectly respectable; that was still allowed. They were wrestling so hard, and laughing--and breathing so heavily--that they did not hear Vernon Lynch approach them.
"Hey, Homer!" Vernon said sharply, kicking at them as they rolled on the ground under the big tree--the way he might, tentatively, attempt to break up a dogfight. When they saw him standing over them, they froze in an awkward embrace--as if they'd been caught doing something they shouldn't. "If you quit dickin' around," Vernon said, "I got a message for you."
"For me?" said Homer Wells.
"There's a fat woman who says she knows you. She's at the mart," Vernon said. Homer smiled. He knew several fat women at the mart; he assumed that Vernon meant Big Dot Taft or Florence Hyde. Even Squeeze Louise had been putting on weight in recent years.
"I mean a new fat woman," Vernon said. He started walking back to his tractor. "She says she wants to be a picker, and she asked for you. She knows you."
Homer got slowly to his feet; he'd rolled over a root of the big tree, and the root had hurt him in the ribs. Also, Angel had stuffed grass down the back of his shirt. Angel said to his father, "Oh, a fat woman, huh? I guess you didn't tell me about the fat woman." As Homer unbuttoned his shirt to shake out the grass, Angel poked his father's bare stomach. That was when Angel noticed that his father had aged. He was still a trim man, and strong from all the orchard work he'd done, but just a bit of belly rolled over the belt of his jeans, and his hair, tousled from the wrestling, was more flecked with gray than it was with grass. There was something grim around the corners of Homer's eyes that Angel had also never noticed before.
"Pop?" Angel asked him softly. "Who's the woman?" But his father was looking at him in a panic; he started buttoning his shirt askew, and Angel had to help him with it. "It can't be the bully, can it?" Angel was trying to joke with his father--their manner together was often full of joking; but Homer wouldn't speak, he wouldn't even smile. Half a trailer of apple crates still needed to be unloaded, but Homer drove too fast, dumping an occasional crate. They had an empty trailer in no time, and on the way back to the apple mart, Homer took the public road instead of winding through the back orchards. The public road was faster, although Homer had told all the drivers to keep off it whenever they could--to avoid any possible accidents with the beach traffic along that road in the summers.
Children are most impressed with the importance of a moment when they witness a parent breaking the parent's own rule.
"Do you think it's her?" Angel shouted to his father. He stood over his father's shoulders, his hands on the tractor seat, his feet braced against the trailer hitch. "You've got to admit, it's a little exciting," the boy added, but Homer looked grim.
Homer parked the tractor and trailer by the storage barns, next to the mart. "You can start putting on another load," he told Angel, but he was not going to get rid of Angel so easily. The boy dogged his footsteps to the apple mart, where Big Dot and Florence and Irene were surrounding the implacable and massive Melony.
"It is her, isn't it?" Angel whispered to his father.