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old man was dead. Oh, how he had wished for it. Was it possible that they already knew? |
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He spied Theodore again. His brother was standing beside his grandfather's coffin, erect, eyes down, dutifully paying homage. He saw his father smile at Charlie's brother, a smile of pride, a smile that to Charlie said, ''See my manly son." |
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He remembered the women wailing, a symphony of long, loud, ugly sounds orchestrated with gasps for breath and interspersed with sobs of despair. He remembered wondering why they cared. Grandfather Cleveland was cruel and old, and he smelled bad. None of it made sense to an eight-year-old. It was dumb to cry. |
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An old woman began to sing. It was the same song Pastor Henry sang at the close of the Sunday morning service while Mrs. Locke played the old bellows organ and Mr. Carpenter took the offering. Charlie twisted his hand out of his father's grip and tried to melt back into the throng of people. It didn't work. His father's strong grip recaptured him. When the song concluded, the Pastor stiffly stepped forward, separating himself from the mourners. He laid his Bible on the lid of the coffin with one hand while his other worked on the starched celluloid collar. He cleared his throat and began to tell a lie. The words came |
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