much too timid in these matters. Scared of appearing to boss them aroundâbut, in the end, itâs not a kindness or a respect. When I saw the girl was living there, I should have told Alpheus straight out that he must take her to a birth control clinic. I shouldâve taken her myself.â
Joe always listened to Pauline patiently. âOh come on.â
âWell, damn it all, Iâm paying for his courses, maybe I should use that to stop him making things impossible for himself. Nineteen years old. A baby, and next year another baby, how will he support them on a clerkâs salary? We undertook to subsidise his studies, not a family.â
âOh ma, itâll be lovely to have a little babyâ Carole had pleaded happily, like that, for a puppy or a kitten.
âOh
lovely
. A squalling infant while heâs supposed to be studying for exams. I fixed up the garage soâs he wouldnât have to live in a crowded location room, soâs heâd have the kind of working conditions you kids have.â
âBettie says, God has sent a child, what can you do.â Hillela quoted, and she and Carole laughed.
âShe knows damn well. I had her fitted with a loop years ago. Alpheusâs poor mother, doing four washes a weekâ
âAnd breaking the washing machine once a month.â Joe settled back into his soft chin philosophically.
âRebeccaâs beaming all over, ma, she says her son is going to have a clever son like himself.â
âPoor old Rebecca! Whereâs he going to find to live?â Paulineâs defiant eyes, questioningâthem all: the room, the walls, and beyond. Philosophers like her husband had no answers, they knew only how to accept problems. Carole was a good enough little girl without the originality to swerve aside and seek answers to her motherâs questioning, which she followed as naturalists say a duckling follows the first pair of feet it sees when it hatches. And Hillelaâwhen did that intelligent girl (more intelligent than her own daughter, Pauline confessed confidentially to Joe; an intelligence more like Paulineâs own than that Carole had inherited) when did the girl receive questions, or the possibility of answers, as
addressed to her?
âA whole family pushed into a garage in the yard. We canât have them here living under conditions as bad as those in a location. That wasnât the intention. Alpheus knows it. Rebecca knows it.â
If Sasha had been there he might have answered Pauline.
When Sasha was home Joe had to think of conversation that would start up their father-and-son relationship again; the battery went flat in the long partings, he himself away where the clamorous struggle between power and powerlessness was reduced to a sleepy hum and rustle of courtrooms through whose high windows light slanted as in a church, the boy away at that school for the future which had to be hidden in a little green African kingdom belonging to the 19th century. Joe had come out of his working cubbyhole on a Sunday morning. They were stretched on the grass drinking beer together. Joe mentioned young Alpheus had moved a girl into the garage and got her pregnantâPauline felt she ought to have done something about it.
Sasha rolled right over before he spoke. âEmasculate him?â
A response lifted clean out of some five-finger-exercise liberation theology picked up from black boys at the school. It was easy for a youngster like Joeâs to see things that priggishly hysterical way. Joe patiently ignored, patiently explained. âHeâs had a poor schooling and itâs a hell of a struggle for him to keep up with the courses heâs doing. Sheâs absolutely right, the last thing he needs is a wife and kid as well. If he were a white boy, weâd all be calling it hopelessly irresponsible, and thatâs what it is. Towards his mother, to us, as well as himself. But what can one
Joe always listened to Pauline patiently. âOh come on.â
âWell, damn it all, Iâm paying for his courses, maybe I should use that to stop him making things impossible for himself. Nineteen years old. A baby, and next year another baby, how will he support them on a clerkâs salary? We undertook to subsidise his studies, not a family.â
âOh ma, itâll be lovely to have a little babyâ Carole had pleaded happily, like that, for a puppy or a kitten.
âOh
lovely
. A squalling infant while heâs supposed to be studying for exams. I fixed up the garage soâs he wouldnât have to live in a crowded location room, soâs heâd have the kind of working conditions you kids have.â
âBettie says, God has sent a child, what can you do.â Hillela quoted, and she and Carole laughed.
âShe knows damn well. I had her fitted with a loop years ago. Alpheusâs poor mother, doing four washes a weekâ
âAnd breaking the washing machine once a month.â Joe settled back into his soft chin philosophically.
âRebeccaâs beaming all over, ma, she says her son is going to have a clever son like himself.â
âPoor old Rebecca! Whereâs he going to find to live?â Paulineâs defiant eyes, questioningâthem all: the room, the walls, and beyond. Philosophers like her husband had no answers, they knew only how to accept problems. Carole was a good enough little girl without the originality to swerve aside and seek answers to her motherâs questioning, which she followed as naturalists say a duckling follows the first pair of feet it sees when it hatches. And Hillelaâwhen did that intelligent girl (more intelligent than her own daughter, Pauline confessed confidentially to Joe; an intelligence more like Paulineâs own than that Carole had inherited) when did the girl receive questions, or the possibility of answers, as
addressed to her?
âA whole family pushed into a garage in the yard. We canât have them here living under conditions as bad as those in a location. That wasnât the intention. Alpheus knows it. Rebecca knows it.â
If Sasha had been there he might have answered Pauline.
When Sasha was home Joe had to think of conversation that would start up their father-and-son relationship again; the battery went flat in the long partings, he himself away where the clamorous struggle between power and powerlessness was reduced to a sleepy hum and rustle of courtrooms through whose high windows light slanted as in a church, the boy away at that school for the future which had to be hidden in a little green African kingdom belonging to the 19th century. Joe had come out of his working cubbyhole on a Sunday morning. They were stretched on the grass drinking beer together. Joe mentioned young Alpheus had moved a girl into the garage and got her pregnantâPauline felt she ought to have done something about it.
Sasha rolled right over before he spoke. âEmasculate him?â
A response lifted clean out of some five-finger-exercise liberation theology picked up from black boys at the school. It was easy for a youngster like Joeâs to see things that priggishly hysterical way. Joe patiently ignored, patiently explained. âHeâs had a poor schooling and itâs a hell of a struggle for him to keep up with the courses heâs doing. Sheâs absolutely right, the last thing he needs is a wife and kid as well. If he were a white boy, weâd all be calling it hopelessly irresponsible, and thatâs what it is. Towards his mother, to us, as well as himself. But what can one
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