tray. “You know what I have always believed concerning people. I have always believed that hate and love are very close to each other.”
“I know, and I’ve always thought that was a bunch of bunk.”
“What’s a bunch of bunk?” Splinter stepped out onto the verandah carrying a bucket filled with warm soapy water and an empty bucket laden with a sea sponge, three rags, and a bottle of lemon oil.
Jess moved away from the pillar and went to inspect his finds. “Oh, Mama Hannah doesn’t think love and hate are opposites. She says they’re two sides of the same coin.”
“Hmm.” He cocked his hands on his hips and stared at the floor for a moment. “I’m with Mama Hannah.”
“You would be.”
“Sure, because she’s right. It makes perfect sense. Remember how once in a while I used to come running in from Nick’s house and tell you we’d had a terrible fight, and I hated him? I did, too! But see . . . I could only hate him that strongly because I liked him so much.” He knelt down on the verandah floor. “Look, Mom, here’s the deal. Pretend like this soapy water stands for my feelings for Nick. This bucket is love, and this one is hate. Are you with me so far?”
Jess nodded, always both amused and perplexed by her son’s analogies.
“Okay,” he went on. “Now, see how much I love Nick? The bucket’s full of my feelings. But if we get mad at each other, the hate bucket gets full.” He poured the soapy water into the empty bucket. “The feelings don’t go away, just like the water doesn’t go away. The feelings just get transferred back and forth. The only way I could hate Nick this much—all the way to the top—is if I loved him this much.”
“I still think when you’re full of hate, you’re empty of love. And that means they’re opposites.”
“Wrong. See, this is the same water, Mom. It can go right back from the hate bucket into the love bucket and make it just as full as it was before.”
“Maybe.”
“Okay, now think about James Wiggins.”
“Do I have to?”
Splint laughed at her reaction to the memory of the irritating little boy who had lived in a flat near theirs in London. “This is how deep my feelings go for James Wiggins,” he explained, emptying all but a cup of the soapy water into the copper bowl his mother had brought down from the storage room. He showed her the barely wet bottom of the pail. “See what a small amount of feelings are in the bucket that stands for love? It’s all I can muster. When James is hanging around and trying to be nice, I can sort of semi-like him.”
“You can remotely, slightly like him.”
Splint chuckled as he poured the trickle of water into the second bucket. “Once in a rare while there might be the slender, barely negligible chance that I’d like him. But even when I don’t like him, all I can make myself feel is a sort of inert apathy. See?”
“Inert apathy?” Jess repeated as she looked into the second bucket.
“I can’t hate James Wiggins the way I can hate Nick, Mom. My feelings aren’t full enough. So, it’s just like Mama Hannah said. If you really, truly hate somebody, then that means you once really, truly loved them. And you could love them that much again.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“Yeah, that’s so! Who is it you hate, Mom?”
Jess glanced at Hannah. The old woman was rubbing a rag over the green tray and humming under her breath.
“I hate dust and dirt and cobwebs and rust,” Jess said quickly. “Now, let’s head back up those stairs and see what else we can bring down from the storeroom. The sooner we make Uchungu House into a home, the better I’ll feel about living here.”
“If there’s a hammock up there, can I bring it? Could we hang it up on the verandah?” Splint was already halfway through the door.
“If there is one and the bugs haven’t eaten it, we’ll hang it this afternoon.”
She could hear her son’s yippee s as she started into the house.
“I have
“I know, and I’ve always thought that was a bunch of bunk.”
“What’s a bunch of bunk?” Splinter stepped out onto the verandah carrying a bucket filled with warm soapy water and an empty bucket laden with a sea sponge, three rags, and a bottle of lemon oil.
Jess moved away from the pillar and went to inspect his finds. “Oh, Mama Hannah doesn’t think love and hate are opposites. She says they’re two sides of the same coin.”
“Hmm.” He cocked his hands on his hips and stared at the floor for a moment. “I’m with Mama Hannah.”
“You would be.”
“Sure, because she’s right. It makes perfect sense. Remember how once in a while I used to come running in from Nick’s house and tell you we’d had a terrible fight, and I hated him? I did, too! But see . . . I could only hate him that strongly because I liked him so much.” He knelt down on the verandah floor. “Look, Mom, here’s the deal. Pretend like this soapy water stands for my feelings for Nick. This bucket is love, and this one is hate. Are you with me so far?”
Jess nodded, always both amused and perplexed by her son’s analogies.
“Okay,” he went on. “Now, see how much I love Nick? The bucket’s full of my feelings. But if we get mad at each other, the hate bucket gets full.” He poured the soapy water into the empty bucket. “The feelings don’t go away, just like the water doesn’t go away. The feelings just get transferred back and forth. The only way I could hate Nick this much—all the way to the top—is if I loved him this much.”
“I still think when you’re full of hate, you’re empty of love. And that means they’re opposites.”
“Wrong. See, this is the same water, Mom. It can go right back from the hate bucket into the love bucket and make it just as full as it was before.”
“Maybe.”
“Okay, now think about James Wiggins.”
“Do I have to?”
Splint laughed at her reaction to the memory of the irritating little boy who had lived in a flat near theirs in London. “This is how deep my feelings go for James Wiggins,” he explained, emptying all but a cup of the soapy water into the copper bowl his mother had brought down from the storage room. He showed her the barely wet bottom of the pail. “See what a small amount of feelings are in the bucket that stands for love? It’s all I can muster. When James is hanging around and trying to be nice, I can sort of semi-like him.”
“You can remotely, slightly like him.”
Splint chuckled as he poured the trickle of water into the second bucket. “Once in a rare while there might be the slender, barely negligible chance that I’d like him. But even when I don’t like him, all I can make myself feel is a sort of inert apathy. See?”
“Inert apathy?” Jess repeated as she looked into the second bucket.
“I can’t hate James Wiggins the way I can hate Nick, Mom. My feelings aren’t full enough. So, it’s just like Mama Hannah said. If you really, truly hate somebody, then that means you once really, truly loved them. And you could love them that much again.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“Yeah, that’s so! Who is it you hate, Mom?”
Jess glanced at Hannah. The old woman was rubbing a rag over the green tray and humming under her breath.
“I hate dust and dirt and cobwebs and rust,” Jess said quickly. “Now, let’s head back up those stairs and see what else we can bring down from the storeroom. The sooner we make Uchungu House into a home, the better I’ll feel about living here.”
“If there’s a hammock up there, can I bring it? Could we hang it up on the verandah?” Splint was already halfway through the door.
“If there is one and the bugs haven’t eaten it, we’ll hang it this afternoon.”
She could hear her son’s yippee s as she started into the house.
“I have
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