They are a family during certain mealtimes and during church. Each night, each Sunday, they eat together, because they always have. The repetition echoes darkly through the country of Nathan's memory, through all the dangerous territories in which his thought may no longer move freely. Through all that he has forgotten and locked away.
Once there was a younger Dad, of firm flesh and clear skin, a Dad who could look Nathan in the eye when they talked, who could drink his whiskey on the weekends and stay sober through the week, who could play ball with Nathan in the yard. Once there was a Dad without a soft belly hanging over his belt, without the slackness of this one's jaw or the broken veins in his cheeks and nose, a Dad whose eyes were not yellow ringed with red. Once there was a man who could kiss Mom on the cheek with a clear heart, who could pick up Nathan in strong arms and toss him toward the ceiling like a toy. That other Dad remains, somewhere; but not here inside this pale body huddled over its gilt edged Bible. The spider veins tracing Dad's cheeks and the yellow skin of Dad's hands are frightening to Nathan. There is even the smell of rot that underlies his father's sweet aftershave. Being filled with all unrighteousness, fornication, wickedness, covetousness, maliciousness; full of envy, murder, debate, deceit, malignity; whisperers, backbiters, haters of God, despiteful, proud, boasters, inventors of evil things, disobedient to parents, without understanding, convent breakers, without natural affection, implacable, unmerciful: who knowing the judgment of God, that they which commit such things are worthy of death, not only do the same, but have pleasure in them that do them.
Nathan can be safe if he keeps his eyes lowered, if he focuses on the plate of food that he can never taste. He lets the holy utterances fall over him like the lightness of a quiet rain, bows his head as if in reverence and listens, without hearing. In his mind he is far away, in the woods with Roy, stepping through golden sunlight.
Soon the meal will end and Dad will retreat into the living room, where the television will drone deep into the night. No one will expect Nathan to go there. He holds his breath and waits, watching Mom's knotted hands as they whiten on the handle of her fork. She closes her eyes, and for a moment it is clear that she too feels pain from this last scrap of their togetherness.
If Dad feels anything, he gives no evidence in voice or demeanor. He reads as if the words will take him back to the Dad of yesterday or the heaven of tomorrow. He eats. He sips whiskey. The daze of evening descends on him. When, one moment, he glances up at Nathan, he hardly seems to see anything at all.
He reads: Wherefore God also gave them up to uncleanness through the lusts of their own hearts, to dishonor their own bodies between themselves; who changed the truth of God into a he, and worshipped and served the creature more than the Creator, who is blessed forever. Amen.
The meal will end. Meals always do. Nathan will climb silently to his room again, to the peace and safety that has so far remained intact in this new house.
In the morning Nathan wakens with apprehension, dressing with self-conscious care and eating breakfast slowly, almost as if he hopes Roy will leave without him. He is afraid the wrong Roy will appear today, afraid he will find the silent, cold one. But when he walks to the bus, Roy waits calmly. He says good morning before Nathan reaches the door, speaking with an openness that puts Nathan on guard. Nathan ascends while maintaining an invisible wall, longing to reach through it and touch Roy but taking his seat with a circumspect air. He studies the dewy yard beyond the bus window, the edge of the Kennicutt Woods.
As Roy closes the door and wrestles with the gearshift, he partially turns in the seat. "I almost came to see you last night."
"I wish you had." Nearly too low to hear.
"Me and my folks had to go to a business meeting at church."
"You go to church a lot, don't you?''
"My parents got a lot of religion." He has steered the bus onto the road, entering the stretch of forest. Once the houses have vanished, he stops the bus and stands. "Come here."
To hold him and be held by him is enough for Nathan. Roy says, "You better eat lunch with me today if you know what's good for you."
"I will." Into the cup of shoulder and neck. Lingering. Roy pulls him close, sighs.
"We have to go, I guess."
