After daylight Roy and Randy find him. Sun enters through the same windows that admitted moonlight the night before, and a bar of sunlight falls straight across Nathan. But he is still cold. He wishes for a blanket. There might be something in the room, he remembers falling into cloth, but he is too sore to move.
Roy's shadow crosses the attic floorboards. He stands there looking at Nathan. There is something ridiculous about him, it is really funny that Roy can look so helpless like this. He simply stands there. Randy comes up behind him and looks down and says, "Jesus." He stares at Nathan too. Somehow this all seems natural, even the fact that Nathan cannot move, cannot find his mouth, cannot acknowledge them. Then Randy heaves and doubles up and turns. Roy kneels. Touching Nathan's arm as he has done many times. Perfectly blank and listless, staring at the air over Nathan's head, he shakes his head once, as if to clear it.
Randy says, "Jesus. He's dead, ain't he? Just like Burke said."
"His arm is cold." "Look at his face."
Roy swallows. Tears are sliding down his cheeks. "Find something to cover him up. I can't stand to see him lying here like this."
"I swear, I can't look at him."
"Get me that cloth over there. Hand it to me. You don't have to look at him."
He sits there. His eyes are glazed. He takes the cloth from behind. With careful gentleness he spreads the fabric over Nathan, tucking it around his feet, across his shoulders. "I don't want to cover your face."
"What?" Randy asks.
"Nothing." He stands. His voice cascades downward. "You better go ahead with Burke. You better go now and get a head start."
"You think it happened like Burke said?"
"I don't trust nothing Burke said. Go on. Now."
Randy slides away. A long time passes. Roy sits against one of the posts, tucked tight into a ball. After a while this is almost comfortable, and even this seems natural to Nathan, who is still cold, who still cannot move.
He has the sense of lines dividing once more, of himself as if he is sleeping, peaceful as if he is lying on a shore listening to the waves of a sea.
He has gotten confused. There are people in the house, more than he can count, passing beneath in the corridors and outside along the porches. Voices of people everywhere, on every side, black voices and white voices, echoing.
He cannot tell whether time is passing or whether he is lying in it perfectly still.
Roy is hovering above him. Nathan knows it is a memory and he should not open himself to that. But he lets himself see Roy, the clean sad face hanging like a cloud.
Then his father replaces Roy, who has disappeared. Dad jerks the cloth off Nathan. It is a cold day, Nathan is very cold now, he is not sure what day it is, and Dad is taking off the cloth that keeps him warm. Flashlights are trained on Nathan to augment afternoon light. Dad is not alone, there are other voices, other men, and the crackling of a radio. Dad is looking down at him. This is not a memory but something else. Can Dad see the hole? Surely he can.
For a moment fear returns, as vivid as in the house in Rose Hill. It is as if this is the father of that night, a long time ago, with that father's younger bones and smoother skin. He with his flat belly and strong hands leans over Nathan, and there is something tender and sorrowful in his expression. Nathan wonders how Dad got here. Nathan wonders what Dad will want to do this time. Will it make any difference that Nathan has a hole in his skull?
But instead, Dad places the cloth over him tenderly. It is like a vision from some time in the future, or like something out of a dream. Dad covers Nathan's face with the gauzy cloth and Nathan is grateful for the thought of the quiet whiteness that waits beneath it. Except, just at the moment the cloth settles over him forever, he sees Roy waiting behind Dad, his face emerging out of the shadow, drawn and gaunt. The sight fills Nathan with a longing he can hardly contain.
He will shake his head to free himself. He has practiced the gesture for most of his life, he will find it easy. When he does, he will be in the present again, and he will be awake, and Dad will be nowhere near. He will shake his head, and sit up in the attic, and find Roy.
His mouth is dry and his lips are caked with blood.
The soft glow of early morning fills the attic. Light outlines the angled roof, ceiling beams, old boxes, an open steamer trunk littered with rat shit.
He stands carefully. His joints are stiff and sore but the pain is not so much.
Kneeling slowly, he peers out a window that offers a view of the side yard facing the barn, the path leading to the slave houses.
His head aches. When he touches it the flesh is very sore and tender. Blood is caked in clumps in his hair.
The bottle of liquor stands on the floor, in the same place where Burke left it. There is still liquor in the bottle.
