would meet me at the back porch and whisper, "The Lord is in the parlor." Then I'd come creeping in in my socks and I'd just glance in through the parlor door and there my grandfather would be, sitting on the left end of the sofa, looking attentive and sociable and gravely pleased. I would hear a remark from time to time, "I see your point," or "I have often felt that way myself." And for a few days afterward the old man would be radiant and purposeful and a little more flagrant in his larcenies. Once he told us at supper, "This afternoon I met the Lord
over by the river, and we fell to talking, you know, and He made a suggestion I thought was interesting. He said, 'John, why don't you just go home and be old?' But I had to tell him I wasn't sure I was up to the traveling."
"Papa," my mother said, "you are home. He probably just meant you should ease up on yourself a little."
"Well," the old man said, " w e l l ... , " and sank back into his radiance, thinking whatever it was he thought.
97
My father would say afterward that if the old man was persuaded the Lord wanted him back in Kansas, nothing we said
would have any influence one way or another. It was important to him to believe that, though I doubt he ever really did.
Once when I was walking to school I saw some children teasing my grandfather, as if he were just any scrawny old fellow picking blackberries into his hat, nodding a little and talking a little as he did it. They were coming up to him on that right side and touching his arm, tugging his coat. When they did, it would set him to nodding and talking, and they would clap their hands over their mouths and run away.
Now, I was astonished at this. I realize how much I did, in some sense, believe that there was a sort of sacredness just to the right of him, and it really shocked me that those children could violate it as they were doing. I was standing there, taking it in, trying to decide what to do, when the old man wheeled around and planted that stare on me. How he knew I was there I don't know, and why he looked at me that way is a thing I never have understood, as if I were the betrayer. It felt unfair to me at the time, but I never could dismiss it. I never could tell myself that it was just an error, that there was nothing in it.
Well, I'll confess I did feel a certain embarrassment about him. It may even have been shame. And it was not the first time I had felt it, either. But I was a child at the time, and it seems to me he might have made some allowance. These people who can see right through you never quite do you justice, because they never give you credit for the effort you're making to be better than you actually are, which is difficult and well meant and deserving of some little notice.
I might as well say this, too. It hurt us all something dread98
ful that he left the way he did. We knew there was judgment in it, and whatever we might say for ourselves, for our reasonableness and our good intentions, we knew they were trivial by
his lights, and that made them a little bit trivial by our lights. He took so much away with him when he left.
My father said when he walked into his father's church after they came back from the army the first thing he saw was a piece of needlework hanging on the wall above the communion table. It was very beautifully done, flowers and flames surrounding the words "The Lord Our God Is a Purifying Fire." I suppose that is why I always think of my grandfather's church as the one struck by lightning. As in fact it was.
My father said it was that banner that had sent him off to sit with the Quakers. He said the very last word he would have applied to war, once he had had a good look at it, was "purifying," and the thought that those women could believe the
world was in any way purer for the loss of their own sons and husbands was appalling to him. He stood there looking at it, visibly displeased by it, apparently, because one of the women said to him, "It's just a bit of Scripture."
He said, "I beg your pardon, ma'am. No, that is not Scripture." "Well," she said, "then it certainly ought to be."
And of course that was terrible to his mind, that she could have thought such a thing. And yet if those precise words don't occur in the Bible, there are passages they could be said to summarize fairly well. That may have been all she meant.
I have always wished I could have seen it, that tapestry they made, if that's what it was. He said there were cherubim to either side of it, with their wings thrown forward the way they are in the old pictures, and then, where the Ark of the 99
Covenant would have been, those incendiary words, and flowers and flames around them and above them. I don't know how those women managed to find the material for it, how much snipping and raveling of their few best clothes they'd have to have done to make such a thing as that. And I've always wondered what happened to it.
Material things are so vulnerable to
