“But—but go on, Uncle Henry!” Squeaky could endure the old man’s theatrics no longer. “Go on? I’m goin’ somewheres?” “What happened?” Squeaky cried, and the twins echoed her plea. “What happened—happened?” And little Leland Stanford, agog as any, soundlessly urged, Go on, Father, what happened ...? “Happened?” He craned his neck about to check. “Happened where? I don’t see a thing.” Face as innocent as a billygoat’s. “About the log! the log!” “Oh yeah, that log. Lemee see, by gosh. You mean, don’t you, that log I was ridin’ lickety-brintle down the slide trough to certain disaster? Hmm, let me see.” He closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his hooked nose in deep thought; even the apathetic shadows perked up and moved in closer to hear. “Well then, right at the last I come up with me a idea; I thought I’d try throwin’ the bucket underneath the bastard. I pitched it up ahead in the trough, but the log shoved it rattlin’ an’ clatterin’ along in front for a piece like that ol’ bucket was a horsefly it was tryin’ to brush aside—hey! sonofagun, that makes me think: have you boys checked that outfit Teddy’s got goin’ at the Snag for killin’ bugs? Slickest-workin’ piece of machinery I ever—” “The log! The log!” cried the children. The log, echoed the child in me. “Hm? Ah. Yessir. Right at the last I saw there weren’t nothin’ for me to do but dive. So I give a jump. But lo an’ behol’, my gallusses is catched onto a stob! an’ me an’ that fir went shootin’ off into the wild blue yonder, aimin’ to tear hell out of the side of that mailboat—did, too, if you got to know; so me up there tryin’ to be the big hero with the bucket was all just so much yellin’ at the wind, ’cause it did! hit that boat and split it to kingdom come, letters flyin’ in all directions like somebody’d set off a blizzard: letters, nuts, bolts, steamfittin’s, kin’lin’ wood, an’ that boy steerin’ it flung straight in the air—an’ it was the Pierce boy, too, come to think of it, because I recall he ’n’ his brother allus useta trade off makin’ the runs and the one off duty got mighty sore about havin’ to pilot full-time after his brother was drownt—” “But what about you?” “Me? Lord love us, Squeaky, honey, I thought you knew. Why, your ol’ Uncle Henry was killed! You didn’t think a man could survive a fall like that, now did you? I was killed!” His head fell back. His mouth gaped in death agony. The children looked on, stunned to horrified silence, until his belly began to shake with amusement. “Henry, you!” shouted the twins, and each breathed a disappointed “Ahhh.” Squeaky reacted with a hiss of outrage and fell to kicking at his cast with blue-flanneled feet. Henry laughed until tears poured down his gullied cheeks. “Killed, didn’t y’know? Killed yeee hee haw, dead YEE hee hee haw!” “Henry, someday when I’m bigger you’ll be sorry!” “YEEE haw haw haw!” Hank turned aside—“Lord; just look at him carry on”—to laugh into his band. “The balm of Gilead is cooked his brains out.” And Joe Ben lapsed into a coughing fit that took five minutes and a spoonful of molasses to subdue. When Joe could breathe again Viv came from the kitchen, carrying a pot and cups on a tray. “Coffee?” Steam fell in an ermine mantle about her shoulders and when she turned her back to me I saw it was braided into her hair and tied at the bottom with a ribbon of silk. Her jeans were rolled to the swell of her calf; she bent to put the tray on the table, and a brass brad gave me a lewd wink; she straightened and a slight bind of denim made an interesting star of wrinkles. “Who likes sugar, anybody?” I spoke not a word aloud, but could feel my mouth begin to water as she offered the cups around. “You, Lee?”—turning, with those feather-light tennis shoes sighing at her feet. “Sugar?” “It’s fine, Viv, thanks—” “I’ll get it for you?” “Well ...all right then.” Just to watch that brass brad wink its way back to the kitchen. Hank poured bourbon into his coffee. Henry had a drink straight from the bottle to regain his strength after his untimely demise. Jan took Joe Ben’s hand and looked at his wristwatch and announced it was time, past time for the kids to be in bed. Viv returned with a cup of sugar, licking the back of her hand. “Got my thumb in it. One or two spoons?” Joe Ben roused himself. “Okay, kids, move. Up them stairs.” “Three.” I never took sugar in my coffee, never before or since. “Three? Such a sweet tooth?” She stirred in one. “Try it like this first. I have very powerful sugar.” Hank sipped his drink, eyes closed, peaceful, tame. The kids trooped upstairs in a surly pack. Henry yawned. “Yessir . . . killed me dead.” At the top of the steps Squeaky stopped and turned slowly and deliberately with her hands on her hips. “Okay for you, Uncle Henry. You know what,”—and walked on, leaving the air behind her pervaded with some awful fate meaningful only to her and the old man, whose eyes bulged wide in shammed terror. Viv carried Johnny, tickling him with fuzzy breath down the back of his neck. Joe held the twins by fat hands, patient with their one-step, step, one-step, step to the top of the stairs. Jan snuggled the baby over her shoulder. And I swelled, threatening to burst in an explosion of hearts, flowers, and frustration; love, beauty, and jealousy. “Nigh’-n............