Now—tonight."
"Don't be foolish, Rose.
It's too late to do anything… tonight. You're shouting so loud everyone will hear you."
"I don't care.
He goes out tonight.
I can't stand looking at him any more."
"You're being impossible, Rose.
What are you doing?"
"I warn you. Get him out of here."
"Put that knife down."
"I'm not going to have her life destroyed."
"You're crazy.
Put that knife away."
"He's better off dead. He'll never be able to live a normal life. He'll be better off—"
"You're out of your mind. For God's sake, control yourself!"
"Then take him away from here.
Now—tonight."
"All right.
I'll take him over to Herman tonight and maybe tomorrow we'll find out about getting him into the Warren State Home."
There is silence.
From the darkness I feel the shudder pass over the house, and then Matt's voice, less panicky than hers.
"I know what you've gone through with him, and I can't blame you for being afraid.
But you've got to control yourself.
I'll take him over to Herman.
Will that satisfy you?"
"That's all I ask.
Your daughter is entitled to a life, too."
Matt comes into Charlie's room and dresses his son, and though the boy doesn't understand what is happening, he is afraid.
As they go out the door, she looks away.
Perhaps she is trying to convince herself that he has already gone out of her life—that he no longer exists.
On the way out, Charlie sees on the kitchen table the long carving knife she cuts roasts with, and he senses vaguely that she wanted to hurt him.
She wanted to take something away from him, and give it to Norma.
When he looks back at her, she has picked up a rag to wash the kitchen sink….
When the haircut, shave, sun treatment, and the rest were over, I sat in the chair limply, feeling light, and slick, and clean, and Matt whisked the neckcloth off and offered me a second mirror to see the reflection of the back of my head.
Seeing myself in the front mirror looking into the back mirror, as he held it for me, it tilted for an instant into the one angle that produced the illusion of depth; endless corridors of myself… looking at myself… looking at myself… looking at myself… looking…
Which one?
Who was I?
I thought of not telling him.
What good was it for him to know?
Just go away and not reveal who I was.
Then I remembered that I wanted him to know. He had to admit that I was alive, that I was someone. I wanted him to boast about me to the customers tomorrow as he gave haircuts and shaves.
That would make it all real.
If he knew I was his son, then I would be a person.
"Now that you've got the hair off my face, maybe you'll know me," I said as I stood up, waiting for a sign of recognition.
He frowned.
"What is this?
A gag?"
I assured him it was not a gag, and if he looked and thought hard enough he would know me.
He shrugged and turned to put his combs and scissors away.
"I got no time for guessing games. Got to close up.