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Show 7/7 will or prayer or promise or s a c r i f i c e. The next day, my mother was i l l and I went to do some light cleaning for her and to deliver my Mother's Day momentos, since the family, would be in meetings throughout Sunday. While I was washing dishes, my f a t h e r stopped in to see how my mother was f e e l i n g . We had a brief, impersonal chat as my father stood beside me at the counter, peeling an apple. The knife was sharp as ever and the peeling slid rapidly into the bowl in one long, curved piece. His hands were clean as ever, the rectangular n a i l s pared short and smooth by the same sharp knife. I had never seen him use a whetstone, but the blade was always sharp as though the grindstone of smooth $wn his l i f e kept the edges honed while f i l i n g * his^rough spots. "I'm glad you're with your mother today," he said, then said it again. before I was perplexed. My mother had been sickerAin her breakdown and I had not always been on hand to help her. I wondered, with a trace of the old suspicion, why he was so glad. Had he wanted to see me, to talk about my writing or about Brian? Or was he glad because my being there permitted him to leave, to go on to other responsibilities. The old shadows and uncertainties stifled me. I smiled and waited for an explanation. He said nothing, and I grew uncomfortable. I searched desperately for words,then remembered something d.iseusS I had promised to A with him- "Daddy - there's a woman, a girl, at the university, an architecture student who is studying polygamous dwellings. I thought perhaps...! could tell her about...you." |