"Well, there are other people I like more. Come on, let's catch a flick."

Both of us liked going to a four o'clock show. Theaters are empty then and the whole place is yours.

Despite Lily's oftrepeated warning about ruining our appet.i.tes, I bought a superjumbo tub of popcorn with extra b.u.t.ter and we hunkered down to watch the latest HighTech/Robot/s.p.a.ce Opera extravaganza where the machines had all the best lines while the humans spent their time running down corridors or shooting at each other. Besides his monsters, Lincoln was also going through a phase where he loved robots. His walls were covered with photos of Robocops 1 & 2, R2D2, Robot Jox, etc. He practiced walking and eating like one, drew pictures of them, the works. When I was a boy I had my pa.s.sions too, which included comic books and autographs, among other things, so I fully understood how these obsessions worked. As a result, I was the one who usually went to these G.o.dawful films with Lincoln as well as anything else that had to do with them.

Walking out of the theater into a warm early evening, we discussed whether it was better to build a killer robot with Gatling guns for hands or only your regular crushing pincers.

"Lincoln, I've got a question. It may sound a little funny, but answer it anyway."

"Okay. Is it about robots?"

"No, about you. I want you to tell me your earliest memories. The things you remember from when you were a little, little kid. But don't make it up. Don't tell any stories, okay? Only truth."

"I don't know. I don't think your memory is alive when you're that little."

"Sure it is. Try."

"Okay. I remember climbing out of my crib and walking into the TV room. Mom was watching TV and eating oatmeal. She took me on her lap and gave me some. She was really surprised I got out. That was funny. I remember the oatmeal."

"Great. What else?" We walked slowly down the street. He took my hand and held it in his soft one.

"I'm thinking. How come you want to know?"

"Because I'm interested in you. Don't you think it's interesting to know a person's first memories?

Like the first thing they ever remember about the world?"

"I guess. What was yours ?"

"Riding in my father's taxicab and smelling his cigarettes. The ceiling of the car was a kind of gray upholstery. I remember the color very well."

That appeared to satisfy him. "I remember the oatmeal thing. Also when we got Cobb. I remember being very small and this big giant dog came into the house and scared me. Mom kept saying it was okay, he was nice, but I wouldn't go up to him. But you know what's funny is he was scareder than me.

You know how he doesn't like to be touched or anything. That's because the guy who had him before beat him up and made him scared. Mom said when we got him, he would go out a door but not come in.

He'd go down the stairs but not up them.

"Oh yeah, and I remember my dad once."

"That's not possible, Linc. You never saw your father."

"Did too! I know I saw him once when I was a baby. I remember his face and I remember he put his finger on my nose like this. Once." He tapped his nose with his index finger. "Really, Max, I swear."

"I believe you. It's just different from the story your mother told. She said you never saw your father. And he died when you were only a year old."

But what if he'd seen his real father? What if the man who'd touched his nose was Gregory Meier, not the all too mysterious Rick Aaron, who was turning more and more ectoplasmic as time went by? It made sense."Tell me about it."

"I remember Mom holding me in her arms and this big man's face like a balloon coming down on me. Then he touched my nose like I told you. That's all, but I knew it was my dad."

"Did he say anything?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. Max, can I talk to you seriously now?" He stopped walking and turned to face me. I stopped too.

"Sure."

"Elvis had this newspaper that said there was a woman in Europe who had s.e.x with two hundred men in one night. Is that possible? He said it was, but I think it's bull."

"Where does he get these magazines? Was it The Truth again? Where does he buy that rag?

Who sells it to a tenyearold boy?"

"He says he steals it from the drugstore. I don't know where he gets the others. He's always showing me stuff with naked girls or things that say a guy cooked and ate his whole family. No, but really, is that one true? n.o.body can do it that much. Can you have s.e.x that much?"

"No! Come on, you know those newspapers are goofy and full of baloney. We talked about it already. Most people are happy to have s.e.x once or twice a week."

His mouth tightened and I could see he was biting the inside of his lip. "I never asked anyone questions like this, Max. Not Mom or anyone. You're the first, like, adult I know I can talk to who doesn't get ticked off or upset or something."

"Your mom's a good egg. She'd answer you."

"Unhunh! She gets really angry at me sometimes when I ask questions. You don't know, because you're not always there. You're different. You're like my friend and my father at the same time. I know I had a dad, but you take his place in every way."

"Thank you very much, Lincoln. That makes me feel wonderful inside."

He sounded indignant. "It's true! Living with Mom was okay, but you know how we don't get along. She doesn't see things the way I do. Sometimes I don't ask her things or tell her what I feel in my heart 'cause she'll flip out or something. You're different. You and I talk about everything 'cause I know you won't dump on me or yell 'cause I asked something s.e.xy or maybe stupid... I don't know. Ohh, I've just got to have a hug from you!" Startling me, he grabbed me around the waist and hugged really hard. People walking by us on the street looked and smiled. A man and his boy and their love for each other filling every corner of the world.

On the ride home, we had a pinballing discussion about robots, s.e.x, Elvis, Lily, me. Lincoln continued his endless list of "best/worst" questions in the usual rapidfire delivery: What was the name of my best friend when I was ten? What was the grossest car accident I ever saw? List my qualities for the greatestlooking woman in the world. Was Lily the best kisser I'd ever kissed? When he did this, and it was often, I imagined him compiling a neverending personality profile of me for his inner files. Once after a particularly long and grueling sessionwith Lily off in a corner of the room smilingI drew her a picture of the back of a small boy sitting at a giant desk with a giant quill pen in hand surrounded by ceilinghigh piles of folders and messy papers. I t.i.tled the drawing "Reviewing Max Fischer."

When we pulled into the driveway, he'd just finished asking if I thought G.o.d might be a plant.

Pulling up the hand brake, I stared ahead through the windshield. "A plant ? What makes you think that?"

"I don't know. It's possible, isn't it?"

"Yes, I guess so."

"Max, remember the time you said if G.o.d was so powerful, could He make a rock even He couldn't pick up? That's the coolest idea!"

"It is, but I didn't think it up."

"You didn't ? I told Elvis you did. Know what he said?"

"What?"

"That you're weird. Max, I gotta ask you one more thing. I haven't told Mom about this yet because I wanted us to talk about it first. Since you can't be my real father, you wanna be bloodbrothers?"

I was touched yet horrified. Sure, I'd become his blood brother; then as "family" I could tell him not only is Lily not your mother but she's going to have to go to jail too. What would happen when he heard the truth about her? Understood what she had done to him? I wanted to be his father, wanted to marry his false mother and live happily ever after with both of them. But none of it was possible now. I had to do something about the predicament; I couldn't ignore the appalling truth any longer. If nothing else, I had to confront her and ask: What are we going to do? What are we going to do with our love and perfect life now that we're doomed no matter how we slice it? I'd smiled on realizing that if she weren't the cause of it, then logical, clever Mrs. Aaron would have been the perfect person to go to for help with this monstrous problem. Excuse me, Lily, could you step out of your body a moment and help me with this trouble I'm having with you?

"What do you think?"

"About being blood brothers? I think it's a great idea. When would you want to do it?"

"Now! I'll go get a knife."

"Whoa, horsey! A knife ? Are you nuts? A little pin'll do just fine."

"Yeah, but a knife"

"A pin , Linc. I'll give you my blood, but not my arm."

He raced off, thrilled. We were about to go on an adventure together, just us two. His mother and the rest of life would have to wait outside while we did it.i.t was only ours and that's how he wanted it.

I did too. Tonight we'd p.r.i.c.k our fingers, press them together, and vow eternal brotherhood. A ceremony old as human friendship. We'd smear our shared red over the lens and blot out the imminent rest for a moment. So long as I didn't know what to do next, being happy with the boy an evening more was as good as things could be then.

Our house had been cleaned the day before. The wooden floors shone, pillows still lay plumped and in line on the couch, a sweet lingering smell of soap or furniture polish was in the air, despite Cobb's own ripe perfume. It would take three or four days of living in these rooms to make things wrinkled and ours again. I liked boththe clean order followed by the clutter and jumble that came from three people's full speed ahead across the same s.p.a.ce.

"Max, do you think this'll do?" He came running full tilt into the room, a long sewing needle held in front of him.

"Don't run ! I've told you not to run with something sharp in your hand. It's really dangerous!"

"Yeah, but I"

"But nothing, Lincoln! Think about it a minute and see how dangerous it is. You trip, you fall on it, and maybe it goes in your eye. Or into your neck "

"Okay. I believe you."

"No, you don't. You've got that look that says I'm being a drag. But look here and my expression says you're a total dope, running around with something sharp like that in your hand."

"A dope, huh?" Dropping the pin, he came at me in his usual bentover attack position for wrestling.

He went for my knees, but I grabbed him on either side of his waist and, picking him up, turned him upside downa move that never failed to make him shout his delight.

"Cheater! No fair! You're stronger. Let me down!"

"d.a.m.n right I'm stronger, dopo."

"Dopo?! All right, you're dead!" Upside down, he grabbed me around the waist and shook me side to side as best he could. Off balance, I stumbled with him in my arms across the floor. We were both laughing. He bit me on the leg, not hard but hard enough.

"Hey!"

"Attack!"

I loosened my hold just enough to make him think I was going to drop him. He squeezed harder.

"No!"

Wobbling us over to the couch, I dropped him there after making sure he'd fall on a soft target.

Lying on his back, he puffed and wiggled his fingers at me like tentacles. When I dropped down next tohim, he grabbed my head. We went at it on the couch, the floor, the couch again. I let him put a full nelson on me, then slipped out of it and put one on him. You have to be careful, though, because kids are sensitive about wrestling. Some want to win every time, others lose. It's a diplomatic act which, if you do it wrong, can end up a big insult. Lincoln liked it fiftyfifty. He liked being overwhelmed, held in the air by his feet so he could wail and thrash, but never too long. Next, he wanted you in his power a whilea long headlock or sitting on your chest and twisting your nose usually sufficed. The most endearing thing about wrestling with him was when he had you in a hold, he never tried to hurt. One grunt or yelp and he'd let go immediately and apologize like mad. In contrast, I'd once been foolish enough to wrestle with Elvis, at his insistence. The little germ circus punched me square in the b.a.l.l.s. "Accidentally," of course.

"I got you now!" Holding on tight, Lincoln rode the back of my leg as I elephantclomped around the living room, trumpeting like I imagined a wounded elephant would sound. Vocal effects were an integral part of our wrestling.

"Death to all Bee Hees!" He spanked me hard on the a.s.s.

"What's a Bee Hee?"

"You!"

"Bee Hees forever!" I turned and, bending down to peel him off, banged my head a real whack on a hanging lamp. It hit, I went to grab my head, the lamp swung out and back and hit me again. "Christ!"

"Max, are you okay?" His voice was stricken.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay. Did you see that? It hit me twice! Undoubtedly one of the dumbest things I've done in a long timetwice by the same lamp. You have to be very talented to do that!"

"Let me see. It's bleeding, Max!"

I turned to a wall mirror and saw a thick lip of blood above one of my eyebrows. Gaudy, but nothing serious. "It's okay. Would you go to the bathroom and get me a wet tissue and a couple of BandAids?"

"Sure you don't want to go to the hospital or something?"

"No, it's not that bad. Just get me those things, would you?"

He left and I checked myself in the mirror again. The perils of wrestling a tenyearold. An idea arrived. I called out, "Lincoln, where'd you put that pin? The one we were going to use before."

"I think it's on the table there." He returned with a dripping washcloth and a handful of BandAids.

"Why?"

"Because this, compadre, is my half of blood brothers! All you've gotta do now is p.r.i.c.k your finger and touch my head."

"Touch your cut ? That's disgusting, Max!"

"Hey, I'm ready with my blood, brother . You think I'm going to cut myself somewhere else? This is good, and there's certainly enough of it. Come on, find the pin and let's do the deed." I took the things from him and touched my head with the cloth.

"I found it."

"Good. Poke yourself in the finger carefully . We don't need two emergency cases."

"Will you do it for me? I'm a little nervous."

"Linc, we don't have to do this."

"No, no, I want to! I just don't want to do my finger myself, you know?"

"Okay, come here. Give it to me. Put your hand out."

"Is it going to hurt?" Through tightly squinted eyes, he watched me take the pin.

"No, it'll be one"