*Good,' Nathan said. *That's something.'

*And the ant farm, but my grandmother wouldn't let me keep it,' Nat said. *And also . . .' But he never finished the thought. He picked up the photo of the mongrel pup. *This is the best one ever. It sucks that I don't get to meet him.'

*You will.'

*And thanks for the roast duck. I've been hungry for it ever since that day we went hunting. Well. You went hunting.'

*You're welcome. I'm glad you like it as much as I do.'

*I have a question for you. But I know you probably don't know the answer. But I'm going to ask it anyway. Just to hear what you think.'

*All right.'

*Do you think it was something like suicide?'

*You mean your mother?'

*Yeah. My mother. So she's dying of this infection but she never tells anybody. She just lets it kill her.'

*It's crossed my mind.'

*Maybe she felt guilty.'

*I'm sure she did. I have no doubt of that. There's not one person I know of on the planet a not one person with a normal mind, that is a who could do a thing like that and not feel guilty. In fact, I think that. . .' Nathan pointed to the tiny cap, sitting between them on the plain, scarred wood table. *I think that is reasonable evidence of her guilt. Right there. Which is why I brought it.'

They sat in silence for an unsettling length of time. Nathan resisted the temptation to interject any more of his thoughts. It seemed more respectful to leave the boy alone to think his own thoughts.

Which he seemed to be quite busy doing.

*Well. Good,' Nat said at last. *She deserved to feel guilty.'

Whether or not she deserved to die from that guilt was a subject left unaddressed.

After a long, awkward silence, Nat spoke up suddenly, startling Nathan. *I'm naming him Feathers.'

*Feathers?'

*That's right.'

*He doesn't exactly have feathers. He's more half wirehaired all over.'

*Well, of course he doesn't have feathers. He's not a bird, is he?'

*I meant feathers like the kind dogs have,' Nathan said. Nat's face remained puzzled. *The long, flowing hair some dogs have on the backs of their legs. And on their chests. And tails. They're called feathers.'

*Oh. I didn't know that.'

*So, you're naming your dog Feathers because . . .'

Nat only shrugged. *He just looks like a Feathers to me. So here's another question for you. Can a bird with no feathers fly?'

*No.'

*Not ever?'

*Not under any circumstance I know of.' Then, after a moment to sort his thoughts, *No. That would be impossible. If you want a bird not to fly away, you clip its wing feathers. Without wing feathers it would be impossible for a bird to fly.'

*Right,' Nat said. *That's pretty much what I thought.'

2 October 1976.

He Tries to Answer Why.

Fortunately in some ways, and unfortunately in others, Nat had been sentenced to a juvenile detention facility more than two and a half hours from Nathan's home. The long drive was the discouraging factor. That and the fact that visitation was only allowed three times a week.

The good news to Nathan was that the place held no memories. And it held no one who harbored memories of him.

And several of the employees in the new facility were actually quite civil and kind. Like Roger, for example, the guard who supervised Nathan's visits. On some occasions, Roger actually spoke to Nathan. As if Nathan were a friend.

And since Roger was often the only one to speak to Nathan on such visits, his kindness felt extremely welcome.

As had so often been the case over the previous year, the boy said nearly nothing during that day's visit.

So, as had become Nathan's habit, he took out a book and began reading to Nat. It seemed the logical way to solve a dilemma. To miss a visiting day was not a viable option. Nor was talking in monologue form, as if to himself or to a wall. And he certainly could not control the responses of another. Especially not this other.

And they couldn't just stare at each other for an hour and a half.

Nathan guessed that perhaps Nat was having a hard time holding his own in this difficult environment. That perhaps he was learning he was not as tough as he'd previously thought. And that the situation was making him sullen. But Nat didn't seem to care to discuss the matter. And Nathan remained unwilling to pry.

On this day, he read to Nat from the ideas and opinions of Albert Einstein.

He read the section about our inherent social structure as humans. How our actions and desires are inextricably bound up with the existence of other human beings.

When he paused to turn a page, Nat made his only comment for the day.

He said, *Thought this guy was supposed to be smart.'

*I think it's a matter of provable record that Einstein was smart,' Nathan said.

Nat only snorted.

Then, undeterred, Nathan continued to read from Einstein's writings until Roger signaled *Time's Up' for the day.

Roger looked up and smiled as he buzzed Nathan through the security door.

*Think it helps to read to him like that?'

*Well,' Nathan said. *I read somewhere that it helps to read to a patient in a coma. So, in comparison, I suppose my patient is more responsive than that.'

Roger laughed. A bit longer and harder than necessary.

Then he said, *I'd say you're the patient one. Driving all this way. Three times a week. Just like clockwork. I could set my watch by you.'

*Does that seem remarkable?' Nathan asked.

*Oh, boy. You have no idea. Most of these kids, their parents probably live no more than twenty minutes from here, and they're lucky to get a few minutes a month. Or unlucky, as the case may be.'

*Somebody had to break the unfortunate parental stereotype,' Nathan said. *I still don't think it seems all that remarkable.'

*It does when you consider he barely knew you three days before he got himself in custody.'

*No,' Nathan said. *I've known him all his life.'

Roger lifted his eyebrows slightly. *He's lying, then?'

*Not lying. He sees it differently than I do. But I'm not his father or grandfather.'

*I know. I heard about it. I know we're not supposed to know stuff like that, but word gets around. I'm not trying to invade your privacy, believe me. But I just wondered.'

Nathan could feel a sort of leaning-in on the part of this man, and realized quite suddenly that Roger had been burning to ask questions and make comments for some time. But he had been careful not to overstep his bounds, which Nathan respected. And which made Nathan kindly disposed toward answering.

Roger continued. *It's just such an unusual situation. It's pretty rare when something like that even happens around here. So I'm just kind of curious about it, you know? But with no disrespect intended. It just makes you wonder about the ripples that go out from that one act. Is it because you saved his life? Because I heard once of some Eastern religion whose devotees believed if you save someone's life, you're for ever responsible for his soul. Or was that the American Indians?'

*No matter,' Nathan said. *Since I don't believe a word of it, anyway.'

*Why, then?' Roger asked. He seemed sincerely curious. He appeared to hang on the dead air between the question and the answer. Nathan was willing to believe it was personal curiosity. He did not expect Roger to turn his reply into jailhouse gossip. He hoped he would not be disappointed. *Why the remarkable commitment?'

*Why not?' Nathan asked. *What else have I done with my life that's remarkable?'

Part Four.

Nathan Bates.

8 May 1978.

Gross.

Roger came into his cell at the usual time, to say the usual thing. Or so Nat was sure.

He'd been napping. Without meaning to. He'd been drifting in and out of sleep. Dreaming about Jack. About working out in the gym with Jack. In the dream, Nat's chest and arm development matched Jack's exactly.

Nat lay on his back on his cot, careful not to get up, or sit up, or take any other action that might reflect caring.

It was such a regular event, each visiting day, that his two bad-tempered cellmates paid no attention. In fact, they focused a great deal of their attention into paying no attention. A hint of negativity hung in the air around each such occasion. Roger had several times said it was jealousy, which Nat could not imagine. Had he believed it, he would gladly have invited either of his cellmates to go sit at the table in his place. And, on their return, keep their mouths firmly shut about the thoughts of Ernest Hemingway on fishing, Albert Einstein on society, or President Carter on the fiscal realities of the country this year.

*You got visitors,' Roger said.

It was such a strange thing for him to say, such a thought out of place, that Nat honestly believed he had misspoken. He waited briefly for Roger to correct himself. To say he had meant visitor. Singular.

He never did.

*Visitors?'

*Yeah. You know what that is? It's like a visitor. Like you always get. Only in this case it's more than one.'

*Who?'

*Well, here's a thought on that. Raise your ass up off your cot, take it out into the visiting room, and then your eyes will tell you everything you need to know.'

Nat sighed deeply.

At least it wasn't two total strangers. At least it was only one.

Nat sat across the table from The Man and some woman he'd dragged along. Some woman the old guy's age. She smiled at Nat. He frowned and slumped deeper into his seat.

The old man seemed to need to break the silence.

*Nat, this is Eleanor. Eleanor, this is the young man I've told you so much about for so long. Nat.'

*What did you tell her about me?' Nat asked.

About this time Nat noticed that Roger the guard had stationed himself too closely by. He stood with his back against the wall, arms crossed, close enough to eavesdrop on the conversation. He stood in Nat's line of vision but behind his visitors, out of their sight.

Roger shook his head slightly at Nat's question.

Great, Nat thought. The rudeness police.

He slumped even further in his seat, and resolved to say nothing.

The old man went on talking for a good five minutes or so. It could have been longer. It certainly felt longer. He seemed to be the only person in the room willing to talk, and so he did. He went on about how he and this old woman had first met something like twenty years ago, and how they'd met again on the day Nat got arrested, and how they'd been seeing each other for a couple of years now, while Nat was away.

While he talked, Nat occasionally felt the old woman's eyes searching him. He was careful to look away. But it was hard to avoid her eyes and Roger's at the same time. And Roger seemed determined to make a point with his eyes, too.