The Morning and the Evening by Joan Williams Page A

gone slowly away, and a man near him remarked that it was a relief to get that done. Someone touched him on the shoulder to go to the bathroom, and when he passed through the kitchen he saw more cakes and pies on the table than he had ever seen all together before. He sat on the porch again later, thinking of them. The sound of talking went on around and above him, rising and falling like bee hums; he rocked with the rhythm, warm air falling over him and falling away again, the smells of grass and clover so intense, he knew how it would feel to have his face in them.
    For a while all he knew after that was the far-off hum of speech and the sweet smell of clover; and after that, for a long time, all he knew was the look of the black car going away.
    When he woke, he saw a group of people standing at the gate, shaking hands all around. Carrying cakes and pies, everyone left but two men. The one he knew best, Wilroy Sheaffer, said, “He’s awake,” as they came back across the porch.
    The other, Cotter May, said, “You want some supper, Jake?”
    There were still a few people in the yard, and he could hear someone in the house. The day had lessened, and with it the heat. He stretched his legs out and rocked a little bit, and then he nodded. Just as the two men were turning away, Jake got up suddenly and caught Wilroy by the sleeve. He told him and told him about the chickens, pointing at the hen house until finally Wilroy understood. “You hear that, Cotter,” he said. “He knows it’s time to feed them chickens. It’s been done, Jake,” he said. “It’s all done been taken care of. Everything.” He called into the kitchen to his wife, who had been a friend of Jake’s mother, “Mary Margaret! Woman, fix this boy some supper.”
    When his wife came from the kitchen, he said, “Do you know this boy knew it was time to feed them chickens?”
    Mary Margaret beamed at Jake. “Well, now, I declare. Your supper’s on the table, Jake. Table ,” she said, raising her voice and her finger to point at the same time.
    Everybody watched him as he went inside. “That boy is near ’bout old as I am,” Cotter said from the swing.
    â€œOh well, you know,” Mary Margaret said, in a hushing tone.
    Cotter’s spinster sister, Ruth Edna, who had been closer to Jake and his mother than anyone, had come onto the porch from the kitchen now. She gave Cotter a swat on the head with one of the cardboard fans the undertaker had left. “Now we don’t know how much he does know ,” she said.
    Mary Margaret said, “We ought to go in and see about him. We’re the ones to, now.”
    â€œWell, then we got to get on home,” Wilroy said.
    They all went down the hall, single file. “I hate to think of all we got to do when we get there,” Mary Margaret said.
    The Mays lived together, and Ruth Edna looked over her shoulder at her brother. “Us too,” she said meaningfully.
    â€œNow I don’t no’m,” Cotter said, grimacing. He rubbed his hand across his back. “This day has been about all I can take. I’m wore out.” He coughed lightly, ignoring the thin set of his sister’s lips.
    Jake was seated at the table carefully picking the lima beans out of his bowl of succotash: popping them into his mouth and sucking his fingers loudly. They all huddled around him making little sounds, offering a spoon and tucking a napkin under his chin. Finally they decided to leave him alone. “Let be what’ll be,” was the way Wilroy put it; and they were all anxious to get home.
    The last stragglers, who had been on a little inspection tour of the house and yard, came around to the back of the house just then and yelled up that they were going. “Wait a minute,” Mary Margaret said. “Did you all bring the chocolate cake or the banana pudding?”
    â€œPudding and a little pan of