When he was quite small Cal had discovered a secret. If he moved very quietly to where his father was sitting and if he leaned very lightly against his father’s knee, Adam’s hand would rise automatically and his fingers would caress Cal’s shoulder. It is probable that Adam did not even know he did it, but the caress brought such a raging flood of emotion to the boy that he saved this special joy and used it only when he needed it. It was a magic to be depended upon. It was the ceremonial symbol of a dogged adoration.

Things do not change with a change of scene. In Salinas, Cal had no more friends than he had had in King City. Associates he had, and authority and some admiration, but friends he did not have. He lived alone and walked alone.

2

If Lee knew that Cal left the house at night and returned very late, he gave no sign, since he couldn’t do anything about it. The night constables sometimes saw him walking alone. Chief Heiserman made it a point to speak to the truant officer, who assured him that Cal not only had no record for playing hooky but actually was a very good student. The chief knew Adam of course, and since Cal broke no windows and caused no disturbance he told the constables to keep their eyes open but to let the boy alone unless he got into trouble.

Old Tom Watson caught up with Cal one night and asked, “Why do you walk around so much at night?”

“I’m not bothering anybody,” said Cal defensively.

“I know you’re not. But you ought to be home in bed.”

“I’m not sleepy,” said Cal, and this didn’t make any sense at all to Old Tom, who couldn’t remember any time in his whole life when he wasn’t sleepy. The boy looked in on the fan-tan games in Chinatown, but he didn’t play. It was a mystery, but then fairly simple things were mysteries to Tom Watson and he preferred to leave them that way.

On his walks Cal often recalled the conversation between Lee and Adam he had heard on the ranch. He wanted to dig out the truth. And his knowledge accumulated slowly, a reference heard in the street, the gibing talk in the pool hall. If Aron had heard the fragments he would not have noticed, but Cal collected them. He knew that his mother was not dead. He knew also, both from the first conversation and from the talk he heard, that Aron was not likely to be pleased at discovering her.

One night Cal ran into Rabbit Holman, who was up from San Ardo on his semi-annual drunk. Rabbit greeted Cal effusively, as a country man always greets an acquaintance in a strange place. Rabbit, drinking from a pint flask in the alley behind the Abbot House, told Cal all the news he could think of. He had sold a piece of his land at a fine price and he was in Salinas to celebrate, and celebration meant the whole shebang. He was going down the Line and show the whores what a real man could do.

Cal sat quietly beside him, listening. When the whisky got low in Rabbit’s pint Cal slipped away and got Louis Schneider to buy him another one. And Rabbit put down his empty pint and reached for it again and came up with a full pint.

“Funny,” he said, “thought I only had one. Well, it’s a good mistake.”

Halfway down the second pint Rabbit had not only forgotten who Cal was but how old he was. He remembered, however, that his companion was his very dear old friend.

“Tell you what, George,” he said. “You let me get a little more of this here lead in my pencil and you and me will go down the Line. Now don’t say you can’t afford it. The whole shebang’s on me. Did I tell you I sold forty acres? Wasn’t no good neither.”

And he said, “Harry, tell you what let’s do. Let’s keep away from them two-bit whores. We’ll go to Kate’s place. Costs high, ten bucks, but what the hell! They got a circus down there. Ever seen a circus, Harry? Well, it’s a lulu. Kate sure knows her stuff. You remember who Kate is, don’t you, George? She’s Adam Trask’s wife, mother of them damn twins. Jesus! I never forget the time she shot him and ran away. Plugged him in the shoulder and just runoff. Well, she wasn’t no good as a wife but she’s sure as hell a good whore. Funny too—you know how they say a whore makes a good wife? Ain’t nothing new for them to experiment with. Help me up a little, will you, Harry? What was I saying?”

“Circus,” said Cal softly.

“Oh, yeah. Well, this circus of Kate’s will pop your eyes out. Know what they do?”

Cal walked a little behind so that Rabbit would not notice him. Rabbit told what they did. And what they did wasn’t what made Cal sick. That just seemed to him silly. It was the men who watched. Seeing Rabbit’s face under the streetlights, Cal knew what the watchers at the circus would be like.

They went through the overgrown yard and up on the unpainted porch. Although Cal was tall for his age he walked high on his toes. The guardian of the door didn’t look at him very closely. The dim room with its low secret lamps and the nervous waiting men concealed his presence.

3

Always before, Cal wanted to build a dark accumulation of things seen and things heard—a kind of a warehouse of materials that, like obscure tools, might come in handy, but after the visit to Kate’s he felt a desperate need for help.

One night Lee, tapping away at his typewriter, heard a quiet knock on his door and let Cal in. The boy sat down on the edge of the bed, and Lee let his thin body down in the Morris chair. He was amused that a chair could give him so much pleasure. Lee folded his hands over his stomach as though he wore Chinese sleeves and waited patiently. Cal was looking at a spot in the air right over Lee’s head.