A Matter of Conviction

Di Pace’s house is a six-room ranch on a corner plot. The plot is seventy feet by one hundred feet as opposed to the sixty-by-one-hundred plots most of his neighbors own. But because the house is on a corner the back yard is really a side yard, and this disturbs Di Pace. He has always wanted a true back yard. The fact that he must barbecue on the side of his house where all the neighbors can see him embarrasses him. He is working in his side yard now, covering his bushes with tarpaulin. The houses of the development stretch in endless symmetry toward the horizon. There is a flawless blue sky overhead. The leaves on the spindly maples which sprout on the front lawns of all the houses are turning brown. There is a sharp wind, and it lifts Di Pace’s hair as he works. The sunshine is very bright. It is a good crisp fall day. It holds the death of summer and the promise of winter.

Di Pace works tirelessly and fastidiously. The brown sweater he is wearing is torn at the elbows and unraveling at the throat. But he likes this sweater. It was given to him by Mary years ago, when they were just kids going together. When he received it, it reminded him of an Army sweater. It smells of perspiration now, and there are streaks of paint on it from previous household chores, but it is a warm sweater and it fits him well. He has not gained a pound since the time Mary gave him the sweater. He knows he will never gain any weight or lose any. He is what he is, and he’ll be that until he dies.

When Danny approaches him, Di Pace does not look up. He continues working on the bush, securing the tarpaulin with cord, tying the cord tightly about the thicker lower stems. Danny is almost thirteen years old, a tall boy who is beginning to fill out, his awkward long-leggedness giving way to the well-proportioned body of a young man. He watches his father silently for a moment.)

DANNY: Pop?