Searching for Caleb

Then she wondered why she bothered explaining, for Caleb only looked disappointed. He had some sort of expectation of them that Justine couldn't understand. On the trip, for instance, his moods had kept shifting until she hadn't known what to think of him. First he was elated, almost all the way to New Orleans. It was her favorite view of Caleb so far: his face alight, looking much like Duncan's, just as she had always known it would. He was tense with excitement and his hands moved rapidly as he spoke. (Yet Justine had been taught that a Peck does not gesticulate.) He told her his whole life, everything that had happened to him since leaving Baltimore-buckets of life, torrents of names and places, snatches of song broken off and sentences left unfinished. She had the feeling that he had been saving it up for sixty years, until he could locate a family member. But then when he had finished and she questioned him on the fine points-"Whatever happened to the friend you went to New Orleans with?" "What sort of man was White-Eye Ramford?" "Did you ever think of coming home?"-he became morose and short of words. "I don't know. I don't know," he muttered. Thinking to cheer him up, she said, "When we get to New Orleans we'll buy you some shoes.

You can't get on a plane in paper slippers." But if anything, that only deepened his gloom. He looked out the window, his thumb and middle finger steadily stroking the corners of his mouth in a way that made her uncomfortable. But of course: he was mourning his brother. She should have thought. No doubt he had only been making an effort for her sake, earlier, and it had worn him out. So she let him sit in silence, and when they reached New Orleans she didn't mention his shoes again. He did, though. He became suddenly brisk. "Say now!" he said. "Weren't we going to change out of these paper scuffs?" We can't go back to the family looking unkempt."

"Well, if you want to," Justine said carefully.

"Unfortunately I am out of funds at the moment but-"

"Oh, I'll take care of that."

In that respect, at least, he showed his background. He did not make any sort of unseemly fuss over financial matters.

They had to stay overnight in a very poor hotel, for which Justine was apologetic, but Caleb didn't seem to mind. He retired early after eating a large quantity of salad; fresh fruits and vegetables were some sort of obsession with him. When he waved good night in the corridor he looked just fine, but the next morning on the plane he was up and down, up and down. Talkative, then moody. Mostly moody. He asked her unlikely questions. "How many ships do you have?"

"Ships? What?"

"Do you own or lease them now?"

"Ships! Oh," said Justine. "We're not importers any more."

"You're not?"

"The family sold it all."

"Why! When did they do that?"

"Right after you left," said Justine.

Then he sank into himself again, and hardly spoke until they had landed and caught the two connecting buses to Caro Mill. When she led him up Watchmaker Street she felt she was laboring with him, he looked so dismal. But at her front walk he stopped short. "Here?" he said. "Is this where you live?"

For the first time she noticed how unsteady the house appeared, how the screens bagged and the steps buckled. She wondered what that rusty motor was doing on the porch. "Yes, it is," she said.

She felt him staring at her. She focused on the tips of her shoes.

"This is your house?"

"Yes."

"And what is this yellow stuff in the yard?"

"Why, cornstalks."

"I mean-eating corn?"

"Well, Duncan wanted to grow some, you see, and he said the back didn't get enough sun. He said we could grind up the garbage for fertilizer and spread it on the-"

She felt herself growing desperate, trying to convince him that really their life was perfectly logical. But she shouldn't have bothered. For when finally she raised her eyes (just a glance at his face to see how she was doing) she found the corners of his mouth perked upwards like Duncan's, his expression bright and merry again. He was back to being cheerful. And he remained cheerful ever after, growing more light-hearted day by day. He fit right in. She couldn't understand him.

Sometimes Duncan let the Battue disks fall silent a moment while he read the newspapers. Help Wanted, of course. "Look, Justine, someone in Virginia wants a zoo keeper."

"You've never been a zoo keeper, Duncan."

"Right."

"I mean you don't know the first thing about it."

"Right."

"You have a job. Duncan, you have a job, and you should have been there three hours ago."

Then he would rise, steady on his feet but a little slow, his face luminous and calm and angelic as only bourbon could make it, and he would very, very carefully button himself into his jacket. "If you really want to know," he said (but speaking in Caleb's general direction), "I don't believe in people sacrificing themselves for the sake of other people."

"But neither do I, Duncan," she said.

He didn't have any answer for that.