Jay Cee: A Political Novel of the Presidency

'You day dreamin' Son?' Papa had paused in his forward plunge toward the corn field where tassels were already appearing in the tops of the corn stalks. He studied the clouds but concluded there was no rain in them.

'Yes'r,' the boy said. 'I'm studying the clouds.' The boy was always studying something. Papa started to roll a cigarette from his little bag of Bull Durham. He waited. The boy spoke again.

'That was a camel right up there when you came a minute ago. Now it looks more like an elephant...No it's changing. I believe it's going to be a rhinoceros. Or maybe a hippopotamus. I would like to see a zebra. Or a giraffe. Did you ever see a giraffe, Papa?'

'At the zoo. But you go on watching. It's as good as a box of animal crackers. And free.' Papa always bought the boy a box of animal crackers when he went to town with him and the boy would sit in the car and study the animal shapes endlessly, dreading to destroy their individual identity, until hunger overcame him. Then he bit off first their legs, then their heads and finally he ate the whole elephant, or giraffe, or zebra. But it was like eating one's own pets and he always felt sad after he had eaten them.

Papa went plunging on , bent forward as though he were racing against time. He took the railroad watch from his pocket and looked at it. The watch was an Illinois, twenty one jewels, eighteen karat gold. Roman numerals. A railroad watch famed for its accuracy. He had got it in a trade. But that story can wait. Papa turned in mid stride and called back to the boy. 'You better run to the house. Your Mammy might want you.' He started again, turned back. 'Tell her I'll be back for dinner.'

The boy raised up onto his elbows, picked a stem of grass, put it into his mouth and chewed it, imagining...What? Who knows the imaginings of a boy? Papa said the boy's mind was always active, and yet you never knew what he might be thinking. 'Yes'r. I'm going.' He got up and ran. A five year old boy does not walk. Not even when he is going to see if his Mama wants him. He runs.

He arrived breathless, for it is a good run from the grass meadow that borders the corn field in the bottom land that lies along Tobesofkee Creek. And Papa had said 'You better run to the house. Your Mammy may want you.' His Mama did want him. Wanted him near her, where she could see him, hear him, feel him. Even smell the child sweetness of him. And if he suddenly slipped from sight she wanted him to respond when she called 'John Calvin, are you there?...Don't get too far away. You hear?'