Nathan set the cupcake, the roast duck, the photograph and the gift on the wood table between Nat and himself.
Nat picked up the photo.
“What’s this?”
“Your new dog.”
“You got me a dog for my birthday?”
“No. I got you a dog the day you got arrested. I just hadn’t gotten around to taking his picture until now.”
“Well, that makes more sense. Since you didn’t know I wouldn’t be around to meet him. Too bad about that. Are you going to take him back?”
“No.”
“You’re keeping him for me?”
“If you want him.”
“Of course I want him. What’s his name?”
“He doesn’t have one. He’s your dog, so you name him.”
Then the boy’s eyes landed on the wrapped gift. The mystery of it clearly knocked all other thoughts out of his head. Even thoughts of dogs could not withstand the curiosity evoked by a wrapped gift.
“Open it now?” the boy asked.
The guard looked over Nat’s shoulder to assure himself it was no more than Nathan had claimed.
“You may open it whenever you choose.”
The boy tore off the paper and stared at the gift. “It looks like a tiny little cap,” he said, turning it over in his fingers.
“It is.”
The guard backed off to the corner of the room again.
“Who could wear a cap this small?”
“You, when you were only one day old.”
“You mean, I was wearing this?”
“That’s right.”
“When you found me? I was wearing this? And what else?”
“You were wrapped in a sweater. A full-size adult sweater.”
Nathan tried to gauge the boy’s reaction from his face. His eyes. To see if the gift pleased or displeased him. It had been clear to Nathan all along that the pendulum could swing either way.
And yet it was a risk he’d felt compelled to take.
But there was nothing in the young man’s face by which Nathan could judge. It was something like trying to peer into a room while the shades are pulled down.
Nathan wondered briefly if life was hard for Nat in here. If the other young men were bigger. Tougher. But it was an unanswerable question, and one he could do nothing about, anyway. He considered it none of his business, and was certainly not about to ask.
“Now where did she get a cap this small, do you think?”
“My theory is that she knitted it. I know she was a knitter.”
Nat snorted. “Right. Like my grandmother. Must run in the family. I never once had a hat or a scarf from the store. Or socks or mittens, for that matter. So, how did you get this? Wasn’t it, like, evidence or something?”
“They took it off you in the emergency room and just threw it on the floor.”
“And you’ve kept it all this time? Why give it to me now?”
“I wanted you to know that she at least had some ambivalence. She left you to die but part of her wanted you to live. She was trying to keep you warm.”
Nat sat back in his chair. Suddenly. Hitting the chair back with a thump. He twirled the tiny cap around his index finger a few times, then tossed it up in the air, caught it, and crushed it tightly in his palm.
“That’s not a lot of consolation,” he said.
“No, but it’s some. We don’t always get much. I’m sorry if it’s not a good gift. I still don’t really know you. I don’t know what kind of things you like.”
Nat’s palm opened and he dropped the cap on to the table between them. Then he picked it up and smoothed it out. Reshaped it carefully. Set it back down, more gently this time. In fact, with an almost exaggerated gentleness.
“No, it’s good,” the boy said. “It’s a good present.” He sat quietly for a minute, then added, “The baseball mitt was good, too. I really liked that.”
“Good,” Nathan said. “That’s something.”
“And the ant farm, but my grandmother wouldn’t let me keep it,” Nat said. “And also …” But he never finished the thought. He picked up the photo of the mongrel pup. “This is the best one ever. It sucks that I don’t get to meet him.”
“You will.”
“And thanks for the roast duck. I’ve been hungry for it ever since that day we went hunting. Well. You went hunting.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it as much as I do.”
“I have a question for you. But I know you probably don’t know the answer. But I’m going to ask it anyway. Just to hear what you think.”
“All right.”
“Do you think it was something like suicide?”
“You mean your mother?”
“Yeah. My mother. So she’s dying of this infection but she never tells anybody. She just lets it kill her.”
“It’s crossed my mind.”
“Maybe she felt guilty.”
“I’m sure she did. I have no doubt of that. There’s not one person I know of on the planet — not one person with a normal mind, that is — who could do a thing like that and not feel guilty. In fact, I think that …” Nathan pointed to the tiny cap, sitting between them on the plain, scarred wood table. “I think that is reasonable evidence of her guilt. Right there. Which is why I brought it.”
They sat in silence for an unsettling length of time. Nathan resisted the temptation to interject any more of his thoughts. It seemed more respectful to leave the boy alone to think his own thoughts.
Which he seemed to be quite busy doing.
“Well. Good,” Nat said at last. “She deserved to feel guilty.”
Whether or not she deserved to die from that guilt was a subject left unaddressed.
After a long, awkward silence, Nat spoke up suddenly, startling Nathan. “I’m naming him Feathers.”
“Feathers?”
“That’s right.”
“He doesn’t exactly have feathers. He’s more half wire-haired all over.”
“Well, of course he doesn’t have feathers. He’s not a bird, is he?”
“I meant feathers like the kind dogs have,” Nathan said. Nat’s face remained puzzled. “The long, flowing hair some dogs have on the backs of their legs. And on their chests. And tails. They’re called feathers.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that.”
“So, you’re naming your dog Feathers because …”
Nat only shrugged. “He just looks like a Feathers to me. So here’s another question for you. Can a bird with no feathers fly?”
“No.”
“Not ever?”
“Not under any circumstance I know of.” Then, after a moment to sort his thoughts, “No. That would be impossible. If you want a bird not to fly away, you clip its wing feathers. Without wing feathers it would be impossible for a bird to fly.”
“Right,” Nat said. “That’s pretty much what I thought.”