In “Selected Memories from a Life of Service,” by Stanley Hohner.
Around midnight I entered to ask if I could bring him something. The sight of him shocked me. His hair was wild, his face pale, with signs of recent tears plainly evident. I marveled at his agitated manner and wondered what might be the outcome if he did not find some relief. I had recently been to visit an iron-works in the state of Pennsylvania, where a steam-release valve had been demonstrated to me; the President’s state put me in mind of the necessity of such an apparatus.
Hilyard, op. cit., account of D. Strumphort, butler.
XX.
The unkempt gentleman was fussing over the small form now, stroking the hair, patting and rearranging the pale, doll-like hands.
roger bevins iii
As the lad stood nearby, uttering many urgent entreaties for his father to look his way, fuss over and pat him.
the reverend everly thomas
Which the gentleman appeared not to hear.
roger bevins iii
Then this already troubling and unseemly display descended to a new level of— hans vollman
We heard an intake of breath from the Reverend, who, appearance notwithstanding, is not easily shocked.
roger bevins iii
He is going to pick that child up, the Reverend said.
hans vollman
And so he did.
The man lifted the tiny form out of the— roger bevins iii
Sick-box.
hans vollman
The man bent, lifted the tiny form from the box, and, with surprising grace for one so ill-made, sat all at once on the floor, gathering it into his lap.
roger bevins iii
Sinking his head into the place between chin and neck, the gentleman sobbed, raggedly at first, then unreservedly, giving full vent to his emotions.
the reverend everly thomas
While the lad darted back and forth nearby, in an apparent agony of frustration.
hans vollman
For nearly ten minutes the man held the— roger bevins iii
Sick-form.
hans vollman
The boy, frustrated at being denied the attention he felt he deserved, moved in and leaned against his father, as the father continued to hold and gently rock the— the reverend everly thomas
Sick-form.
hans vollman
At one point, moved, I turned away from the scene and found we were not alone.
roger bevins iii
A crowd had gathered outside.
the reverend everly thomas
All were silent.
roger bevins iii
As the man continued to gently rock his child.
the reverend everly thomas
While his child, simultaneously, stood quietly leaning against him.
hans vollman
Then the gentleman began to speak.
roger bevins iii
The lad threw one arm familiarly around his father’s neck, as he must often have done, and drew himself in closer, until his head was touching his father’s head, the better to hear the words the man was whispering into the neck of the— hans vollman
His frustration then becoming unbearable, the boy began to— roger bevins iii
The lad began to enter himself.
hans vollman
As it were.
roger bevins iii
The boy began to enter himself; had soon entered himself entirely, and at this, the man began sobbing anew, as if he could feel the altered condition of that which he held.
the reverend everly thomas
It was all too much, too private, and I left that place, and walked alone.
hans vollman
As did I.
roger bevins iii
I lingered there, transfixed, uttering many prayers.
the reverend everly thomas
XXI.
Mouth at the worm’s ear, Father said: We have loved each other well, dear Willie, but now, for reasons we cannot understand, that bond has been broken. But our bond can never be broken. As long as I live, you will always be with me, child.
Then let out a sob Dear Father crying That was hard to see And no matter how I patted & kissed & made to console, it did no You were a joy, he said. Please know that. Know that you were a joy. To us. Every minute, every season, you were a—you did a good job. A good job of being a pleasure to know.
Saying all this to the worm! How I wished him to say it to me And to feel his eyes on me So I thought, all right, by Jim, I will get him to see me And in I went It was no bother at all Say, it felt all right Like I somewhat belonged in In there, held so tight, I was now partly also in Father And could know exactly what he was Could feel the way his long legs lay How it is to have a beard Taste coffee in the mouth and, though not thinking in words exactly, knew that the feel of him in my arms has done me good. It has. Is this wrong? Unholy? No, no, he is mine, he is ours, and therefore I must be, in that sense, a god in this; where he is concerned I may decide what is best. And I believe this has done me good. I remember him. Again. Who he was. I had forgotten somewhat already. But here: his exact proportions, his suit smelling of him still, his forelock between my fingers, the heft of him familiar from when he would fall asleep in the parlor and I would carry him up to— It has done me good.