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who stood like a pillar of rage over my grandfather. "Don't do it, Simon," Daddy pleaded. "You
can't do it."
Uncle Simon's arms shook with the effort to hold back and the effort to sweep down. There was no doubt in my mind that he had the power to slice
Grandad in half.
"Simon!" Mommy shouted. She let go of my
hand. "Isaac. tell him. Tell him!" she commanded
Daddy. He looked at her, then at me and then he
stepped closer.
"Simon, he's your father," he said. "He's your
real father."
Uncle Simon looked at Daddy and then down at
Grandad, who had his arm extended up to try to ward
off the deadly blow when it came. He clutched his
Bible in his hand as if it would act as a shield. Uncle Simon shook his head.
"Yes." Daddy said. "It's true, Simon. It's true.
Tell him!" he shouted at Grandad.
To me it seemed as if the air had stopped
moving around us and we were frozen in time.
Nothing moved, not a bird, not a rabbit. The whole
world was holding its breath.
Grandad shook his head.
"I don't confess to him," he cried. "I don't
confess to him."
"Simon," Mommy said in a softer tone. "Isaac
is telling you the truth. You can't do this. Well make it
all right. Please. Simon."
I was crying and shaking so much. I couldn't
have spoken if I had wanted to. Uncle Simon gazed
down at Grandad a moment and then he tossed away
the scythe and marched toward his flowers, kneeling
