They’re not goin to throw him right out.

I need to use your telephone anyway. It’s long distance but I got money.

That’s all right. It’s in the front room where it always was.

He spoke with a young woman who would make no commitment as to Paul’s whereabouts. He was put on hold and treacly music began to play softly in the background. He was on hold for some time then she came back on the line. Mr. Meecham is engaged right at the moment, she said.

I’m fairly engaged myself, the old man said. You get him on here. I aim to clear this mess up and no mistake about it.

I’m sorry, sir. Mr. Meecham is tied up right now. His time is very valuable.

If I hadn’t sold calves and pigs to send him through law school it wouldn’t be worth fifteen cents. You get him on this phone.

There was the dawning of knowledge in the woman’s voice. Are you Mr. Meecham’s father by any chance?

There’s rumors to that effect.

Well, I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t understand. He’s on his way to court but I’ll have him paged. He has a beeper. Give me your number and I’ll have him return your call in a moment.

Meecham read her the number and cradled the phone. Paul’s got a beeper, he thought to himself. He was unsure exactly what a beeper was but he was vaguely impressed nonetheless. He tried to call Paul’s face to mind but it was the child Paul had been that came swimming up from the depths of memory and the circles the adult Paul moved in were as strange to them both as some continent across the waters. He sat staring at the telephone as if he expected it to perform some bizarre and clever trick he had taught it.

He picked it up on the first ring.

Dad?

So you got you a beeper, the old man said.

Dad, what is this about?

I want them folks out of the house and I want them out today.

What?

That Choat bunch. Layin up there sleepin in your mama’s bed and eatin out of her dishes. Looks like you’d be ashamed of yourself. I want em gone.

Where are you calling from?

Where do you think I’m callin from? Thurl Chessör’s place, they’ve done broke my phone or somethin. Are you goin to get them out today or not?

There was a pause. What are you doing there? You’re supposed to be in the nursing home in Linden.

Supposed to be? I’m supposed to be where I damn well please. Nobody tells me where I’m supposed to be, nobody ever did. What is this mess you’ve cooked up?

There was another pause, this one longer, and this time Paul’s face did come to mind, like a slowly developing photographic plate, the thin face filled out with rich food and prosperity, perhaps tanned from the golf course, the pudgy fingers massaging his temples as if the old man was giving him a headache.

This is getting too complicated for me, Paul finally said.