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“Speak up； John；’ said the teacher； gently。
On the edge of tears； he mumbled his name and waited。 The principal； a woman with whitehair and an iron face； looked down at him。
‘You’re a very bright boy； John Grimes；’ she said。 ‘Keep up the good work。’
Then she walked out of the room。
That moment gave him； from that time on； if not a weapon at least a shield； he apprehendedtotally； without belief or understanding； that he had in himself a power that other people lacked；that he could use this to save himself； to raise himself； and that； perhaps； with this power he mightone day win that love which he so longed for。 This was not； in John； a faith subject to death oralteration； nor yet a hope subject to destruction； it was his identity； and part； therefore； of thatwickedness for which his father beat him and to which he clung in order to withstand his father。
His father’s arm； rising and falling； might make him cry； and that voice might cause him totremble； yet his father could never be entirely the victor； for John cherished something that hisfather could not reach。 It was his hatred and his intelligence that he cherished； the one feeding theother。 He lived for the day when his father would be dying and he； John； would curse him on hisdeath…bed。 And this was why； though he had been born in faith and had been surrounded all his lifeby the saints and by their prayers and their rejoicing； and though the tabernacle in which theyworshipped was more pletely real to him that the several precarious homes in which he and hisfamily had lived； John’s heart was hardened against the Lord。 His father was God’s minister； theambassador of the King of Heaven； and John could not bow before the throne of grace without firstkneeling to his father。 On his refusal to do this had his life depended； and John’s secret heart hadflourished in its wickedness until the day his sin first overtook him。
In the midst of all his wonderings he fell asleep again； and when he woke up this time and got outof bed his father had gone to the factory； where he would work for half a day。 Roy was sitting inthe kitchen； quarrelling with their mother。 The baby； Ruth； sat in her high chair banging on the traywith an oatmeal…covered spoon。 This meant that she was in a good mood； she would not spend theday howling； for reasons known only to herself； allowing no one but her mother to touch her。
Sarah was quiet； not chattering to…day； or at any rate not yet； and stood near the stove； arms folded；staring at Roy with the flat black eyes； her father’s eyes； that made her look so old。
Their mother； her head tied up in an old rag； sipped black coffee and watched Roy。 Thepale end…of…winter sunlight filled the room and yellowed all their faces； and John； drugged andmorbid and wondering how it was that he had slept again and had been allowed to sleep so long；saw them for a moment like figures on a screen； an effect that the yellow light intensified。 Theroom was narrow and dirty； nothing could alter its dimensions； no labor could ever make it clean。
Dirt was in the walls and the floorboards； and triumphed beneath the sink where the cockroachesspawned； was in the fine ridges of the pots and pans； scoured daily； burnt black on the bottom；hanging above the stove； was in the wall against which they hung； and revealed itself where thepaint had cracked and leaned outents； the paper…thin undersidewebbed with black。 Dirt was in every corner； angle； crevice of the monstrous stove； and livedbehind it in delirious munion with the corrupted wall。 Dirt was in the baseboard that Johnscrubbed every Sunday； and roughened the cupboard shelves that held the cracked and gleamingdishes。 Under this dark weight the walls leaned； under it the ceiling； with a great crack likelightning in its center； sagged。 The windows gleamed like beaten gold or silver； but now John saw；in the yellow light； how fine dust veiled their doubtful glory。 Dirt crawled in the gray mop hungout of the windows to dry。 John thought with shame and horror； yet in angry hardness of heart： Hewho is filthy； let him be filthy still。 Then he looked at his mother； seeing； as though she weresomeone else； the dark； hard lines running downward from her eyes； and the deep； perpetual scowlin her forehead； and the downturned； tightened mouth； and the strong； thin； brown； and bonyhands； and the phrase turned against him like a two…edged sword； for was it not he； in his falsepride and his evil imagination； who was filthy？ Through a storm of tears that did not reach hiseyes； he stared at the yellow room； and the room shifted； the light of the sun darkened； and hismother’s face changed。 He face became the face that he gave her in his dreams； the face that hadbeen hers in a photograph he had seen once； long ago； a photograph taken before he was born。 Thisface was young and proud； uplifted； with a smile that made the wide mouth beautiful and glowedin the enormous eyes。 It was the face of a girl who knew that no evikl could undo her； and whocould laugh； surely； as his mother did not laugh now。 Between the two faces there stretched adarkness and a mystery that John feared； and that sometimes caused him to hate her。
Now she saw him and she asked； breaking off her conversation with Roy： ‘You hungry；little sleepyhead？’
‘Well！ About time you was getting up；’ said Sarah。
He moved to the table and sat down； feeling the most bewildering panic of his life； a needto touch things； the table and chairs and the walls of the room； to make certain that the roomexisted and that he was in the room。 He did not look at his mother； who stood up and went to thestove to heat his breakfast。 But he asked； in order to say something to her； and to hear his ownvoice：
‘What we got for breakfast？’
He realized； with some shame； that he was hoping she had prepared a special breakfast forhim on his birthday。
‘What you think we got for breakfast？’ Roy asked scornfully。 ‘You got a special cravingfor something？’
John looked at him。 Roy was not in a good mood。
‘I ain’t said nothing to you；’ he said。
‘Oh； I beg your pardon；’ said Roy； in the shrill； little…girl tone he knew John hated。
‘What’s the matter with you to…day？’ John asked； angry； and trying at the same time to lendhis voice as husky a pitch as possible。
‘Don’t you let Roy bother you；’ said their mother。 ‘He cross as two sticks this morning。’
‘Yeah；’ said John； ‘I reckon。’ He and Roy watched each other。 Then his plate was putbefore him： hominy grits and a scrap of bacon。 He wanted to cry； like a child： ‘But； Mama； it’s mybirthday！’ He kept his eyes on his plate and began to eat。
‘You can talk about your Daddy all you want to；’ said his mother； picking up her battlewith Roy； ‘but one thing you can’t say—you can’t say he ain’t always done his best to be a fatherto you and to see to it that you ain’t never gone hungry。’
‘I been hungry plenty of times；’ Roy said； proud to be able to score this point against hismother。
‘Wasn’t his fault； then。 Wasn’t because he wasn’t trying to feed you。 Than man shoveledsnow in zero weather when he ought’ve been in bed just to put food in your belly。’
‘Wasn’t just my belly；’ said Roy indignantly。 ‘He got a belly； too； I know—it’s a shame theway that man eats。 I sure ain’t asked him to shovel no snow for me。’ But he dropped his eyes；suspecting a flaw in his argument。 ‘I just don’t want him beating on me all the time；’ he said atlast。 ‘I ain’t no dog。’
She sighed； and turned slightly away； looking out of the window。 ‘Your Daddy beats you；’
she said； ‘because he loves you。’
Roy laughed。 ‘That ain’t the kind of love I understand； old lady。 What you reckon he’d doif he didn’t love me？’
‘He’d let you go right on；’ she flashed； ‘right on down to hell where it looks like you is justdetermined to go anyhow！ Right on； Mister Man； till somebody puts a knife in you； or takes youoff to jail！’
‘Mama；’ John asked suddenly； ‘is Daddy a good man？’
He had not known that he was going to ask the question； and he watched in astonishment asher mouth tightened and her eyes grew dark。
‘