When Papa says nothing it is because he thinks his day was worth nothing. He goes to work, he comes home to his radio, he thinks about his father, he feels no closer to whatever should happen next than he did ten years before. He is flooded by the past, he can barely stay afloat, he is so tired from the effort he cannot lift his eyes and make for what’s ahead. He becomes a ghost in his own body, a guest so courteous he remains unseen, too polite to even mark a page. Some days I wish I understood him better; some days I wish I didn’t understand him so well.
Yet:
