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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