"Hello Ma'am, I'm-" Was all I managed before she threw her arms around me and hugged me tight, an experience that was altogether new to me. As I stared at her in startled amazement she looked up at me with kind blue eyes several shades brighter than her husbands and said, "I know hon, you're Johnny. I'm Janice. Welcome home." The thing I remember most as I look back on that moment was the kind smiles that they both beamed at me, not ingratiating, or condescending ones, just genuine. I'm amazed I can remember it so well, because I was quite hard to see them through the blur. Three months later it was the beginning of summer. I had adapted to my new life with a vigor I hadn't known was in me. Lester showed me how to take care of the animals and maintain the machinery that the migrant workers would use to pick the fruit during harvest. There was no school to speak of around, but Janice had a bunch of old readers and books that she left laying around for me, and since there was no TV and. Next to a fireplace similar to the one in their room stood a large manin shirtsleeves. His bow tie was undone, but a wide purple cummerbundstill tried to reign in his ample belly. The skin of his face was ruddy,his hair black and slicked back on his big skull.In his one hand he held a long cigar that filled the room with a pungentsmell. In the other was a brandy glass; he moved it slowly to make thecognac swirl around.The man was everything Lucian had feared all his life.He was powerful and arrogant in an easy, second nature way. His eyesnever wavered under fat black brows and his ham-like hands were hairy,with thick stubby fingers. In his privileged youth he must have been thefootball player type: strong and tall and muscular. But he'd let himselfgo through drink and food and lack of training.He was like a Lucian Freud painting: fleshy, ruddy and rude.Lucian in his heels was almost as tall as the man, but his imposingvolume shrank everyone around him - and he knew it. The corners of.
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