From that spring
fewer guests came
The gate closed early
and voices went low
The light in the men's quarters
stayed on late
When my father came home
he sat down without taking off his clothes
Talk of someone summoned
someone who did not come back
someone's gate
sealed shut
I knew those names
All of them
had sat on our porch
One man speaks
another writes it down
and what is written
calls the next man in
Joined hands with traitors
and threw the realm into disorder
The crime is grave
let it be punished severely
Change only the name
and once more
Then that name came up
My father's oldest friend
the man who gave me my first brush
The first to arrive every New Year
to praise my handwriting
Last autumn my father had said
"He is not
a man who would do that."
I remembered those words
I believed
my father remembered them too
That night
I looked through the crack in the door
A sheet of paper in front of my father
The brush hung still
for a long time
then came down
Straight
Straight—
"You said he was innocent,
Father, you said so."
My father washed the brush
The water
clouded black
"Before I am his friend
I am your father."
And truly
it went quiet
The guests came back
the gate opened again
the elders laughed again
Nobody
spoke that name
I did not
speak it either
And so
a year went by
The wind at court turned
The ones pushed out came back
and the ones who came back
carried lists
That night
a pounding on the gate
Torches
constables
footsteps filling the yard
My father dressed properly, went out
and said quietly
"Show me the document."
Joined hands with traitors
and threw the realm into disorder
The crime is grave
let it be punished severely
Change only the name
This time—
Over my father's shoulder
I read the first line
Not a single letter
was different
The handwriting
was straight