Train schedules are a matter of pride and of apprehension to nearly everyone. When, far up the track, the block signal snapped from red to green and the long, stabbing probe of the headlight sheered the bend and blared on the station, men looked at their watches and said, “On time.”

There was pride in it, and relief too. The split second has been growing more and more important to us. And as human activities become more and more intermeshed and integrated, the split tenth of a second will emerge, and then a new name must be made for the split hundredth, until one day, although I don’t believe it, we’ll say, “Oh, the hell with it. What’s wrong with an hour?” But it isn’t silly, this preoccupation with small time units. One thing late or early can disrupt everything around it, and the disturbance runs outward in bands like the waves from a dropped stone in a quiet pool.

The Lark came rushing in as though it had no intention of stopping. And only when the engine and baggage cars were well past did the air brakes give their screaming hiss and the straining iron protest to a halt.

The train delivered quite a crowd for Salinas, returning relatives home for Thanksgiving, their hands entangled in cartons and gift-wrapped paper boxes. It was a moment or two before his family could locate Aron. And then they saw him, and he seemed bigger than he had been.

He was wearing a flat-topped, narrow-brimmed hat, very stylish, and when he saw them he broke into a run and yanked off his hat, and they could see that his bright hair was clipped to a short brush of a pompadour that stood straight up. And his eyes shone so that they laughed with pleasure to see him.

Aron dropped his suitcase and lifted Abra from the ground in a great hug. He set her down and gave Adam and Cal his two hands. He put his arms around Lee’s shoulders and nearly crushed him.

On the way home they all talked at once. “Well, how are you?”

“You look fine.”

“Abra, you’re so pretty.”

“I am not. Why did you cut your hair?”

“Oh, everybody wears it that way,”

“But you have such nice hair.”

They hurried up to Main Street and one short block and around the corner on Central past Reynaud’s with stacked French bread in the window and black-haired Mrs. Reynaud waved her flour-pale hand at them and they were home.

Adam said, “Coffee, Lee?”

“I made it before we left. It’s on the simmer.” He had the cups laid out too. Suddenly they were together—Aron and Abra on the couch, Adam in his chair under the light, Lee passing coffee, and Cal braced in the doorway to the hall. And they were silent, for it was too late to say hello and too early to begin other things.

Adam did say, “I’ll want to hear all about it. Will you get good marks?”

“Finals aren’t until next month, Father.”

“Oh, I see. Well, you’ll get good marks, all right. I’m sure you will.”

In spite of himself a grimace of impatience crossed Aron’s face.

“I’ll bet you’re tired,” said Adam. “Well, we can talk tomorrow.”

Lee said, “I’ll bet he’s not. I’ll bet he’d like to be alone.”

Adam looked at Lee and said, “Why, of course—of course. Do you think we should all go to bed?”

Abra solved it for them. “I can’t stay out long,” she said. “Aron, why don’t you walk me home? We’ll be together tomorrow.”

On the way Aron clung to her arm. He shivered. “There’s going to a frost,” he said.

“You’re glad to be back.”

“Yes, I am. I have a lot to talk about.”

“Good things?”

“Maybe. I hope you think so.”

“You sound serious.”

“It is serious.”

“When do you have to go back?”

“Not until Sunday night.”

“We’ll have lots of time. I want to tell you some things too. We have tomorrow and Friday and Saturday and all day Sunday. Would you mind not coming in tonight?”

“Why not?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

“I want to know now.”

“Well, my father’s got one of his streaks.”

“Against me?”

“Yes. I can’t go to dinner with you tomorrow, but I won’t eat much at home, so you can tell Lee to save a plate for me.”

He was turning shy. She could feel it in the relaxing grip on her arm and in his silence, and she could see it in his raised face. “I shouldn’t have told you that tonight.”

“Yes, you should,” he said slowly. “Tell me the truth. Do you still—want to be with me?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then all right. I’ll go away now. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

He left her on her porch with the feeling of a light-brushed kiss on her lips. She felt hurt that he had agreed so easily, and she laughed sourly at herself that she could ask a thing and be hurt when she got it. She watched his tall quick step through the radiance of the corner streetlight. She thought, I must be crazy. I’ve been imagining things.

2

In his bedroom after he had said his good night, Aron sat on the edge of his bed and peered down at his hands cupped between his knees. He felt let down and helpless, packed like a bird’s egg in the cotton of his father’s ambition for him. He had not known its strength until tonight, and he wondered whether he would have the strength to break free of its soft, persistent force. His thoughts would not coagulate. The house seemed cold with a dampness that made him shiver. He got up and softly opened his door. There was a light under Cal’s door. He tapped and went in without waiting for a reply.