Or her out. Works every time." He turned toward Sam and held one
crippled hand in the air. "Over here, Sam, when you can." Oliver didn't
think in terms of other people. He related to them as required, but his
focus was inward. He imagined Richard's process: let's see, I feel bad;
therefore, it's time to find person X who is worse off than I am and
help him out. Or her. He could picture eligible persons, but he
stumbled on the help part. What did he have to offer? Was a dollar bill
going to make a difference? He felt blocked from the part of himself
that might contain helpful things he could pass along.
"I like this chutney," he said, "good with this cheese. What was your
father like, Richard?"
"Great guy," Richard said. He sloshed the scotch and ice cubes around
in his glass. "I'll tell you a story about my father. He couldn't tell
time. Someone gave him a watch, but he didn't want to learn. He was
proud of the watch, wore it every day. He used to go to people and say,
'I'm having a little trouble reading this,' and then he'd hold his
wrist up." Richard raised his arm proudly out in front of him. "And
he'd squint, as if he had eye trouble. 'Oh, it's a quarter to nine,'
they'd say.
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