Where I'm Calling From

it?” she asked, leaning forward.
    “No, I didn’t,” Kip answered.
    “Kip?” she said.
    “I didn’t! I don’t know where it is!” the boy shouted.
    The woman raised her shoulders and let them drop. “How do you know who or what to believe?” she said to Hamilton. “All I know is, Gilbert’s missing a bicycle.”
    Gary Berman and his father returned to the kitchen.
    “It was Roger’s idea to roll it,” Gary Berman said.
    “It was yours!” Roger said, coming out of his chair. “You wanted to! Then you wanted to take it to the orchard and strip it!”
    “You shut up!” Berman said to Roger. “You can speak when spoken to, young man, not before. Gary, I’ll handle this—dragged out at night because of a couple of roughnecks! Now if either of you,” Berman said, looking first at Kip and then Roger, “know where this kid’s bicycle is, I’d advise you to start talking.”
    “I think you’re getting out of line,” Hamilton said.
    “What?” Berman said, his forehead darkening. “And I think you’d do better to mind your own business!”
    “Let’s go, Roger,” Hamilton said, standing up. “Kip, you come now or stay.” He turned to the woman. “I don’t know what else we can do tonight. I intend to talk this over more with Roger, but if there is a question of restitution I feel since Roger did help manhandle the bike, he can pay a third if it comes to that.”
    “I don’t know what to say,” the woman replied, following Hamilton through the living room. “I’ll talk to Gilbert’s father—he’s out of town now. We’ll see. It’s probably one of those things finally, but I’ll talk to his father.”
    Hamilton moved to one side so that the boys could pass ahead of him onto the porch, and from behind him he heard Gary Berman say, “He called me a jerk, Dad.”
    “He did, did he?” Hamilton heard Berman say. “Well, he’s the jerk. He looks like a jerk.”
    Hamilton turned and said, “I think you’re seriously out of line here tonight, Mr. Berman. Why don’t you get control of yourself?”
    “And I told you I think you should keep out of it!” Berman said.
    “You get home, Roger,” Hamilton said, moistening his lips. “I mean it,” he said, “get going!” Roger and Kip moved out to the sidewalk. Hamilton stood in the doorway and looked at Berman, who was crossing the living room with his son.
    “Mr. Hamilton,” the woman began nervously but did not finish.
    “What do you want?” Berman said to him. “Watch out now, get out of my way!” Berman brushed Hamilton’s shoulder and Hamilton stepped off the porch into some prickly cracking bushes. He couldn’t believe it was happening. He moved out of the bushes and lunged at the man where he stood on the porch. They fell heavily onto the lawn. They rolled on the lawn, Hamilton wrestling Berman onto his back and coming down hard with his knees on the man’s biceps. He had Berman by the collar now and began to pound his head against the lawn while the woman cried, “God almighty, someone stop them! For God’s sake, someone call the police!”
    Hamilton stopped.
    Berman looked up at him and said, “Get off me.”
    “Are you all right?” the woman called to the men as they separated. “For God’s sake,” she said. She looked at the men, who stood a few feet apart, backs to each other, breathing hard. The older boys had crowded onto the porch to watch; now that it was over, they waited, watching the men, and then they began feinting and punching each other on the arms and ribs.
    “You boys get back in the house,” the woman said. “I never thought I’d see,” she said and put her hand on her breast.
    Hamilton was sweating and his lungs burned when he tried to take a deep breath. There was a ball of something in his throat so that he couldn’t swallow for a minute. He started walking, his son and the boy named Kip at his sides. He heard car doors slam, an engine start. Headlights swept over him as he walked.
    Roger sobbed once, and Hamilton put his arm around the boy’s shoulders.
    “I better get home,” Kip said and began to cry. “My dad’ll be looking for me,” and the boy ran.
    I’m sorry,” Hamilton said. “I’m sorry you had to see something like that,” Hamilton said to his son.
    They kept walking and when they reached their block, Hamilton took his arm away.
    “What if he’d picked up a knife, Dad? Or a club?”
    “He wouldn’t have done anything like that,” Hamilton