Hawk Season Notebook #307
A bowl of ripe yellow pears was on the table. It was morning. Someone served the small group jasmine tea in miniature cups. The man had been adopted by a wealthy childless couple. The father ignored him. I was my mother's favorite acquired object, the man said. He was old and famous. A camera crew from a TV station was expected. A graduate student came along to brush the man's hair back. You showed the man what you thought was a lyric monologue. He picked up one of the pears, turned it over, lightly rubbed a brown spot with his thumb, See... it is bruised underneath.