One evening, Walter seemed particularly wistful. “Everyone tells you that your young days are the best days. Even through all the suffering you feel, they are the best. Well, I’m telling you the truth. That’s all bologna. My old days have been the best. For one, I get to smoke all I want and no one cares because I’m dying anyway! My nurse comes once a week, but she’s given up on nagging me. At this point, she’s more concerned that I die with a smile on my face.” He paused, “You think I would have told you the worst of Holly’s secrets by now. Not even close. Children can do such terrible things - - even when they know the difference between right and wrong. It’s as if their consciences are still growing along with their brains and bones.”
“Sure, but they are also capable of wonderful things,” replied Jake.
“You’re a smart man, Jake. God, sometimes I wish I had children . . . but most of the time I’m thankful that I didn’t. What kind of role model would I be? A damn lousy one!”
“Smoking aside, you’re a fine example. If everyone had a bit of vinegar like you, we’d all be better off.”
“Maybe . . .” Walter drifted off, “I have plenty to tell you Jake, but I can’t tell you all of it now. I just hope I have enough time to confess it all in the end.”
Jake was silent. Lately, Walter seemed to be losing it. His mind seemed to be failing him. What else could prompt his talk about wicked children and confession? Jake mostly ignored Walter’s nutty rants, but occasionally was caught by what the man said. Perhaps what Jake took for lunacy was really the ravings of a tortured conscience.