Chapter 23 — Teaching Companion

What it asks It asks the student to read the two paragraphs that set husband and wife side by side after Una dies. Samuel “said no brave and reassuring words, he simply sat alone and rocked himself. He felt that it was his neglect had done it.” Then: “And now his tissue, which had fought joyously against time, gave up a little.” His skin, his eyes and his shoulders age. “Liza with her acceptance could take care of tragedy; she had no real hope this side of Heaven. But Samuel had put up a laughing wall against natural laws, and Una’s death breached his battlements. He became an old man.” The student names what Samuel loses that Liza, by the narrator’s account, never had to lose. It feeds the hinge: what breaks here is what his sons and daughters see at Thanksgiving and try to spare, and Tom, who watched it break, is the one who says, “He’d know.” Whether the man behind the broken wall can still bear a plain truth is what the last written question turns on. The card must not say how Una died; George says only, “We think it was an accident,” and the chapter does not settle it.

One reading

Hope in this world. Liza never expected this world to keep anything for her, so its blows cannot take what she never counted on. Samuel’s laughter was a bet that he could hold off time and “natural laws”, and Una’s death shows the bet lost. What goes is not only a daughter but a way of living, and his body shows it.

• Liza with her acceptance could take care of tragedy; she had no real hope this side of Heaven.
• But Samuel had put up a laughing wall against natural laws, and Una’s death breached his battlements.

Another reading

His belief that he could keep his sons and daughters safe. Una was his “greatest joy” and his partner in secret books, and he blames himself. Liza’s acceptance leaves the death in God’s hands; Samuel takes it into his own. He loses a father’s trust that love and watching are enough, a trust Liza never claimed.

• Of all his daughters Una was Samuel’s greatest joy.
• He felt that it was his neglect had done it.

Listen for

• Uses the paragraph’s own pair: Liza’s “acceptance” and Samuel’s “laughing wall”.
• Notices that Samuel’s grief shows in silence and in his body (he rocks himself; skin, eyes, shoulders), not in words.
• Weighs “no real hope this side of Heaven”: is Liza spared a loss, or did she give it up long ago?
• Claims nothing about how Una died.

If stuck

• What does Samuel do when Una’s body comes home?
• What does the narrator say Liza had that Samuel did not?
• Can you lose something you never hoped to keep?

A strong answer A strong response names the loss and finds it in the two paragraphs. One reader says hope in this world: Liza expected nothing this side of Heaven, while Samuel’s “laughing wall” was a bet against time that Una’s death shows lost. Another says a father’s belief that he could keep his sons and daughters safe, since Samuel blames “his neglect” and Liza’s acceptance never claimed that power. The best answers ask what is left of Samuel once the wall is down, since that is the man his sons and daughters will see at Thanksgiving.

What it asks It asks the student to look at the one place where the truthful man gets something wrong. Mary asks, “Uncle Tom, how do you get to be a boy?” Tom “wished for words like his father’s words, sweet winged words, cooing and lovely.” What he says is plain: “I wouldn’t like you to be a boy,” and “I like you as a girl.” Then: “Tom had a good ear. He knew he was reeling down in Mary’s estimation and he wanted her to love him and to admire him. At the same time there was a fine steel wire of truthfulness in him that cut off the heads of fast-traveling lies.” He studies “her cold and hostile eyes” and says, “I don’t think you really want to change.” The narrator answers at once: “Tom was wrong—she really did.” Tom goes on: “Well,” “you can’t. And someday you’ll be glad.” The student decides why Tom gets her wrong. It feeds the hinge: a man who will not deceive can still misread what someone wants, and his father will soon read Tom from “the little tone” alone. The card must not say more of Mary’s later life than the narrator’s line that she trusted Tom only “after she was glad she was a girl, and then it was too late.”

One reading

Tom wants it to be so. He has just refused her the pleasing lie, and he is losing her. If she does not really want to change, then his hard answer costs her little. Even his steel wire bends here, toward the kinder belief, and the narrator, who was in the room, sets him straight.

• He knew he was reeling down in Mary’s estimation and he wanted her to love him and to admire him.
• Tom was wrong—she really did.

Another reading

Tom judges by his own measure. To him, “you’re just born a boy”, so a girl’s wish to be one looks like a passing mood. He looks hard at her braid and her eyes, but he sees through his own grown-up certainty. Telling the truth governs what a man says; it does not make him right about what another person feels.

• How? Why, Mary, you’re just born a boy.
• Tom studied her cold and hostile eyes.

Listen for

• Separates two things: refusing to lie, and being right about someone.
• Uses the paragraph in which Tom knows he is “reeling down” and still will not lie.
• Notices that the narrator corrects Tom at once, and asks why the chapter lets us see the mistake.
• Claims nothing about Mary’s later life beyond the narrator’s line.

If stuck

• What does Tom tell Mary she really wants?
• What does the narrator say right after?
• Can an honest person still be wrong about someone they love?

A strong answer A strong response finds a cause in the scene. One reader says Tom believes it because he wants to: he is losing Mary’s love, and the belief makes his hard answer lighter. Another says he cannot see her wish from inside, because to him “you’re just born a boy.” The best answers notice that truthfulness governs what Tom says, not what he sees, and that his father will soon read Tom far better from one small tone.

What it asks It asks the student to weigh one word the narrator chooses for the kitchen talk. After Samuel tires early and goes to bed, the ten around the whisky “all wanted to say the same thing”: that he is old. The lines come with no quotation marks and no speakers: “His shoulders—did you see how they slump?” “His eyes are old.” “He favors his right leg.” “Yes, but that’s the one the horse broke.” “I know, but he never favored it before.” Then: “They said these things in outrage. This can’t happen, they were saying. Father can’t be an old man. Samuel is young as the dawn—the perpetual dawn.” Their minds say, “There can’t be any world without Samuel.” Then they “shrank away from such thinking and they looked for a victim—someone to hurt because they were hurt. They turned on Tom.” The student decides why the narrator says outrage and not sorrow. It feeds the hinge: the plan is born in this kitchen, and the outrage keeps it from reading as mere cleverness. It starts in a refusal to let Samuel be old, and the cheerful invitation is built so that no one has to say the word to him. The card must not give the lines to particular speakers; the page does not.

One reading

Outrage refuses. Sorrow would accept that their father is old; outrage says it cannot be. They had believed him “young as the dawn”, and now they set themselves against time, as Samuel once put up his “laughing wall against natural laws”. The sons and daughters have built their father’s wall, and the plan that follows keeps it standing.

• This can’t happen, they were saying. Father can’t be an old man.
• Samuel is young as the dawn—the perpetual dawn.

Another reading

Outrage needs someone to blame. Sorrow sits still, as Samuel sat alone and rocked himself; outrage goes looking for a cause. Within a few lines it finds one in Tom, the son who was there. The narrator’s word warns that the turn on Tom is coming, and shows the anger as grief with nowhere to go.

• Their minds shrank away from such thinking and they looked for a victim—someone to hurt because they were hurt.
• Have you by any chance done this with your craziness?

Listen for

• Hears what the voices notice (shoulders, toes, eyes, skin, the leg) and how the talk moves from what they see to what they cannot bear to think.
• Notices that the lines carry no names and no quotation marks, so no one owns them.
• Connects the outrage to the turn on Tom, or to Samuel’s own “laughing wall”.
• Does not give the lines to particular speakers.

If stuck

• What have they noticed about their father?
• What do the voices say once they stop listing what they saw?
• What does an angry person do with a loss that a sad person does not?

A strong answer A strong response reads the word against what follows it. One reader hears refusal: sorrow would accept that Samuel is old, while outrage insists “This can’t happen,” the family’s own wall against time, like their father’s. Another hears grief looking for a target, since within a few lines the outrage finds “someone to hurt” in Tom. The best answers notice that the plan grows out of this same shock, so it starts not in cleverness but in a family that cannot yet bear the plain fact.

What it asks It asks the student to weigh a kind word Samuel once gave his son. Tom comes back after storming out of the kitchen, apologizes, and says, “Maybe I’m a little drunk. Father calls it ‘jolly’ when I do it.” Then, in what the narrator calls “a confession”, he tells how he “fell into the rosebush and crawled up the stairs on my hands and knees and I was sick on the floor beside my bed.” “In the morning I tried to tell him I was sorry, and do you know what he said? ‘Why, Tom, you were just jolly.’ ‘Jolly,’ if I did it. A drunken man didn’t crawl home. Just jolly.” The student decides what the word did to Tom’s apology: whether it let him off, or left him alone with what he did. It feeds the hinge: here Samuel himself softens a hard fact to spare a son’s pride, and Tom, on the receiving end, is still turning it over. Tom’s answer to the plan a few minutes later may be read in that light. The card must not say that Tom resents his father; he tells the story inside an apology, and its tone is the student’s to hear.

One reading

It let him off, and that was its kindness. Samuel would not shame his son. He gave the night a light name so that Tom could get up and go on. It is the same gentleness with which Samuel brought Tom home from Salinas and never spoke of it.

• Why, Tom, you were just jolly.
• Samuel did not lecture Tom. He took him home and never mentioned the incident.

Another reading

It left him alone. Tom tried to say he was sorry, and the word would not let him. A man who wanted to own what he did was told he had done nothing much, so the shame had nowhere to go. That is why he repeats the word now, as a confession.

• In the morning I tried to tell him I was sorry, and do you know what he said?
• A drunken man didn’t crawl home. Just jolly.

Listen for

• Hears that Tom “tried to tell him I was sorry” and asks what the word did to that apology.
• Notices that the narrator calls the story “a confession”.
• Links the word to Samuel’s silence after the ride to Salinas, or to the plan Tom will not join.
• Leaves open whether Tom is grateful or bitter, and argues from his words.

If stuck

• What did Tom try to say to his father that morning?
• What word did Samuel give him instead?
• When you are truly sorry, is it a relief or a letdown to be told it was nothing?

A strong answer A strong response takes a side and works from Tom’s own telling. One reader hears mercy: Samuel would not shame his son and gave the night a light name, as he later says nothing about the ride to Salinas. Another hears a son whose apology was turned away, repeating the word as “a confession” because the shame had nowhere to go. The best answers notice that the soft word is Samuel’s own habit, and ask whether Tom’s refusal to join the plan grows out of having been on its receiving end.

What it asks It asks the student to read one sentence that has two possible objects. After Tom says, “I’m glad you’re going”, “Samuel stood in the doorway of the forge and looked at the land.” He repeats an old saying, that a mother loves the ugly one best, “and he shook his head sharply.” Then: “Tom, I’ll trade you honor for honor.” The land is the “dry, stony desert of heartbreaking hillside and unprofitable hollow” that his family cannot imagine him leaving, the ranch that, as Tom says, “doesn’t run—never has.” Tom is the dark son who “felt heavy and earth-bound” beside brothers and sisters with “looks or gifts or fortune”, and he is standing right there. The student decides who or what the ugly one is. It feeds the hinge: what Samuel loves best, and is now leaving or trusting to another, colors what the trip costs him and what Tom’s honesty is worth to him. The card must not say what Samuel means by “I know where I’m going”.

One reading

The land. Samuel is looking at it as he speaks. It is poor and stony, and he has spent his life on it; the family’s whole plan rests on knowing he will not give it up. A mother loves best the one who needs her most, and this ranch has never run without him.

• Samuel stood in the doorway of the forge and looked at the land.
• They say a mother loves best an ugly child,
• Then they were silent again, for the idea of not having the ranch, the dry, stony desert of heartbreaking hillside and unprofitable hollow, was shocking to them.

Another reading

Tom. He is the dark one, who feels heavy beside his handsome, gifted family, and the son Samuel has just looked at as if for the first time. Samuel’s very next words are to Tom, and they are about honor. The sharp shake of the head is a father catching himself saying more than he meant to.

• Tom loved all of them passionately, but he felt heavy and earth-bound.
• and he inspected Tom as though he saw him for the first time.

Listen for

• Notices where Samuel is looking when he speaks, and who is standing beside him.
• Weighs the sharp shake of the head: what might Samuel be stopping himself from saying?
• Uses the chapter’s earlier pictures of Tom (dark, earth-bound) or of the ranch (stony, unprofitable).
• Does not explain “I know where I’m going”.

If stuck

• What is Samuel looking at when he says it?
• Who in this chapter feels dark or heavy beside the rest?
• Why might someone love best the one who is hardest to love?

A strong answer A strong response chooses and grounds the choice. One reader says the land: Samuel is looking at it, it is the stony ranch he has spent his life on, and the family’s plan rests on knowing he will not give it up. Another says Tom: the dark, earth-bound son he has just seen as if for the first time, to whom his next words offer honor. The best answers notice that the two readings can meet, since Samuel is leaving the one in the care of the other.

What it asks It asks the student to read one short exchange on the day the letter comes. Samuel reads Olive’s letter twice and walks up the hill. Halfway up he sifts “flint and sandstone and bits of shining mica” and stares up at the sky. Coming down, he spins a wheel of the buckboard, “and he inspected Tom as though he saw him for the first time.” He says, “Why, you’re a grown-up man”. Tom asks, “Didn’t you know?” Samuel answers, “I guess I did—I guess I did,” and walks on wearing “the joke on himself”. The student writes a thesis on why Samuel says it now, if he already knew, meets the strongest objection, and revises. It feeds the hinge: the invitation was written so that no one would have to tell Samuel he is old, and here he reaches the plain fact alone and says a plain thing to the son who would not join the plan. The card must not say when Samuel first sees through the plan, which the chapter leaves to the reader, or what he means by “I know where I’m going”.

One reading

He sees the son who will take his place. A long visit means someone must run the ranch, and when Liza asks who, Samuel answers at once that Tom would. The father who has always carried the place looks at his son and sees the man who will carry it now. He knew Tom was grown the way one knows a birthday; now it means something.

• and he inspected Tom as though he saw him for the first time.
• Tom would—what running there is to do in the winter.

Another reading

He sees himself. If the son is a grown man, the father is an old one, and that is the fact the cheerful letter was written to keep from being said. Samuel knew it and would not look at it, as his sons and daughters “had not believed it could happen”. His doubled answer is a man catching himself, and the look that follows is “the joke on himself”.

• I guess I did—I guess I did,
• There was the sardonic look on his face his family knew so well—the joke on himself that made him laugh inwardly.

Listen for

• Notices what Samuel does between the letter and the words: the second reading, the hill, the handful of earth, the wheel.
• Hears Tom’s “Didn’t you know?” and the doubled answer, and asks what it means to know a thing and not see it.
• Links the moment to the Thanksgiving kitchen, where his sons and daughters see all at once that their father is old.
• Revises rather than restates, and does not say when Samuel sees through the plan or what “I know where I’m going” means.

If stuck

• What does Samuel do after he reads the letter, before he speaks to Tom?
• Who will run the ranch while Samuel and Liza are away?
• If the son is a grown man, what does that make the father?

A strong answer A strong response builds a thesis, meets the strongest objection, and revises. One thesis says Samuel sees the son who will take his place: the trip puts the ranch in Tom’s hands, and the father looks at the man who will carry it. The strongest objection is that the line turns back on Samuel: a grown son means an old father, the very fact the letter was meant not to say, and he walks off wearing “the joke on himself”. A good revision might hold that the two are one discovery, made alone on a hill from a cheerful letter, and ask what that does to the family’s hope of sparing him.

What it asks It asks the student to judge where Tom stands at the end. In the kitchen he would not join: “I’d find a reluctance to insult my father,” he said. “He’d know.” Then: “I don’t forbid you,” he said. “But I can’t do it.” Yet he carries Olive’s letter home knowing what it holds, and when Samuel asks him to look after the ranch he answers, “Why, sure,” and asks, “Where do you plan to go?” Samuel catches “the little tone”. Tom says, “I don’t know what you mean,” and his father tells him he would have been “a very bad” actor and says, “I see Will’s hand in this.” Tom says, “I wasn’t in favor of it,” and Samuel answers, “Don’t tell the others I know.” He thanks Tom for “wanting to honor me with the truth”. At the forge door: “Tom, I’ll trade you honor for honor. You will please hold this in your dark secret place, nor tell any of your brothers and sisters”, and he tells Tom that he knows why he is going, and where, and that he is content. So the son who would not take part in a pretense now keeps a silence that lets the others believe their plan worked. The student writes a thesis on how far Tom has become part of the plan, meets the strongest objection, and revises. It feeds the hinge: if the plain truth ends up keeping the gentle trick standing, the two kindnesses are harder to set apart than they first look. The card must not say what “I know where I’m going” means.

One reading

Further than he meant to. He carries the letter knowing what it holds, and when his father asks about the ranch he plays along, asking where they plan to go and then saying he does not know what Samuel means. Now his silence keeps the plan standing, and the others will go on believing they spared their father. The son who would not act has been given a part after all, and he must play it alone.

• Where do you plan to go?
• I don’t know what you mean,
• Don’t tell the others I know.

Another reading

Not at all. The plan was to fool Samuel, and Samuel is not fooled; Tom’s tone gives it away, and when pressed he says plainly that he was against it. What he keeps now is not the others’ secret but his father’s. Keeping a confidence asks no lie of him, and Samuel calls it a trade of “honor for honor”, not a part in a play.

• I wasn’t in favor of it,
• Tom, I’ll trade you honor for honor.

Listen for

• Notices what Tom does with the letter and with Samuel’s questions (“Where do you plan to go?”), and asks whether that is already acting.
• Separates keeping quiet from lying, and asks whose secret Tom now keeps.
• Weighs “honor for honor”: what each gives, and what Tom must carry alone.
• Revises rather than restates, and does not explain “I know where I’m going”.

If stuck

• What does Tom say in the kitchen when the others ask him to agree?
• What does Samuel ask Tom not to tell the others?
• Is keeping a secret for one person the same as helping to fool another?

A strong answer A strong response builds a thesis, meets the strongest objection, and revises. One thesis says Tom has become part of the plan: he carries the letter knowing what it holds, plays innocent, badly, until his father reads his tone, and now his silence lets the others believe it worked. The strongest objection is that the plan was to fool Samuel and Samuel is not fooled, so the secret Tom keeps is his father’s, given in trust as “honor for honor”. A good revision might hold that Tom stays truthful toward his father while giving up some of that truthfulness toward the others, and ask whether Samuel, by keeping them in the dark, now spares their pride as they tried to spare his.

What it asks It asks the chapter’s whole question. At Thanksgiving his sons and daughters see that Samuel is old, and their minds say, “There can’t be any world without Samuel.” Will Martin wants him to “sell out and move to town”. Will says he is “proud as a horse”, and George adds, “He’d feel it was a cowardice.” Will proposes a visit; Dessie doubts it; Will answers, “Sometimes a man wants to be stupid if it lets him do a thing his cleverness forbids.” Tom alone will not join: “I’d find a reluctance to insult my father,” he says. “He’d know.” George turns the plan into “a kind of invitation, full of jokes.” Samuel does know. He reads the letter twice, climbs the hill, sifts “flint and sandstone and bits of shining mica”, and tells Tom, “Why, you’re a grown-up man”. He talks Liza into the trip and keeps the secret from the others. To Tom he says, “Thank you for wanting to honor me with the truth, my son. It’s not clever but it’s more permanent.” The student writes a thesis on which is the greater kindness here, meets the strongest objection, and revises. The card must not say what “I know where I’m going” means, how Una died, or what becomes of Tom.

One reading

The gentle trick. It reads Samuel truly: a proud man who will not quit but can accept a holiday. It gives him and Liza a way out that is no surrender, and no one has to say aloud that he is old. Samuel takes it smiling, and he once spared Tom in the same way. A kindness that lets a man keep his dignity is kinder than a truth that takes it.

• He’s stubborn as a mule and proud as a horse.
• In fifty years, did you ever have a vacation, you little, silly, half-pint, smidgin of a wife?
• Why, Tom, you were just jolly.

Another reading

The plain truth. Samuel sees through the trick, so it spares him nothing; at worst it leaves him managed by his own sons and daughters. Tom’s refusal treats him as a man who can bear the truth, and Samuel thanks him for it as the thing that will last. A trick, once seen, is a kindness that both sides must pretend not to see; Tom’s gift needs no pretending.

• Thank you for wanting to honor me with the truth, my son. It’s not clever but it’s more permanent.
• You may thank God you didn’t want to be an actor, Tom, because you would have been a very bad one.

Listen for

• Weighs both sides in the chapter’s own words: Will’s “wants to be stupid”, Tom’s “He’d know”, Samuel’s “more permanent.”
• Notices that Samuel accepts the invitation and thanks the refusal, and asks whether that settles the question or deepens it.
• Uses the chapter’s other soft words and silences (“just jolly”, the ride to Salinas never mentioned) as evidence on either side.
• Revises rather than restates, and claims nothing about what “I know where I’m going” means, how Una died, or Tom’s future.

If stuck

• Why will Tom not agree to the plan?
• What does Samuel say to Tom about the truth?
• Can a kindness still be kind once the person sees through it?

A strong answer A strong response builds a thesis, meets the strongest objection, and revises. One thesis says the gentle trick is the greater kindness: it reads Samuel’s pride rightly, gives him and Liza a way out that is no surrender, and he accepts it with a smile. The strongest objection is Samuel’s own thanks to Tom: the trick was seen through, and what he calls “more permanent” is the truth. A good revision might hold that the two kindnesses need each other, since Samuel can accept the one because the other lets him accept it knowingly, and weigh whether a kindness stays kind once it is seen through.