He thought about his home and his mother fixing breakfast, frying bacon, stirring batter.Seth smelled food and turned his mind back to the small fire. The soldiers he sat with concentrated on their eating although to Seth's way of thinking they didn't have much to concentrate on. They had fried some fat meat in an iron skillet, the kind some folks called a spider, and then made corn mush in the grease. They ate with their fingers from the black pan that sat on its own three legs right in the smoldering fire beside a tall coffee pot. Seth watched curiously as a soldier broke a big hardtack cracker in two and then banged the halves against each other before dunking one in his tin of black coffee. He noticed the boy staring and told him, "Sometimes they got weevils or worse in 'em. Don' like meat in mah coffee." He smiled at Seth, and the boy grinned back.All the men looked faded and tired, and Seth wondered where the cavalrymen with the clean uniforms and gleaming sabers were, the ones. "Can I ask Rog, how long have you and, well, my wife been getting it on?" I said.He began to look a little uncomfortable. He spread his hands in an "I surrender" gesture. He looked over at his playmate. Leslie looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole. I waited."Maybe a year and a half," he said. Leslie was beginning to cry."That long," I said. "I had no idea." Jesus, Mikey, get mad or something will you! You're scaring me," she said. Roger looked like he wanted to take her in his arms but he restrained himself."Get mad? Only dogs get mad," I said. "Look, Leslie, Roger, for the past many years we have been friends—husband and wife—I looked straight at Leslie. No, not friends, we've been family. What was mine, Roger, was always yours too. I hadn't actually thought that my wife would have been included in any such list; but, maybe that's the way things are these days. I mean this isn't 1692 Salem is it?I began slowly shaking my head, and for the life of him Roger was unconsciously.
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