Harold Matejowsky had no memories of a feminine influence, other than vague recollections of a soft pinkness enveloping his beginnings. His mother had died shortly after his birth and the pastel widow Gresham had immediately established herself in the Matejowsky household as a more-than-willing substitute.

Mrs. Gresham had set her cap for Harold’s daddy right after his wife’s funeral and had taken over the nursemaiding of young Harold ostensibly out of a thwarted love for children. (She had none.) In actuality, Mrs. Gresham’s maternal fervor was designed to ensnare Harold’s daddy in matrimony. Mr. Matejowsky, however, was impervious to her subtle innuendoes and, at the same time, knew he was dependent upon her as long as Harold was an infant, so Mrs. Gresham vacillated between discouragement and adrenaline flushings of hope. And there was enough hope rampant in Mrs. Gresham’s fantasies to keep her around for nearly six years.

Harold remembered the day Mrs. Gresham left, more clearly than he remembered any of the previous years. Her tears were profuse, possessive, and in vain. She disappeared behind a slamming car door and after the noise of the bronchial exhaust no longer echoed, Harold’s daddy looked down at Harold with an appraising eye. He was relieved at the thought of no longer having to pay an interfering female to help care for his small son.

Harold’s first regular duty in the feed store was to sweep the wooden floor and the outside stoop every morning at six o’clock. At first, the long broom handle was too awkward for him but under the stern tutoring of his daddy, he learned to keep his tiny fists closer together and to take shorter strokes. Harold was obedient, quiet, and he learned quickly. He copied his daddy’s every motion, even perching on a high stool behind the cash register and counting out imaginary change. His posturings and mimicry were a source of uncomfortable amusement for the customers, but Harold’s daddy never seemed to notice. Nor did he ever compliment Harold on any chore, no matter how meticulously Harold had executed it. Nothing was every quite good enough for Harold’s daddy.

By the time Harold entered high school, there had been a few occasions when he had dared to disagree with his daddy about one thing or another. Each time, his daddy flared with resentment and fury, taking at least a week to get over Harold’s insubordination. Harold hated the silence of his daddy’s sulks so much he tried not to antagonize him very often. As the years went by, Harold disagreed less and less with his daddy and, by the time he graduated, he had become his daddy’s twin, his mute shadow. The shoppers were awed by the uncanny resemblance between father and son.