“You ought not to swear about your father, Nat,” I told him, horrified.
“Why not? Is it worse to say what I think than to go around with it makin’ me mad inside?”
“No, but it’s wicked to swear about your folks. You won’t live long. The Ten Commandments says so.”
“Aw, whatter I care for the old Ten Commandments? All the Bible and the church and things is made for anyhow is to back up grown folks when they wanner work off their hell on us kids!”
“Don’t you believe there’s a God?”
“Well, somebody probably made all the stars and trees and flowers—all the pretty things. But it spoils it to think it’s the same person that dad says is so precious to his soul every week in prayer meetin’. See that evenin’ star now, Billy, hangin’ low over Haystack. Ain’t it pretty? S’pose anybody that made such a shinin’ star would be in partnership with a growed-up person who’s so tight he won’t buy his kid a pair o’ pants? Billy, whatter we got all this God-business and church-business crammed down our throats for? Why can’t we just drink it in by comin’ out to a place like this, where it’s all quiet, and watchin’ an evenin’ star?”
“But we gotta love our parents, Nat. The Bible says so!”
“Yeah—and the same Bible says we oughta be clean and peaceful and good inside. And when a feller hates anybody like I hate my father, how can he turn around and say he loves him and act like he loves him, when he don’t?”
“All the same,” I reiterated, “the Bible says we gotta, and we have!”
“Well, I’ll do it till I’m twenty-one,” assented Nathan, “’cause I can’t help myself. Then I’ll go to hell and roast, if it’s wicked—but I’ll stop lovin’ him and do as I honest please. Between the time I’m twenty-one and the time I go to hell, I’ll feel peaceful and satisfied for a while, anyhow.”