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His face changed froht of her for years Whatever happened to her?"

"Your guess is as good as er Winters, and when he heard I’d never met my mother, he shook his head After a few seconds, he said he’d known her fairly well "She worked part-tih school, and then later she caot her divorce You knew she was married before?"

I said, "Yes"

"I was glad she left hiood worker," he said "She got on real ith the bees"

His voice was soft and sloith inflections and ht of the harsh way s (my father a notable exception) I could listen to Mr Winters talk for hours

"I do see the reseot your iven ed -- an odd twist of his right shoulder, only "She was a great beauty," he said "And funny? That woh"

I told Mr Winters I’d come to Savannah to find my mother, any trace of her, or her relations "She had a sister, Sophie"

"Sophie’s nothing like Sara," he said

"Is she here?" I could hardly believe my luck

"Lives a couple miles from here, back toward the city At least she did I haven’t heard mention of Sophie for years Used to see her in the papers with her roses, every time they had a flower show"

My disappointment must have shown, because he said, "That don’t ive her a call"

I told higed again "She’s a spinster Lives alone Like to have her nu Sophie would do" He bent to pick up his hood and veil, which he’d set next to the srass "Tell you what It’s about time for my lunch break anyway I’ll run you over there after lunch, and we’ll see if she’s still at that house on Screven Street"

"That’s very kind of you," I said

"Seehter How old are you, anyways? Seventeen? Eighteen?"

"More or less" I didn’t want to have to explain why a thirteen-year-old was traveling alone

Mr Winters drove an old blue pickup truck with a yellow honeybee logo on both its doors The ere rolled down, and I was glad; the sun had eed from the clouds, and the air swept into the truck, humid and hot

He stopped at a restaurant on the way back to town -- nothing fancy, a roadside shed -- and, sitting at a picnic table outside, overlooking a marsh, I had my first taste of raw oysters

Mr Winters carried out a plateful of them, half-shells of various sizes e a bowl of crackers and a bottle of red sauce He reically, midway between us

"Never had one?" he said, his face as baffled as if I’d said I never breathed "Yankees," he muttered

He de technique: he sprinkled two drops of sauce on the round gray oyster, lifted the shell, tipped it toward his mouth, and sucked it down He set the empty shell in the soup bowl Then he took a few soda crackers and tossed the ways in which to hideit out into a paper-towel napkin, for instance The little ivory and gray bodies looked inedible, and in any case, these days I had no appetite for anything that wasn’t red I held the shell as he had, so that it didn’t spill any liquid, and I gamely sucked it into my mouth

How to describe that first taste? Better than blood! The texture was firm, yet creaen right through my veins Later I found out that oysters -- the ones that haven’t been polluted, that is -- are full of nutritious en, calciu h I’d closed my eyes I heard his voice say, "Of course sos…"

I openedI ever tasted"

"That right?" He laughed softly

"Ever" We looked at each other with co and talking, and settled down to eating We went through four dozen in no tis in life we either love or hate No s By the way, they taste blue -- the muted, salty shade of a London blue topaz

Back in the truck, thoroughly sated, feeling oxygen hagain and started the truck As we drove off, he said, "I had a daughter, once"

I looked over at him, but his face in profile didn’t show emotion "What became of her?"

"She married an idiot," he said

We didn’t speak for a , "Did you ever meet my father?"

"Oh yes" He turned the truck off the highway, into a neighborhood of old houses "Met him three or four times Liked him the first two"