I Am the Cheese by Robert Cormier Read Free Book Online Page B

didn’t know.
T
:
Did you think your father had been lying to you all that time? That you and your family didn’t come from Rawlings?
A
:
No. I couldn’t allow myself to think that and yet I kept getting these funny feelings—remembering that night we ran away. That seemed to be mixed up with it all.
T
:
Did you confront your father?
A
:
No. I couldn’t do that. But I felt that I could probably find out some other way.
T
:
What other way?
A
:
Oh, it was vague. Maybe look in old picture albums, old papers and letters, for some proof that we actually lived in Rawlings, that I’d been born there. And yet, it wasn’t that pressing. I mean—I wasn’t really in a panic.
T
:
It did not bother you too much, then?
A
:
Yes, it did. But only when I took the time to think about it. I was busy with school. With Amy and her Numbers.
T
:
You did not mention the visiting editor and your doubts about Rawlings to your mother or father?
A
:
No.
T
:
That seems like the most natural course you could have taken.
A
:
Maybe. But I didn’t want to.
(8-second interval.)
T
:
But you finally did something about it, didn’t you?
A
:
Did I?
(5-second interval.)
T
:
Yes, because otherwise we wouldn’t be sitting here talking about it, would we? You would not have brought up Amy’s telephone call at all, would you have?
A
:
I guess not.
T
:
So tell me. What did you do about it?
(5-second interval.)
T
:
Tell me.
A
:
I can’t remember exactly.
(15-second interval.)
    But, of course, he did remember, finally. It was all clear and lucid now, unforgettable. He knew that his father kept his private and official papers in the bottom drawer of the desk in the den. An insurance agent required a desk at home, where he could fill out the never-ending series of reports and keep the documents and the other paraphernalia of his trade. Adam knew that the bottom drawer contained certain certificates that were taken out only on special occasions. Like the time he needed a birth certificate to show that he was old enough to join the Boy Scouts. (Adam dropped out after a few meetings—he wasn’t interested in standing at attention, tying knots, or going on hikes.) Ordinarily, his father locked the drawer. The key hung on his key chain, along with the house keys and car keys and some others. His father always tossed the chain casually on an end table nearthe front door when he came into the house. Adam waited for his opportunity.
    Actually, he was barely conscious of his desire to check the bottom drawer. He had become convinced that the visiting editor had made a mistake. Amy had never mentioned his visit again. Looking at his father in his proper suit and tie, Adam was ashamed of his suspicions. In fact, what suspicions, really? And yet that day when he saw the key chain on the table, and knowing that his father was out mowing the lawn, Adam knew that he would look into the bottom drawer. He picked up the key chain; the keys were cool to his touch. He could hear the lawn mower at the far end of the front lawn. Perfect. His mother was upstairs. She was always upstairs these days. She came down to prepare the meals and do the housework but increasingly she stayed in her room. At any rate, his father’s desk was located in a spot from which he could observe the steps going upstairs.
    Keeping his mind blank and his motives muffled, Adam walked to the desk, inserted the small key into the drawer lock, turned it, and pulled the drawer open. The drawer contained a dozen or so brown envelopes. Adam lifted out a few. The envelopes were identified with his father’s familiar scrawl:
Mortgage. U.S. Treasury Bonds. New England Tel. and Tel. Stocks. Birth Certificates
.
    He opened this last envelope and took out the three crisp sheets of paper inside. They were official looking, a blue seal at the bottom. Signed by Tobias Simpson, Town Clerk, Rawlings, Pa. Adam inspected the certificate that bore his name: Adam DavidFarmer. “We gave you my name as your middle name,”