The child still stared up at him; because there was so little light or perhaps because he was so sleepy, his eyes seemed very dark, although the father knew they were nearly as light as his own. He took his hand away and blew the moisture dry on the child’s forehead, smoothed his hair away, and put his hand back: What in the world you doin, Google Eyes? he sang, very slowly, while he and the child looked at each other, What in the world you doin, Google Eyes?
What in the world you doin, Google Eyes?
What in the world you doin, Google Eyes?
His eyes slowly closed, sprang open, almost in alarm, closed again.
Where did you get them great big Google Eyes?
Where did you get them great big Google Eyes?
You’re the best there is and I need you in my biz, Where in the world did you get them Google Eyes?
He waited. He took his hand away. The child’s eyes opened and he felt as if he had been caught at something. He touched the forehead again, more lightly. “Go to sleep, honey,” he said. “Go on to sleep now.” The child continued to look up at him and a tune came unexpectedly into his head, and lifting his voice almost to tenor he sang, almost inaudibly: Oh, I hear them train car wheels arumblin, Ann, they’re mighty near at hand, I hear that train come arumblin, Come arumblin through the land.
Git on board, little children, Git on board, little children, Git
