Peter and Tumbolt crossed the cafeteria, and as they approached, Peter saw 
that his father looked very, very old. He held a plastic fork in one bony hand, 
chewing his salad with a mechanical rhythm. And yet, Peter saw, the eyes were 
unchanged. They held their vague stare and soaked up every detail. Peter 
remembered waking fourteen years ago to find his father looking down on him. 
Always looking down. Even now, Peter still couldn’t determine exactly what it
was his father looked at. He seemed to be looking at Peter, but his focus could 
have been on someone to the right or someone far behind Peter. It was as if 
Peter’s father was unwilling to commit. Or to let the world in on what he chose
to see. A secret. A protection from the evil eye.