A FAMILY PORTRAIT

It was Christmas morning and the floor of the study was litteredwith scraps of brightly colored paper and ribbon. The exchange ofgifts, which was never lavish at their house, was almost over.

"Is that everything?" Catherine asked.

Vicky poked under the splendid, if somewhat eclectically trimmedtree. "Looks like it," she said.

"No."

Heads turned as Evan, fourteen, pulled two flat packages frombehind a chair. He'd saved them 'til last because he was proud ofthem and wanted to watch his parents' faces as they opened thesegifts. Suddenly shy, he handed out the presents and sat back.

"You already gave me a present, Evan," his mother said,questioning.

"I know. This is extra. It's special."

His parents exchanged quick glances.

"You first," Vincent suggested.

Evan groaned. He was impatient by nature and the way his motheropened a gift drove him crazy.

Catherine refused to be rushed, taking her time as she always did.Evan thought he'd die by the time she finally finished removing thetape and folding back the paper.

Turning the object over, she caught her breath. "Oh, Evan."Evangrinned and Vicky poked him. She knew what the gifts were becauseshe'd helped.

"Show us," Jacob demanded, and Catherine lifted the framedphotograph and displayed it.

Evan was proud of the picture partly because he'd finally gotten ashot of his father without Vincent glaring at the camera lens, andpartly because it was a demonstration of his technical skill. He hadtaken the image of his father, lost in thought, and imposed it on abackground that included a carved jack o'lantern and sheaf of wheat.What he'd ended up with looked like a casual picture taken at aHalloween party.

"He made it so you can put it on your desk," Vicky volunteered.

"I can, can't I?" Catherine smiled down at the photograph. "Thankyou, Evan."

"You're welcome."

"Dad's turn," Jacob said. "Bet it's a picture, too."

It was a safe gamble; one of Evan's abiding passions wasphotography. While he was pleased with the picture he'd given hismother, he thought the one for his father was the finest photographhe'd ever taken.

After six months and countless rolls of film, he'd finallycaptured the expression he wanted, in the right light, with the rightfocus. He could still remember the day he'd succeeded.

He'd been standing behind the study door, camera, complete withzoom lens, in hand. His family was so accustomed to his camera thatthey ignored him, and his mother, on this afternoon, was noexception. He'd already taken a dozen candid shots of her as sheworked, but none of them were precisely what he wanted. He'd beenfocusing for another shot when his father came in the door; hesnapped the picture just as his mother looked up. Until he developedthe film, he didn't know what he had and he'd made Vicky get up outof bed to come look at it.

Despite her crankiness at being awakened at what she consideredthe middle of the night, she'd been impressed. "Neat. Daddy will loveit."

Dad did love it, Evan could tell. The look on his face was amirror of the expression Catherine wore in the picture... a mixtureof wonder and love, and the faint beginnings of a smile.Vincentstared at the picture for so long that Catherine finally got up andlooked over his shoulder.

"Do I look like that?" she asked softly.

"You do when you look at Daddy," Vicky answered.

Vincent finally found his voice. "It's a very beautiful gift,Evan. Thank you."

Evan didn't deal well with praise, and was glad when Jacob turnedthe focus of attention by asking, "Remember when Evan got his firstcamera?"

* * * * *

His ninth birthday. Nine seemed a magical age, when babyhood wasfinally and irrevocably left behind, but there was something evenmore special about this particular birthday because something rareand wonderful had occurred. Uncle Devin had come.

Uncle Devin's visits were infrequent and Evan could easily countthe number of birthdays at which he'd been present. Two years ago hecame to Vicky's, and Jacob's a couple of years before that... andthat was all. Evan couldn't remember Uncle Devin being there for anyof Charles's birthdays, or his mother's, or for his father's nameday.

Presents were different. Uncle Devin always sent presents, thoughnot always on time. When Evan turned six, Uncle Devin's presenthadn't arrived until February - four months later. It didn't matter,though; getting a package from Uncle Devin was exciting.

Evan had a small birthday celebration in the tunnels earlier thatday, so this gathering was strictly family. It was important to hisfather that things Below and things Above be kept separate, and allthe children recognized the importance of not flaunting theircomparative wealth in front of their tunnel friends; any gifts fromUncle Devin, or their mother, or their mother's friends were keptAbove.

The celebration had finally gotten to the best part, for Evan,anyway. Presents! The gifts from his siblings were the kind heusually got from them; a new soccer ball, a model plane, a Yankeescap. He really liked the Yankees.

Before he got the package open, he knew his father had given him abook, but the title made him grin. The Year the Yankees Lost thePennant. He didn't think his father knew anything about baseball.

Uncle Devin's comment surprised him. "Remember when we read thatto each other, Vincent? By flashlight, after we were supposed to besleeping?"

"I remember," his father answered with a smile.

For Evan, learning that Vincent had once been guilty of avoidingbedtime was no less interesting than that he had once read a bookabout baseball. Parents could surprise you, sometimes.

"Thanks, Dad," he said. "This is neat."

He chose to open his mother's gift next, half afraid it was goingto be something boring and practical, like clothes. He'd beensurprised by his father's gift, but his mother's astounded him.

"Oh, wow, Mom," he said reverently, lifting out a brand-newbaseball glove. "Oh, wow." He slipped it on his hand; it seemed madefor him, the leather smooth and supple. A new ball was in the box,too, and he tossed it gently a couple of times, getting the feel.

He'd wanted a new glove for months, but hadn't quite gotten up hisnerve to ask for one. He'd been playing ball for years, starting withT-ball. The worn, third- or fourth-hand glove he'd been playing withwas okay, but next year he'd be in Little League, and he neededsomething better.

This was perfect. He'd spent enough time in sporting goods storesstaring longingly at the gloves to know that one this good would havecost him a year's allowance.

"Thanks, Mom," he said, still awed.

"Uncle Joe helped me choose it," she explained, smiling. "He saysyou really need it."

"Oh, I do, I do," Evan said. Uncle Joe coached Evan's team lastyear, and wanted to coach Little League next season if he could findthe time. Uncle Joe had taught Evan a lot about baseball.

Opening Uncle Devin's gift was almost an afterthought. Inside thesmall, neatly wrapped box was a camera and several rolls of film. Hethanked Uncle Devin, of course, and took a few pictures, but it wasthe new glove that fascinated.

The camera sat for several weeks, until finally, on a NovemberSaturday too cold and windy to play ball, he picked it up, startedexperimenting and found that taking pictures was fun!

The camera, simple as it was, had an elementary zoom function, andhe liked playing around, framing things different ways. Everythingwas all right until he started taking pictures of people,specifically, his father.

He snapped three or four before the insistent clicking made hisparents, busy at their respective desks, look up. His father'sexpression was one of astonishment, his mother's, one of regret.

"Give me the camera, Evan," she said.

He wasn't sure why she wanted it. Putting it behind him, he backedaway. "No."

She stood up, her face grim, and he fled. Foolishly, he ran to hisbedroom, where she found him a moment later. "Give me the camera,Evan," she repeated.

"It's mine," he said, appalled. His mother never looked like this,never acted like this. It scared him.

"I'm not going to keep it. I just want the film."

"Why?" The question burst forth angrily. "It's mine!"

"Oh, Evan." To his utter and complete astonishment, her voicebegan to tremble. "I hate having to do this."

Shocked, he held out the camera. "Here." She sank down on his bedand he pressed the small black box into her hands.Stunned, he watchedas she opened the back of the camera, extracted the film, anddeliberately exposed it to light.

"You ruined it!" he said. It was more an expression of grief thanprotest.

"I know. I'm sorry."

Evan was not a particularly perceptive child, but even he couldtell she was upset. Still, he couldn't help wailing, "Why did youhave to ruin it?"

"Because you took pictures of your father."

Evan still didn't understand. "I wouldn't show them toanyone!"

"Oh, honey, I know you wouldn't. That isn't the problem."

"Then what?"

"What happens to the pictures you take, Evan?" she askedsoftly.

He looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "You take them to thecamera shop, and they develop... Oh." Her actions finally made sense."Whoever did the developing would see them, and might wonder."

"That's right. We can't take the chance." She reached to put herarms around him. "You don't know how sorry I am to have exposed yourfilm, Evan. How sorry I am that your life has to be so different fromthe lives of your friends."

* * * * *

Evan could smile now at the memory. Uncle Devin's gift had openeda part of himself that he hadn't dreamed existed. His mother's friendNancy Tucker had taught him how to frame a picture, choosing what tokeep and what to leave out; about using light and shadows, lenses andfilters, film speeds and shutter speeds. Last year, for his birthday,he'd received a much-coveted Nikon; last Christmas, a zoom lens. Forhis fourteenth birthday, just two months ago, his entire family,including friends Below, had joined together to make and supply hisvery own basement darkroom.

"We've come a long way," his mother said, interrupting histhoughts. She smiled at him. "Your camera's become a window,Evan."

He knew what she meant. It hadn't been long after the "exposedfilm" incident that he realized he'd much rather take photographs oflife Above; these pictures provided a means for his father to sharethings previously closed to him.

Evan's Winterfest gift to his father this year had been a photoalbum, full of the scenes he knew his mother wished she could sharewith him: Jacob singing with his school's madrigal group; Charles athis high school graduation; Vicky and Catherine riding horses down ahill against a colorful backdrop of autumn leaves. There was even anout-of-focus shot, taken by Vicky, of Evan playing soccer.

Evan had made a trip to the roof of a building he'd heard hisfather describe once, fast-talking his way past a security guard andedging, carefully, out onto a treacherous ledge to take a sunlitphotograph of a view he knew his father had only seen by night.

He'd tried to open other windows for his father, too, spending anafternoon (and three rolls of film) at his mother's office, ending upwith half-a-dozen good shots: Mom arguing with Uncle Joe; runningexasperated fingers through her hair as she spoke on the phone; bentover her cluttered desk with an air of concentration; frowning as shediscussed something with Rita Escobar; laughing at a story told byone of the trial attorneys.

"All right, Evan," Charles said, breaking his new train ofthought. "Tell us. What's the picture you'd most like to take?"

"Aw, come on," he protested. "That's like asking Jacob what storyhe'd most like to write, or Mom what case she'd most like towin."

"For Jacob, it's the great American novel, and for Mother, it'sthe case that would effectively end all crime everywhere, forever,"Charles answered swiftly. "Come on. There's got to be something."

Evan had been lounging on the floor; now he rolled onto his backand stared at the ceiling. "You mean besides the really obvious stufflike getting a terrific shot of a UFO, or something."

"That wouldn't be so bad," Vicky said, grinning. "You could sellit to a tabloid and be rich!"

Evan grinned too. "I guess. But while I'm waiting for the UFO,what I'd really like... promise you won't laugh?"

Reassured by their spontaneous promises, he continued. "A familyportrait." He paused, feeling he'd revealed a deep, dark secret.

"What's so special about that?" Jacob asked after a moment. "Weget one of those every two or three years, anyway."

"No, I mean a real family portrait. The whole family." He turnedhis head to meet his father's calm gaze. "Dad, too."

There was another pause, broken by his mother. "Why, Evan?"

He sighed. "Because you have all those old pictures of yourparents, and your grandparents. Of your family."

"They're your family, too," she reminded gently.

"I know, but I never knew those people," he explained. "Besides, afamily is two sides, and you're just one. Dad is half of who I am,who we all are."

Coming from Evan, those were profound words indeed, and everyonestopped to consider them.

"He's right, you know," Jacob said at last. "We don't have anyrecord anywhere of our entire family."

"What of Father's register?" Vincent said quietly, reminding themof the big old ledger where Father had kept a meticulous record ofthe births and deaths, arrivals and departures of all the tunnelfolk. "I'm there, and your mother, and all of you."

"Okay," Jacob conceded. "But a family portrait would be somethingwe could keep, something we could show our grandchildren, so they'dknow where they came from."

"I think it's a good idea," Charles said, adding his vote.

"Me, too," Vicky chimed.

Vincent exchanged wary glances with Catherine.

"We could keep the negative and all the prints in the tunnels,"Evan argued, sensing victory. His mother smiled, and he knew he'd wonher over.

"I'm not accustomed to having my picture taken," his father saidslowly. "But if it's so important to all of you..."

* * * * *

"A little to your left, Jacob," Evan said. "Vicky, sit up just alittle and edge to your right... Dad, try not to look so serious."

Vicky giggled and Evan glared at her. When she subsided, hechecked the focus and aperture settings one last time, hit theself-timer button and moved unhurriedly to take his place in thefamily group. A red light on the face of the camera blinked awarning.

"Here we go," Evan said. "Everybody smile."

The shutter snapped.

THE END