"He's not normal."

She was quiet.  She did not want to hear that.

"He's just not from around here," he said, rolling over toward her.

"I know that.  But we don't know where."

"Where?"

"Where he's from."

"I thought you stopped worrying about that when he first started to talk."

"I did.  I really did, Jonathan.  I'm just afraid, that's all."

"No don't tell me you're afraid of the boy."

"No of course not.  How could I?  I'm just afraid …"

"Of?"

"Of the enemies he'll make.  Of that big red-and-yellow target on his chest.  Of how long he'll be with us."

"Shh.  Martha, calm down.  I know.  Shh.  Come here."

"I'm sorry.  I need him.  I don't want to give him away.  I need him like I need you.  And he's alone."

"What do you mean he's alone?  He's got a family."

"Oh what's there for him from old folks like us?  He's all alone, and now we're making him some kind of … of symbol.  I don't like it."

"We're all alone, Martha.  We're farm folks.  We've been alone all our lives.  That's the way people live.  It's what we're here to do."

"Oh don't be getting all universal and religious on me, Jonathan Kent.  You haven't been to church since the last time you washed the dishes."

"You know he can hear us, right?"

"Why would he listen?"

"How could he help it?"