My father is helping the Ledoux sistersmove their old refrigeratorinto the basement when they buy the new one.The dolly hasn’t been touched for years,but it still has grease in the wheel bearingsand makes a mollifying squeakas he bumps across the thresholdfrom the kitchen to the parlor.He moves delicately to keep the balance,avoiding the soft places in the floor,and as he moves, those Ledouxs tskand fuss about what to fix for supper.He thinks now on hot afternoonsas they cool off in the basementthey won’t have to climb the stairsto freshen two glasses with iced tea.He is happy they have patched things upafter decades of not speaking.Nina Totenberg is talking on public radio.Pea their green parakeet is singing.At the stairs he loosens the straps,takes the refrigerator off the dolly,lays it on a quilt and edges it slowly.It is a kind day, breezy and mildly warm.My father is not jousting or scaling a battlement.He is watching the Ledoux sistersshow off their new refrigerator, its four adjustabletrays, chill drawer, and ice-maker—and sees himself handsome, a knight, a sir.Under his overalls’ armor, his tie is still knotted.A Sunday. How clean things are.When Belle touches the buttonon the little spigot on the doorclear water pours into a silver cup.