The last we are allowed to see of sacred (not scared) Jacob are the soles of his shoes. If memory worked only by last impression, we would always have to an image of him that began at the ground and worked up to the knees. If, by mistake, we use words to remember him, we will think only of a leather-shoed soul, tough for wilderness wandering, suspended gently over the edge of the cabin door at the end of the day, feet still attached, face invisible.     I certainly didn't want to waste very much time on it. I had other places to go.