BOOK IV


The Rail

I



TRANQUILLY the months had passed. Summer had come and the
advanced grade and the glowing, incalculable and unlimned vista of the
school vacation--that had remained unlimned. But David felt little
disappointment on that score. Let other boys boast of prolonged visits to the
seashore or to the mountains or to camps. For him the mere passing of time
was a joy. The body was 1aware of a lyric indolence, a golden lolling within
itself. He felt secure at home and in the street--that was all the activity he
asked.

It was a day in that season when the sun bolsters a fallen wing with a
show of soaring, a day of heat and light. Light so massive stout brick walls
could scarcely breast it when it leaned upon them; light that seemed to
shiver windows with a single beam; that crashed against the careless eye
like rivets. A day when clouds played advocates for pavements, stemming
the glare on tenuous bucklers, growing stainless with what they staunched.
A day so bright that streets would slacken when shaded momentarily,
facade and wall would slump as if relaxing, gather new strength against
new kindling. It was late July.

Walking home from the free baths on 6th Street, David, already flushed
and perspiring, wished he were back again. It had been cool under the
showers. One could slide on one's belly down the chill, slippery marble
aisle for almost a block--at least it looked that long. But the moment one
came out into the hot streets, the coolness vanished.

Only one's hair remained damp--and that was the worst part of it--the
man at the door always ran his fingers through one's hair and chased the
repeaters from the line.

He trudged on, breathing through his mouth from time to time because
the air had grown so hot it seemed to sear the nostrils. Although he had not
yet crossed Avenue C, the street was so deserted and the sun so bright, he
could see the glint on the brass bannisters before his house. He glanced at
the clock in the corner drug store--it pointed to a quarter past nine. Past
nine? Where was his father's milk wagon? Good! He was gone. Despite his
feeling of greater security these days, that same sense of relief still cropped
up. Good! He didn't have to think about him now. He could go upstairs now
and have his second breakfast--his first before going to the baths had been
a glass of milk. After that the day was his. He quickened his step--
What were they doing?

Near the curb, diagonally across Avenue D, squatted a circle of four or
five boys, their sharp, eager cries prodding the drugged quiet of the street.
One or two he recognized--they lived somewhere on 9th Street. And there
was Izzy who went to his cheder. What was it they were all stooping over
so intently? As he drew near his house, he saw rise from their midst a
languid spiral of smoke, and a moment after, heard exultant cries. He tip
toed to catch a glimpse over their heads. A black box? Red? No. What?
Their heads were packed too close. It deserved a minute's consideration. He
crossed the Avenue, drew near.

"I told yuh!" their shrill voices clashed. "Look how id boins! Now pud
id in! Gimme!"

Between bobbing heads, he saw a rusty toy stove and pale yellow
flames creeping out of it. Smoke spouted from all the cracks. The small
oven door, also full of smoke, was open. Between the feet of the boy
tending the stove, lay a brown paper bag, once large, now rolled into a tight
scroll. Their faces were red. They jabbered, rubbing smoke-filled eyes. One
blew intently at the flame.

"Watcha doin?" David tugged Izzy's shirt.

"We all gonna ead good righd away!" the reply rushed at him.

"W'a'? Watcha gonna ead?"

"Pop-cunn! See?" He pointed to the rolled-up bag. "Nickel a bag. Id's
chicken cunn, bod the wagon wuz busted, so it spilled oud on de dock."

"Oh!"

"Yuh gid somm if you waid.

"Yea?"

"Yea! See de nice stuv we god? Kushy fond id on de junk yod."

Kushy had unfurled the bag and was pouring the yellow grains into the
oven.

"Shake it up!" they advised. "Give id a spread oud wid a stick. Now
cluz id. Mum! Yom! Yom! I'll ead a hull beg."

"Led's gid somm suit." Kushy suggested. "Hey Toik, you live on de
foist fluh! G'wan!"

"Naa! We'll ead like dis!"

"Yuh see?" Izzy concluded. "Yuh'll gid somm if yuh waid."

Fascinated by the prospect, David wedged in among the rest and squat-
ted down. The stove smoked lustily, growing redder and redder as now
one and now another stoked it. All faces sweated profusely.

"Id's hod!" they finally decided. "Betcha id's cooked. G'wan open id
Kush! Gid a stick. Wooy! Pop-cunn!"

With the end of a stick, Kushy pried the oven door open. Heads drew
closer. Inside, on the red-hot bottom of the oven, what had once been
yellow grains were now charred and shriveled beads.

"Aaa, shit!" A groan of disgust burst from lifted throats. "Dey ain'
w'ite!"

"But mebbe we can ead anyway," one of the invincibles comforted
himself. "Ain' id pop-cunn?"

"Sure, betcha dey taste good! I'll try foist. Push id in my hand. Ooy!
Id's hod!"

"Da-a-a-vidl Da-a-avid!"

"Me?" He gazed about, startled.

"Da-a-avid!"

Up! Oh! It was his mother, leaning from a window. "Wa-a-at?"

"Come u-up!"

"Ye-e-es!"

Her head disappeared inside.

That was strange. She almost never called him from the window. What
did she--Gee! He stared. There, beside his house stood his father's milk
wagon. That was even stranger. What was he doing home at this hour? He
never came back so late in the morning. Something must be wrong.

Disquieted, he crossed the street, scrutinized the black horse resting his
feed-bag on the curb. Perhaps it was some other milk man. No, it was Billy
sure enough, the black, powerful animal they had recently given his father.
Reluctantly he went into the hall-way, climbed the stairs and hung back a
moment before he opened his door --familiar blue cap and black whip on
the washtub. His father, already seated before the table, glanced at him as
he entered and then turned to his mother who was standing before the ice
box:

"Have you any sour cream left?"

"Without end," she answered, smiling at David as he entered. "And a
few more scallions?"

"Let it be--" And to David. "Wash your hands and sit down."

Completely at a loss now, David went over to the sink. When he
returned to the table, his mother had set his combination lunch and
breakfast before him--things he liked: Golden-skinned, smoked white-
fish, cucumbers and tomatoes, pumpernickel, milk, purple plums. His
mouth watered; in the twinges of awakening hunger apprehensions were
momentarily forgotten. He had just opened the white-fish--a middle-piece,
it opened like a golden volume--when his father, nodding curtly, said:

"After you've finished, I want you to stay near the wagon where I can
find you."

David sought his mother's eyes.

"You're going with father," she explained.

"Me?"

"Yes!" his father interposed. "Don't jump as though you saw the
gloomy angel."

"It will only be for a short time," his mother reassured him. "An hour--
no, Albert?"

"Perhaps longer," was his curt reply.

"He has the cheder," she reminded him. "It's early during the summer."

"I told you he'd be there in good time. Do you know, if you go on
keeping him from seeing how I earn his bread, he'll begin to believe I'm
one of God's playfellows."

"I didn't mean that," she answered. "I--"

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Another child would have been with me long ago--
would have begged to go. But enough of this--You stay near the wagon."

He scooped a dripping radish from the cream, slumped back, still chewing.
There was silence for a few seconds.

"When is he coming," ventured his mother, "the other I mean."

"Tomorrow maybe. I can't tell."

"Poor man!"

"It happens . . . Lucky for me I brought an extra cake of ice along. I
wouldn't have had enough with this heat-- But better the summer than the
winter."

"At least the ways aren't so icy."

"Yes. And you can see the stairs at four in the morning. And the handle
of the tray isn't so frozen it burns through your gloves like fire."

"It's all bitter, Albert."

"Mm!" he grunted. "You hardly know. I sell my days for a little silver--
a little paper--sixteen smirched leaves a week--I'll never buy them back
with gold. It's enough sometimes to make one savage with man and beast."

"But other men work as well."

"You needn't tell me that!"

There was silence again, while his father ate, staring with heavy eyes at
the table.

"And you'd really want your days back?" She sat down, hands in her
lap.

He snorted. "What a question!"

"I wouldn't."

"You mean days such as you've had? Like these?" "Any kind."

"Hmph!" he grunted. "Won't you be a grandmother soon enough
without posting?"

"No," she smiled, her wide brown eyes lifted to the ceiling. "I want to
be one tomorrow."

"You're a fool!"

"When I can say as mine did. It's over. I stepped into the sun, I took one
breath and suddenly I was a grandmother--Throw clocks away!"

"She grew wise as she grew old?" he asked with dry sarcasm.

"They measure nothing, she would say. Only the swing of cranes in the
tides of their flight is worth reckoning. The rest is a rattle on Purim--
deliverance from Haman long hanged."

He chuckled once, sneered. "You and your grandmother!"

She laughed with him.

He pushed his plate away, breathing heavily, ran weathered powerful
fingers through his thinning black hair, pressed down the ridge in the back
Of his head where the cap had bitten in.

"No more?" she asked.

"No." He rose, tilted his head back, stretched. Drowsiness slowly
cobwebbed the taut, impassive face. "No later than half-past ten."

"I'll wake you, Albert."

He plodded into the bedroom, shut the door behind him. The bed
creaked . ..

"Mama!" David whispered.

"Yes, child?"

"What does he want?"

"Oh--! There's a milkman out. He cut his hand on a bottle--fearful
thing!" she shuddered. "And they've divided his route among the rest."

"Why does he want me?"

"He's delivering to the gas houses there--the other man's route. And he
wants you to sit in the wagon while he's gone."

"Aaa! I don't want to go."

"I know. I'm worried too," she confessed. "The other man always had a
dog in his wagon--you'll be the dog this time." She smiled. "Just this once,
won't you? You'll like it, riding on the wagon, seeing new streets. It will be
cool when the horse is running."

He shook his head resentfully. Her words aroused a foreboding in him.

"Come!" she coaxed, "just this once."

Moodily, he pecked at his food. "How far are the gas houses?"

"Not at all far. Twentieth Street--I think that's what your father said."

"That is far!"

"Sh!" She looked uneasily at the bedroom door. "Do finish your lunch."

"Only one side of the white fish," he said sullenly.

"Don't you like it any more?"

"No."

"Why are you so frightened, child! You're not leaving me! Drink the
rest of your milk."

But his appetite had vanished. It was only after a great deal of urging
that she prevailed upon him to finish his lunch.

"Can I go now?" he asked, rising.

"Don't you want to wait here? It's cooler than the street."

He hesitated a moment. "No, I'll go down."

"Very well," she sighed. "I beg you stay near the wagon." She bent
down, let him kiss her brow. "Come straight home after cheder."



II



HE WENT down the stairs, and reaching the street, looked eagerly
toward Avenue D. He had meant to return to the pop-corn oven when he
came down in order to forget his uneasiness and at the same time be near
the wagon. But now they were gone. The pop-corn oven lay beside the
curb, a shattered heap of iron. Evidently, they had repaid it for its
recalcitrance. But where had they gone to? Eating perhaps. No, it wasn't
their lunch time yet. It was only ten o'clock.

Disconsolately he sat down, stretched out athwart the uppermost step of
the stoop where the shady threshold of the hallway joined the burning stairs.
Just outside the doorway, and under the fierce glare, the horse, black flanks
rippling like water, lashed out viciously with hoof and tail at the glinting
flies. His straw bonnet with much tossing was awry. Yellow oats, flung up
from his feedbag, lay strewn on the grey-bright gutter. Muted with heat, the
city droned remotely. He wished he didn't have to go.

He had been sitting there for only a few minutes, ferreting about in his
mind for some subterfuge, some invulnerable excuse that would prevent his
accompanying his father, when the sound of running feet reached him. He
looked out on the street. With a shrill cry of "Here's a wagon!" preceding
them, Kushy and another boy ran past the doorway, came to a sudden halt
before the milk-wagon.

"Hea's a good w'eel, Maxey." Kushy grasped the spokes and squatted
down to examine the hub. David noticed that from his hand dangled
something that looked like a flat piece of iron tied to a string.

"Yea, a lot!" Maxey, a short stick in his fist, hopped down eagerly
beside him.

Prompted more by curiosity than possessiveness, David rose. "Hey,
wodda yuh wan'? Dat's my fodder's wagon."

"So wadda yuh hollerin' about?" Kushy retorted, belligerent after a
single glance over his shoulder.

"We ain' takin' nott'n." Maxey explained. "Only grease from de axle."
Industriously he probed the black inside of the hub with the stick.

"Way in deep!" Kushy directed.

"Wotcha gonna do?" David came down the steps.

"We're goin fishin'." Maxey drew out a large black gob of grease. "On
Tent' Stritt. We're potners. We seen id foist."

"C'mon!" Kushy interrupted him. "Don' led id flopl"

And with a "No akey! No akey!" flung over their shoulders, the two
partners raced toward Avenue D and disappeared around the corner.

Mystified, longing desperately to follow, David stared after them. Half
past ten, his father had said. That was a long ways off. He could watch them
awhile and be back before his father came down. No one would know.

Involuntarily, so it seemed to him, he gravitated toward the corner and went
around it. They had said that they would be on Tenth Street, the next block.
Should he go that far? At the last moment he decided that he had better not.
It was too risky. He would only go as far as the new photography shop in
the middle of the block and then return. He peered into the window. It was
full of pictures, big and small, bridal pictures, the bride and groom standing
stiffly apart despite their apparent closeness, their faces frozen in an
impending smile; pictures of prize-fighters crouching in sash and tights;
pictures of infants, the little girls seated, holding tiny muffs where the
pudgy legs joined the small torso; the little boys always lay on their bellies.
And horrible, enlarged pictures of old men and women, colored and acid
clear, the magnified expanse of their brown and sunken cheeks wrinkled the
way the wind wrinkles sand. Pictures. Pictures, How did they stretch the big
ones out of the little ones? And that bar of glass, that extended across the
top of the show window, where did it get that strange green light that
changed the color of everyone's face when one passed it?

He'd better return now. But there was Tenth Street just a little ways off.
He would only look once and then go back. Which way?

One glance toward Avenue C sufficed: As many as had been crouching
about the pop-com oven were now clustered before a building this side of
the wood-turning shop. He broke into an eager trot, drew up. Most of them
were the same boys he had seen a short time ago. Breathless, silent,
absorbed, they kneeled on all fours on the iron grate over the cellar. All
faces pointed downwards, all eyes riveted on something beneath. Not one
looked up when David crawled in among them.

Kushy was doing the fishing. David peered down. Because of the depth
of the cellar, it took some time for his eyes to become accustomed to the
gloom. But squinting tightly, he at last discerned a something silver
glimmering on the grimy cellar floor. Little by little, the gleam settled into
the round, smudged surface of a coin. And above it, like a pendulum
swinging slowly to and fro, the flat piece of iron hung from Kushy's hand.
His eyes at length completely accustomed to the shadows, David observed
that the entire surface of the sinker was daubed with axle grease.

"Leggo now!" someone hissed between the grate. "Now! Id's righd
oveh!"

"Shod op!" Kushy shot back.

As the sinker swung it descended, its area of vibration slowly decreas-
ing. For a moment it hovered directly over the glistening coin--then
dropped as if on a prey!

"Easy Kushy!" their admonitions seethed. "Easy! Easy!

'At's id! Id'll stick, g'wanl Yuh god it! Betcha million! Slow! Slow!"

"No akeyl No akey!" Maxey murmured exultantly.

Pop-eyed, taut with excitement, Kushy hauled in the slack with infinite
deliberation. The grease-coated sinker stirred, rose--the coin, smeared now
with grease, never budged, but lay where it had lain before. Barbed cackles
of derision flew from all but the two partners' lips.

"I'll punch yuh innuh nose," growled Kushy, crimson and bridling.

"Jost you waid!" Maxey spat out venomously. "Ask me fuh sompt'n
youse guys. Bubbikiss you'll ged! G'wan, Kush, you'll ged it op yet!
G'wan!"

The strain broken now, they jabbered turbulently. "See! I tol' yuh de
stuv-iron is hod luck! Yea, yuh shoulda taken somp'n else. Aaal I coulda
god id if yuh did'n holler."

"You'll never ged id." Izzy announced smugly. "Betcha I could ged id."

"Balls you'll ged!"

"An I ain' gonna tell yuh how," he added spitefully.

"Balls you'll ged," repeated Kushy, "an' a rusky-chooy!"

"Yea?"

"Yea, an' a bust onna beezer!"

Opposition silenced, Kushy once more lowered the iron shard; once
more it dropped only to rise without the coin. He tried again. As often as the
grease touched the coin, the latter became a shade darker, a shade more like
its surroundings, and by degrees more difficult to distinguish. The minutes
passed. While Kushy fished the rest hitched their tongues in tow of their
imaginations.

"If it wuz a nickel," said one broody voice between the gratings, "I
could buy fuh two cends cockamamies an' pud em on mine hull arm. An'
den fuh t'ree cends I'll go to duh movies."

"Yuh c'n buy fuh free cends cockamamies." Izzy crisply revised the
dream.

"Wy?"

"Cuz yuh c'n ged in duh movies lods o' times fuh on'y two cends. Id's
two fuh a nickel ain' id, fuh kids? Make de odder guy give t'ree cends."

"Fot smeller," sneered Kushy vainly lifting the sinker for the twentieth
time. The rest brayed their approval.

"Yuh c'n ged in fuh nutt'n wise guy!" another voice affirmed.

"Woddayuh tink o' dat? Yuh jos' make believe yuh lookin' on duh pickchiss
outside. An' w'en dat ticket-chopper ain' lookin'--zoo! Yuh go in
--an' id's all dock inside."

"Yea!" Izzy parried. "An' zoo! If he catches yuh! Wadda roost innee ass
he gives. Membuh w'en Hoish god caught? Wuz he cryin'?"

"Make believe w'at I had a nickel," another rapt voice announced, "so
I'll go to Kaplan's on Evenyuh C and I'll buy a tousan' rubbuh ben's an'
make a bounceh--a real high bounceh--"

"A lod ain' good." Izzy interrupted with authority. "I know somebody,
he made a bounceh--bigger'n dis." His two palms slid through the gratings
about a foot apart. "Mor'n' a zillion rubbuh ben's he had on id, and id
wouldn't even go high like dis cellah. So he made five liddle ones, an' duh
liddle ones bounced ten flaws w'en he ga'm a good shod."

"Ten flaws?"

"Yea!"

"Buzjwa!" they chorused.

"Yea?"

A short space of silence followed while eyes again glued to the coin on
the cellar floor. It was practically indistinguishable now, but still Kushy
fished, declining all the offers of those who suggested spitting down at the
coin to clean it. Oblivious of the passing time, David peered down with the
rest.

"You'll never ged id," said Izzy at length. "An' maybe id ain' even a
nickel," he added waspishly.

"Maybe you ain' gonna ged mobilized," Kushy answered ominously. It
was evident to all that long frustration had exhausted his patience.

"Aaa, don' mobilize so fast!" muttered Izzy.

"Yuh wan' me to show yuh?" The sinker jogged ominously across the
cellar floor.

"Tough guy!"

"I'll spid in yer eye in a minute!"

"You an' who else?"

"Me an' myself!" The sinker flew up. The next moment Kushy had
sprung to his feet.

(From somewhere an obscure drum of hooves)

"Wan' me to show yuh?" he blustered.

"Yea!" Izzy rose as well.

David shrank away. He hated fights. Why did they have to fight and
spoil everything? But before the two pugilists had time to fly at each other,
a loud, imperious rapping startled them all. They stared at the gutter. With a
cry David recoiled. Poised on the side step of the milk wagon, sleeveless
shirt dazzling in the light, his father was rapping the butt-end of the whip
against the wagon--"Come here!" He bit off the Yiddish words.

David flung himself toward the curb. "I didn' know, papa! I didn' know! I
thought you--you weren't ready."

"Get in!"

He could hear the amazed whispers of the other boys on the side-walk.
With numb, aimless haste, he grasped the first thing that seemed to offer a
way up, the spokes of the wagon wheel. His feet, cramped with kneeling,
slipped toward the hub. His father's jarring hand hooked under his armpit,
yanked him roughly aboard.

"Witless block!" he ground out, "Lucky for you I found you. If I hadn't
I would have flayed you--!" He flicked the reins. "Giddap Billy!" The
wagon rolled forward. "Why I don't give a blow to crack your head I don't
know!"

Whimpering David cowered against the loose milk-boxes rattling
behind him.

"If I had the time--!" he broke off significantly. "But disobey me
again!" And with a furious sidelong glare, leaned out through the window
like opening in the front of the wagon and nipped the horse with the end of
the whip. "C'mon Billy!"

The horse broke into a heavy gallop. At Avenue C, they turned and headed
north. Letting the reins rest on the front bar a few seconds, his father
reached behind him, pried loose an empty box and set it down beside
David. "Sit down! But hold on to the side there, so you won't fall off as
only you are able."

They drove on rapidly; Ninth Street dropped far behind--it seemed to
him forever. Relieved by slight flurries in traffic from his father's
smouldering eye, David stared unhappily at the houses gliding past the
doorway. He felt strange--feverish almost. Whether it was that he had been
staring down into the cellar too long, or whether because his fear of his
father clouded and distorted all the things he saw, he could not tell. But
he felt as though his mind had slackened its grip on realities. The houses,
pavements, teams, people on the street no longer had that singleness and
certainty about them that they had had before. Solidities baffled him now,
eluded him with a veiled shifting of contour. He could not wholly identify
even the rhythm and the clap of hooves; something alien and malign had
fused with all the familiar sounds and sights of the world. The sunlight that
had been so dazzling before was mysteriously dulled now as though filtered
by an invisible film. Something of its assertion had been drained from
stone, something of inflexible precision from iron. Surfaces had hollowed a
little, sagged, edges had blurred. The stable lineaments of the mask of the
world had overlapped, shifted configuration as secretly and minutely as
clock-hands, as sudden as the wink of an eye. It was strange. It had
happened before. A vague, diffuse aching filled his breast. Again and again,
he sighed, uncontrollable, shivery, stealthy sighs. Suddenly, he realized
that he had not known how happy he had been--only a little while ago,
unaccountably free and happy--July, June, May. It was gone now. He was
haunted again.

He looked from the street to his father. Too tall for the wagon, he
stooped forward, black reins loose in weathered hand. Nothing about him
ever changed. Let worlds heave and freeze, he remained the same--always
the thin inscrutable mouth, always the harsh pride of taut nostrils, heavy
lidded eyes. Under the sheer, unswerving steep of his aloofness, there was
shelter sometimes, but never foothold.

They turned east, left the pavements behind. On the cobbled streets, the
horse's hooves rang out now sharp now hollow. The wagon bounced and
clattered. As the streets grew empty, the houses grew smaller and shoddier.
There were no children to be seen, only cats sunning themselves before
battered doorways. They turned a corner. Between the looming of enormous
gas tanks, the river looked as if the shore beyond were only a blunt wedge
sideways through the sky, so alike in azure were water and heaven. Here
were no habitations. Beside the curb, a long, deep ditch through the
pavement had been left uncovered. From the bottom of the trench as they
neared it, rose the sweetish, festering stench of the city's iron entrails.
His father swung out wide, passed the embankment of rusty soil set with red
lanterns, and drawing up to the curb, reined in his horse.

"Move!" he said.

David scrambled to one side. His father reached into the back of the
wagon, dragged out two steel trays and set them on the ribbed wagon floor.
From three boxes, all of which were filled with bottled milk and covered
with ice, he loaded both trays, and when every square in the trays had been
planted, shored bottles against leaning bottles in glistening white pyramids.
In the last box only four bottles sprouted from between the cracked ice.
These he left behind, and shoving both trays near the door-way, he climbed
out into the sunlight. One after another he swung them down, grunting as he
did so, the sinews of his throat leaping like bow-strings.

"This time don't forget," he said, glancing about. "Stay where you're
told, hear me?" His brief nod was full of meaning, and then he turned away
and lunged forward and with stiff, jerky gait, hurried down a narrow lane
between squat and dingy shacks. As he drew away, deeper and deeper shadows
pitted the stretched thews of his long bare arms. Under his flat springless
tread, the crushed stones on the ground slid and crunched. The path turned,
curving round a gas tank. With a last clink of bottles he disappeared.



Ill



UNREAL quiet . . . Against the drowsy, dwindled hum of the city only
the sound of the horse champing softly on his bit, pawing or rattling his
traces could be heard. The arid cobbles, distinct close at hand and hemmed
in by peeling bill boards, blackened hovels, vacant storage houses,
contracted to scales in middle distance, slurred further on and slid up a
narrow groove of houses into dusty blue sky. Rarely and even then too far
for a sound to travel, a horse and wagon crossed the street. From the trench
in the pavement, the rank, persistent damp mingled with the odor of rancid
milk in the wagon. Time dragged.

Two men slanted past the corner. After the strange silence of the street
and the strange disquiet in himself, David found the scrape of soles on
sidewalk suddenly welcome. One of the men seemed about to cross the
street, but his companion gave his arm a short tug, said something and both
swerved from their course and shambled leisurely toward the wagon. Their
coats were slung over their shoulders and as they walked they wiped their
faces in the lining. A grey rope held up the pants of one, the other had
safety pins in his suspenders. Both wore dirty, blurry, striped shirts, torn
under the neck-bands and collarless. Their features, as they grew more
distinct, were blunt and coarse, pocked and purplish as peach-stones. The
leaner was the shaggier of the two, his hair, the blonde of a gunny sack,
matted under his brown felt hat. The stockier, under his tilted cap, had a
moon-shaped brow, good-humored, piggish eyes, and between puffy jowls a
short mustache like oiled hemp, smoke-singed at the fat lips. There had
been something significant about the way they had nudged each other and
then changed their course, and now as they sauntered within a few feet of
the wagon, David began to hope that they would pass without stopping.

"I told yuh it wuz a kid," he heard the stocky one say. And then loudly.
"Hullo dere, big boy!" Opposite the doorway of the wagon, he smiled
affably, widely, yellow butts of his teeth circled on top like bitten
grains of corn. "Waddaye say?"

"Hot ain' id?" the other grinned beside him. "Whew!" Saliva on his protrud-
ing upper teeth glistened, gathered; leisurely he sucked it in as it fell.

Without answering, David stared at them irresolutely.

"Ol' man's wagon?"
asked the first, his pudgy finger sliding from his mustache to worry a pimple
on his chin. "Go in wid a big load, didn't 'e?" His bright, amiable eyes
fixed on the graveled lane, "Didn't 'e?"

"Yea."

"Long ago?"

"Yea."

"Nice kid, ain' 'e?"

The other winked, curled his tongue out for the sliding drop. "Maybe he
wantzuh see de gas house? Woik fast!"

"Say! I'll betcha shirt he does! Ever been in a gas house?"

"No!" apprehensively. He wished they would go away.

"No? Say, we'll show yuh de whole woiks!"

"No!"

"Layin' out?" He leaned inside the doorway.

"Yep," the other grunted. He had shifted his position so that he partly
faced the graveled lane.

"C'mon!" the stocky one urged pleasantly. "We c'n show yuh all de
fires--biggest fires, biggest foinisses in Noo Yawk. Show yuh yer ol' man."
Suddenly he leaned forward. Blacknailed, outstretched fingers gripped
David's buttocks. He wrenched free, sprang away.

"No!" Sudden fear made him cling to the opposite side of the wagon.
"No! I don't wanna go--no place! Lemme alone!"

"Gettin' hot, Augie?"

The other cackled. "No go, Wally. We gotta get it and skin out o' hea."

"Yea," drawled the other still smiling, and then briskly. "All right, kid,
won't show 'em to yuh dis time-- I see yer ol' man's got a liddle milk left,
ain' he? Nice and cool, I bet. Well, we'll buy a couple o' bottles. He knows
us, see--? Clear, Augie?"

"Shoot!"

"Jest a couple." He swept away the ice, calmly uprooted two bottles of
milk. "We gid it every day. Tell 'im Hennesy took it. T'ree Star Hennesy--
he'll remember." He passed a bottle to the other. "We pays him reggileh,"
he added, slouching off in the direction he, had come. "So long, big boy!
Show yuh de gas house sometime."

His lips quivering in terror and too dazed even to breathe, David watched
them wrap their coats about the bottles, quicken their pace as they neared
the corner, wheel round it and vanish.

He gasped. They had stolen the bottles! He knew it! He knew the moment
that man reached over he was going to steal them. What would his father
say? You left the wagon! You left the wagon! And after I told you not
to. Papa, no I I never left it! I thought you knew them! They said you did.
You left the wagon! I didn't! They came--! His mind seemed to have burst
into myriads of razor-edged shards hurtling through his skull. Ow! When he
comes! When he looks in! And two missing. Why didn't you stop them?
Why didn't you tell them to wait till I came? Why didn't you cry out? I did,
papa! I did! I mean--! they said--! The whip--there. He'd take it. Ow!
His frantic nails dug under his cap, harrowed the scalp beneath, which
stung and prickled as though a rash had broken out upon it. A cold sweat
sprang out over his face and throat, and his writhing body grew suddenly
hollow and agonized. Without desire or strength to still them, he listened to
the sick chattering of his teeth. Already feeling the lash on his back, he
cowered down and lifted his hands to his face.

--Ow! Ow! Papa! Papa! Ow! Don't! I didn't mean it. They tried to grab
me. Push me out . . . (He tried to flee from himself as he had once done in
the darkness behind his palms. Where could he flee to? Where?) Like that
time then. In cellar was and ran. In up-and-out pictures ran. In street now,
where--? Mama! Make her look. Make how she looks. Her face. Make!
MAKE! I want her face. Mama! MAMA! Make her look. (He concentrated,
culling dispersion with every force of his will --failed. Tried again, failed.
The face would not fuse. His own mother's face eluded him.) Can't! I can't!
Oh, mama! Mama! Can't . . . (He rocked back and forth). I'll make believe
I'll go home first. Yes. Like that I'll get it. All the streets. Rrrrp! Ninth
Street. Now up stoop go. Hot is brass bannister. No touch, janitor says. Cold
in winter. Hall inside--No! No! Not this one! Not this! Funny! Old hall
from way then, Brownsville pushed right in. Old cellar hall. Got it, Ninth
Street back. Now keep. Don't let go. Baby carriages under the stair here.
Milk-stink on 'em. Now go. First floor, see the steps, see the toilets. Bloop!
Slipped, slipped down. Gee! Baby carriages. She's waiting. Upstairs. Fourth
floor, waiting. Now go! Bing! One, two, three, four-- Aaa, shit--slipped!
Baby carriages. Milk stink pulls, pulls me back. This time, jump! All the
way up! One jump all the way! One, two, go--! Wrong! It's wrong! Wrong
hallway! No! No! No cellar door. Not in my house. Not open! Not open!
Like --Like I just smelled. Street open. Street--open-stink, where they're
digging. Aaa! (He ground his teeth in sudden fury) I'm going up! I'm going
up anyway! You won't stop me! YOU WON'T! I'll hold it! Now! (His
fingers pinched his nose till it hurt) Now I'll go! What--!

The crunch of heels upon the gravel. Terror! His eyes snapped open.
Dwarfed between the huge gas tanks, his father rounded the path. Eyes
downcast as always, he hurried, jangling the empty grey bottles in their
trays. Louder, louder, nearer, they seemed to clank in David's heart as well.
With every step his father took, the breath in his own body became more
labored, more suffocating. At the wagon he paused, lifted sombre eyes to
heave the trays on board. Their gaze met. The first tray hung poised a split
second before it came to rest.

"What's the matter?"

David began to weep.

"What's the matter?" His voice sharpened to a sudden edge. "Speak!"

"The--the bottles there--" he stammered--"They took them."

"What?" He leaned in, swiftly swept the ice aside, looked up again in
stormy surprise. "Who took them?"

He quailed. "T-Two men."

"Who? Stop your slobbering!"

"Two men. A big one and a short one. And they-- Hennesy they said.
Hennesy."

"Hennesy?" He cocked his head, his frown darkening. "Where did they
say they worked?"

"They didn't say!"

"Were you on the wagon?" His lips thinned, voice changed pitch in
mid-word, the signs of gathering wrath.

"Yes! I was here! Papa, I was here!" The words gushed, being prepared.
"They came and they said you knew them, and I thought you knew them.
And they took--"

"And you let them? Cursed fool!" He slammed the last ray in the wagon,
sprang after it. "Which way did they go?"

"That w-way! Around the corner!"

"Paid yourself again!" he snarled. "Giddap! Giddap, Billy!" He snatch-
ed the whip out of the socket, lashed the horse. Stung, the beast
plunged forward. The wheels ground against the curb. "Giddapt" Again the
whip. Hooves rang out in a pounding, powerful gallop. The wagon lurched,
careened around the corner on creaking axle, empty bottles banging in their
boxes. His father, jaws working in fury, eyes blazing, swept the street with
one glance. It was empty, sunlit and empty. "Where are they?" he muttered
through writhing lips. "Ah, to lay my hands on them!"

No sign of them anywhere, though he scoured every building and hallway.
They were gone. The horse galloped on. But at the very next intersection,
two men on the left strolled out of an alley--A glimpse of empty milk
bottles in their hands!

"They?" he snapped eagerly.

"They!"

"Aah!" His suppressed cry rattled exultantly in his throat. "Giddap,
Billy! Giddap!" He dragged savagely at the left rein. The horse mounted
the sidewalk. The wagon heeled over, shifting its cargo with a roar.

"Cheesit, Augie!" the stocky one yelled out suddenly. "He's after us!"

They broke into a clumsy run, the shorter one lagging. The wagon
gained. With a hoarse cry of "Let 'im have it, Wally!" the lean one slowed
down momentarily, drew back his arm. The heavy bottle arched toward
them hung in the sun, shattered like a bomb before the horse. He reared,
flung his head sideways, nostrils crimson, wild eyes rolling. A second later,
another bottle flew in the air, fell short, smashed on the ground. Again the
whip flashed down.

"Now I'll get you!" His father gnashed his teeth. "Now I'll get you!"
And David knew they were doomed.

The charging horse bore down on them. At the corner, with only a few
yards between them and the wagon, both men as if by a common impulse,
shoved each other in opposite directions. His father turned after the stockier
running on the sidewalk. A moment more, the horse was abreast. One yank
at the reins and the reins were flung at David. "Hold, you!" Whip in hand,
his father leaped from the rolling wagon into the street. The fugitive,
trapped before a stable door that wouldn't open, spun about, crouched
savagely at bay.

"Waddayuh chasin' me fuh?" His yellow teeth were bared, the round eyes
now slits of fear and fury.

"Hanh!" His father's snarl was almost like laughter, but the grinding of
his teeth creaked like a strong cable stretching. "Yuhv'll take my milk!"
"Me? Waddaye shittin' about? I never seen it"

"An' de bottles you t'rew?" He seemed merely to be toying with the
man. David knew the answers didn't matter. He grew faint, waiting for the
end.

"Yea! I t'rew 'em!" The other was blustering savagely. "An de nex'
time watch out who de fuck yer chas--" Swish! The hiss of the whip cut off
his words; the long, stiff thong curled over his shoulder, whacked!

"Owoo!" he howled with pain and fury. "Yuh Jew bastard! You hit me?"
He flung himself at David's father, arms thrashing.

"Hanh!" Again that mad cry of mirth. One long, rigid arm shot out,
thrust his kicking, flailing adversary back like a ram--while the whip
lashed out in the other. Again! Again it fell! It sickened David watching
it. He screamed. Suddenly with a sharp crack the whip snapped. His father
flung it aside. And as the other, howling with rage, charged in to tackle,
he drew up his fist, clenched it like a sledge, and grunting with the effort,
crashed it down on his neck.

"Uh!" A small, almost infantile groan broke from the man's open mouth.
Then he crumpled, slid down David's father's legs and fell sideways to
the ground. Once more he stirred, the cap slipping from his head. The
vague, sparse strands of his hair sank leisurely to one side as if on a
hinge, revealing the splotched yellow scalp. He lay still.

For a moment longer, David's father towered above him, rage billowing
from him, shimmering in sunlight almost, like an aura; then with a last,
fierce glance about the empty streets, scooped up the broken whip, stalked
to the wagon, leaped in, and leaning out flogged the horse with the end of
the rein. The beast bounded forward. Swiftly they left the street, turned
south, mingled with the gathering traffic.

The minutes passed in horrible silence. Little by little, his father's dark
face grew grey, the fierce blaze in his eyes clouding. In his trembling hands,
the reins began to shake out in tiny ripples. His hoarse breath grew louder,
rushing through his burred throat in short violent gasps that set his jaw
quivering each time as if on springs. In Brownsville was the last time David
had seen him look that way. It recalled all the old horror.

"You!" He said at last, and his words were so harsh and guttural, they
barely took form. "False sonl You, the cause!"

His hand moved. Like the fangs of a snake the brass-buckled ends of the
reins bit twice into David's shoulder. He never winced. He hardly even felt
them, so frozen with terror he was.

"Say anything to your mother," the strangled voice went on, "and I'll
beat you to death! Hear me?"

"Yes, papa."

Amid a crowd of trams and autos, they moved slowly toward Ninth
Street.



IV



NOT another word had been spoken. The wagon rumbled over the
cobbled car-tracks, wheeled around, drew up beside the curb.

"Get off, dunce!" His father's voice had cleared, was sharp again; his
color was beginning to return. "Now remember what I said--be silent!"

Mutely, David climbed down the wagon.

"And don't get lost!" he flung down at him. "Straight to the cheder!"
"Yes, papa." He could feel the stupidity of his own gaze.

"Unh!" he grunted disgustedly. "Hurry now!" Then he clucked to the
horse and the wagon clattered north again.

With stunned, shuffling gait, David crossed the street, plodded toward
the cheder.

--Mustn't tell her! Mustn't tell! Ow!

How could he contain it! He had but to prolong the wink of his eyes a
moment longer and the horrible scenes of that hour flared across his eyelids
as on a screen--The ghastly flickering of stolid gas-tanks, cobbles,
trenches, distance, the malevolent streets, the black arc of the whip still
lingering in air though the whip had landed, the vicious face contorted, and
the hand, the hand uplifted. In the meaningless sounds of the street, he
could still hear the scuffing of their feet, his father's grunt, the thud of his
fist, the howls of rage and pain. The fearful images would not be shaken,
but clung to his mind as though soldered there. Something had happened!
Something had happened! Even Ninth Street, his own familiar Ninth Street
was warped, haunted by something he could feel; but perceive with no
sense. Faces he had seen so many times he scarcely ever glanced at any
more were twisted into secret shadows, smeared, flattened, whorled,
grotesque grief and smirking never before revealed. The cheder corridor as
he passed through it, scribble of chalk glimmering on the wall, linoleum
battered into traps, seemed unlevel, weird and endless. He caught himself
fighting the old fear of hallways; his step suddenly quickened. Sawtoothed,
bizarre with inlayed wedges of light and shadow, the cheder yard, grey
wash-poles aslant in heavy light, fences leaning, chipped, red walls, walls
sodden with sun, the hacked sky. Unreal. The cheder itself, whispers in
sudden gloom, knotted figures, cracked benches, the long table, the inane,
perpetual drone, fantastic forms, perspectives. Unreal.

Something, something had happened. He sat dumbly down, watched the
others a moment, then turned away. Their bickering and their chatter had
lost dimension; nothing was left but a grey and vacuous idiocy, a world
bewitched and hollow. It was as though he heard all sounds through a yawn
or with water in his ears, as though he saw all things through a tumbler.
When would it burst, this globe about his senses?

If only he had run home first, if only he had told his mother.

Time dragged on. The cheder filled up. Fortunately for him he had come
early--he would read soon, escape. Remotely he heard his name called as if
through a wall. He rose, shuffled to the bench as though his will alone were
dragging the whole clog of his body, sat down before the table.

"You look somewhat pale," the rabbi said quizzically as he flattened out
the book, "Do you feel squeamish today? Ha?"

"No."

"Well, why weren't you waiting your turn on the bench?" "I didn't
know."

"That's news!" He lifted his brows sarcastically, "Well, begin! Haazinu
ha shawmayim veadabairaw."

"Haazinu ha shawmayim veadabairaw, vtishma haawretz emri fi." Whirling
among the heavy characters on the page, two bodies grappled and strove--
He stumbled. "What ails you? You're somewhat blind today."

Without answering, he went on, "Yaarof kamawtawr l-l-likhiy tizol k-k
katal imrawsi." The letters crowded, parted, deployed--lamp-posts,
cobbles, graveled lanes, lanterns on mounds of earth. Whips in air. Time
after time he stuttered, halted, corrected himself, went on. The rabbi had
begun tapping his pointer slightly as he moved it along.

"Some little deed you've done, today, ha?" He lowered his tilted, bushy
face to David's level, and stared with a suspicious grin into his eyes--
Tobacco reek. Sweat. Matted nostrils under red, speck-stippled nose. The
moist drab gums of false teeth. Revolting. David drew back.

"One deed but a good one, no? No?" His voice rose. "Answer! Are you
dumb?"

"No," sullenly. "Didn't do anything."

"Then why do you read like a plaster golem? Ha? Look at me! Lift the
hasps of your eyes."

He glanced up at the angry face for a fleeting second, glanced down.

"Fire strike you!" His thumb shot the leaf over viciously, "Read
further!"

David waited till the page settled and then with all his powers, fixed on
the letters. The effort seemed to drain him of every ounce of strength, and
even despite his efforts, he halted and floundered frequently. His head sank
lower and lower over the book. At last the rabbi slapped him.

"Go now!" He said acridly, "Enough balking for a day! Enough for a
year! And when you leave here," his thumb and forefinger curled
expoundingly, "take yourself home, sit long in the privy and you'll have a
clearer brow."

Hardly attending, David slid off the bench.

"And hear me!" he warned. "Tomorrow and you pray thus, I'll begin
currying."

Voices jeered at him as he crossed the cheder. "Smod guy! Cholly ox!
Goot fuh yuh, stingy! Strap onnee ass, yuh'll ged! His fodder'll give 'im
wit' de w'ip. I seen--"

He turned. Izzy's voice sank to a whisper. He hurried through the door. New
quoins of light in the cheder yard still patterned the old unreality. At
the top of the wooden stairs, the long hallway was empty and full of murky
shadows. (--Get on your mark! Get se-e-et! Go!--) He raced through it,
reached the streetlight with prickling scalp. -- (Shittin' fraid-cat, me!
Scared now. Never was. And him--Hate him! Stinky mouth! Hate 'em all!
Mama, now! Mama--)

Already in the shelter of her arms, he began running along the pavement
towards his house. (--Hope he ain't home! Hope, hope he ain't!)

He had jogged to within a few yards of his doorway, when a loud
confused cry overhead brought him to a halt He glanced up. With a fat
bosom flopping against the ledge of the second floor window a woman was
screaming excitedly down at the street. "Beetrice! Beetrice! Horry op!" She
craned dangerously out of the window as though she were trying to look
into her own doorway. And presently a half-grown girl, pigtails and ribbons
flying behind her, came running out. David stared at them in wonder.

"Where is 'e, Mama?" The girl reached the sidewalk and was screaming
up.

"Dere! Zeh! Look!" The woman shrilled down. "Sebm fawdy six in de
red house!"

"Where? I can' see!"

"Dort! Oy! Look! De toiteh fluh!"

In open mouthed fixity, the girl stared at the house across the street.

"Yea!" She squealed. "I see 'im! I see 'im, Mama!"

"Noo! Catch 'im. Ron! Ron op!"

A small crowd had gathered, children and grownups. Kushy's face was
among them. "Hey, watsuh maddeh? Zug, vuss is?"

"He's dere! He's dere on dat house!" the girl babbled and pointed.

"Who?"

"The kinerry! My modder's!" And urged by the shrill voice of her mother
upstairs, she began running across the street. "He got out from the
cage! I'll give a rewuhd!"

She had no sooner gone inside when suddenly from a niche on the wall
of the same house, a bright yellow bird dove down, fluttered uncertainly,
then skimmed across the street and landed on the scroll-work of the house
next to David's. It perched there a moment while the street gaped up at it,
and then it flew up to the roof.

"Whee! Yuh see 'im!" The crowd grew excited. "Oy a fegel! Kent fly so
good! Ketch 'im! She'll give a rewuhd!"

"My roof!" One of the boys plucked his cap off and dashed for the
doorway. "I'll gid 'im wid my hat!"

"A-key!" Kushy tore after him. "A rewuhd!"

"A-key!" A third followed.

"A-key!" A fourth disappeared inside.

A few seconds later, the girl with the pig-tails stuck her head out of the
window.

"He flew away!" voices in the crowd bawled up at her. "On de roof
across the street!"

"He flew away, Mama!" she screamed.

"I saw already," the answer shot back. "He shull drop dead!"

Mother and daughter drew their heads in. On the sidewalk necks craned
awhile searching the sky. No bird appeared.

"Dey'll never get 'im. Naaa!"

"A nechtige tug!" The small crowd drifted slowly apart.

--Mama!

He woke from his revery.

--Dumb ox, me! Hurry up!

He ran up the stoop, but at the doorway hesitated, peered in. Again the
roots of his hair prickled. He could not bring himself to enter the darkness.
All the old fears lurked there again. Why had they returned? Angered to the
point of tears at his own cowardice, he paced restlessly back and forth
across the stoop, now listening for a sound in the hallway, now peering up
and down the street for some familiar face. At last he heard a door slam
dully inside as though from an upper floor. He leapt into the hallway,
scrambled frantically up the stairs. Between the first and second floors he
neared the bulky figure of a woman, squeezed past her and up--still
listening to the other's dwindling footsteps. On the fourth floor, he threw
himself breathlessly at the door-- It was locked!

"Mama!" he screamed.

"You, David?" Her startled voice.

The enormous relief! "Yes, mama, open it!" The foot he had drawn back
to kick at the door in his fury and terror sank again to the floor.

"Wait!" Her voice had a hurried sound. "I'll open it in a moment."

What was she doing? And as if in answer, he heard a loud splash of water
followed by a flurry of tinkling drops. She had been taking a bath in
the washtub. She was getting out now. A chair creaked as though she had
stepped on it, then the pad of her bare feet on the floor. "Just one little
second more,'' she implored.

"Awrigh' " he called to her.

Silence. Feet moving off, returning. The door opened. And as if the light
that widened with it were a wedge, the foggy, tormenting globe about his
senses split open and dissolved--hue and contour, sound and scent focused.

"Mama!"

"I didn't mean to keep you waiting." She was still barefooted. Her faded
yellow bathrobe, darkened by water-stains clung to breast and thigh. "But I
hurried as fast as I could." From glistening brown hair, water still streamed
down on the towel across her shoulder. The wonted pallor of smooth throat
and face was flushed and beaded with water. "What are you staring at?" She
smiled, pulled the bathrobe tighter and shut the door behind him.

"I didn't care if I waited." He smiled with her. He could almost feel his
jarred spirit settle softly in its grooves again.

"But you did storm the door with all the old fury," she laughed. And
pressing her dripping hair against her bosom, she stooped down and kissed
him. The warm, faintly soap-scented humidity of her body, ineffably sweet
"I'm so relieved to see you again."

Where was his father? Behind her the bedroom door was open. No one
lay on the bed. Not in. Beatitude flawless.

"You're still wet!" he giggled suddenly. "Even the floor!"

"Yes. I must mop that dry." She caught up the wet, dripping twist of her
hair in the towel. "Half the tub is on the floor. I vaulted out in such haste.
I don't know why I get so frightened about you--especially if I think you
are." As she spoke, she bent sideways, dipped an arm in the tub to pull the
stoppers out. The soapy water sucked and gurgled. Against the window
light, her body showed shadowy outlines, hip and knee lending pink to the
yellow. "Did you see many sights on the wagon?"

He shook his head violently.

"No?" Her smile faded. "Why such drooping lips?"

"I hate it! I hate it!" It was all he could do to keep from bursting into
tears.

"Why?" She looked at him in surprise. "What happened?"

"Nothing. (--Mustn't tell. Mustn't!) Didn't like it, that's all."

"Timid little heart! I know. But tomorrow you won't have to go--even
if that other man doesn't return, someone else will take that route."

"Never?"

"Never, what? Go?"

"Yes."

"No, never." She sat down, towel a comical turban about her head.

"Come here."

He smiled diffidently and went to her. "You look funny." "Do I?" she
chuckled and helped him to her knee. The comfort of being against her
breast outstripped the farthest-flung pain. "You don't like being a
milkman?" "No."

"Nor a milkman's helper?"

"No!"

"What would you like to be?"

"I don't know."

She laughed. How the ear teased for that rippling, sinuous sound. "This
morning in the butcher-shop I heard a woman say that her son was going to
be a great doctor. Hmm! I thought, how blessed your life is! And how old is
your son, the butcher asked. Seven, she answered. The butcher nearly
missed the bone he was chopping. And here you're eight and still you
haven't told me. But you won't have to go along with the wagon any more
-- Want some milk? The new yeast cookies you like?" She rubbed
her moist brow against his lips. "With the raisins inside?"

"Awrigh'!" he yielded. "But not now." The closeness of her body was too
rare to be relinquished so soon.

"Awhrri'," she repeated after him, and so drolly he laughed. "But let me
get up."

"No!"

"But I've got to get dressed," she begged. 'This shift is clammier than a
well-stone. Yes?" She rose; reluctantly he slid from her knee. "I'll get you
the milk and cookies first."

He watched her go to the bread-box, open it, draw out several honey
colored cookies, place them on a plate and then take a half-filled quart of
milk from the icebox--

--Wagon! They! Ow!

A shudder ran through him.

--Forget!

She filled a glass, set the cookies and milk on the table. "You eat them
while I dress," she coaxed. "There are more of both if you want them." And
uncoiling the towel about her head went into the bedroom.

He sat down, munched the raisined crispness slowly, stared eagerly at
the bedroom door waiting for her to come out.

"What time is it now, David?" Her voice rose above the rustling of the
garments.

He stared up at the clock on the shelf. "It's ten--eleven minutes after
two."

"After two?"

"Yes."

"He'll get no sleep this afternoon either."

--He!

"That double collection keeps him--as if he didn't work hard enough as
it is. But he ought to be home soon."

--Soon! Home!

The mashed lump of food lay inertly in his mouth. "Do you remember the
time you couldn't tell time?" Her voice went on after a pause. "You told
it by whistles. And once you saved calendar leaves--where are they now?"

--He! See him! No! No! Go down! Quick, before he comes!

He gulped down the half-chewed cud, shoved the remainder of the
cooky in his pocket and drank the milk down in noisy haste.

--Take another. She'll ask.

He dropped another cooky into his pocket. "I'm going down stairs,
mama."

"What!" Her voice was surprised.

"Can I?"

"Have you finished so soon?" She came out of the bedroom. Her dress,
hovering between round upstretched arms, "How did you--" settled like a
cloud about her head, "manage so soon?" sank below throat, armpits,
square scalloped, petticoat. His face was radiant. Her eyes searched the
table.

"I was hungry."

"Well," she lifted the long nape of hair from her neck. "That's the
quickest you've ever eaten. Were they good?"

"Yes." He was already edging toward the door.

"You rush in and rush out as though the coachman wouldn't wait But
don't stay too long."

"No"

She smoothed down her dress, crouched, kissed him. "What a fitful one
you are! Be up before supper?"

"Yes."

"Take care of yourself in the street, won't you?" "Yes." He opened the
door, shut himself into the gloom of the hallway.

--Ain't so afraid. Funny, forgot. But hurry . ..



V



IN THE street again, he fled across the gutter to the side shaded now by
houses, and began walking west toward Avenue C. His eyes, peering in all
directions to catch sight of his father before he himself was seen, spied Izzy
dashing out of the cheder hallway. He didn't want to talk to him. That taunt
about the whip still rankled. He flattened against a store window as Izzy
hurried east toward Avenue D, but their glances met; Izzy's sharp eyes
recognized him.

"Hey!" His voice had a novel, friendly note in it. "W'y'ntcha say
sompt'n? W'ea's de geng?"

"I didn' see 'em." He thawed cautiously.

"C'mon, let's find 'em." Izzy briskly took his arm. "Won-ner w'ea
Kushy is?"

"Dintcha fighd 'im?" He permitted himself to be led. "Naa! He's a lodda
boloney! D'ja fodder gib yuh wid de w'ip?"

"No! Did he gid de nickel?"

"Naa! Id wuzn'a nickel--jus' like I tol' 'im-- He wuz mad yaw fodder
--oh boy!"

"No, he wuzn't." Why did Izzy persist in changing the subject? "W'a
wuz id?"

"W'a'? De nickel? Iyin, like I said."

"Oh!"

"N' de rebbeh god mad on yuh good."

"Yea." Irritably.

"Yuh bedder gib'm poinduhs," he advised. "He ga' me a smack onna
puss, lousy bassid! An' he bussid one on Srooly--Bang! He's dumb. Betcha
million dollehs dey're all on Evenyeh D."

They rounded the corner-- There they all were, sitting on the curb.
"See? I tol' ye." Izzy shot ahead, shaking David completely. "Hey,
Geng!"

"Hey, Izzy!" they chorused.

"Led a reggiluh guy sid donn, will yuh?"

"Led 'im sid donn!" they ordered, and shoving against each other made
room for him beside Kushy.

Stranded, David hesitantly approached and stood up behind them.

"So w'ea wuz yuh?" Kushy asked.

"I went wid my modder." Izzy basked in their gaze. "An' we bought
shoes--best kind onnuh Eas' Side. Waid'll yuh see 'em. Wid buttons 'n'
flat toes--for kickin' a food-ball. He wanned free dollehs, bod my modder
tol' me I shull say, Peeuh! Wod lousy shoes! So we god 'em fuh two. An'
nen I went tuh cheder."

"I like bedder poinds," contention broke out from some point on the
line. "Give a bedder kick inna holel"

"Yea! Ha! Ha!" they chortled, acknowledging the wisdom of the choice.

"Can't gid yuh foot oud," countered Izzy calmly. "So wod's de good?"

"I like bedder rubbehs," another differed--a nonentity this time near
the end of the rank. "Kin run beddeh."

"Rubbehs! Yuh greenhunn!" Izzy staggered him with sarcasm first and
then finished him off with precision, "Sneakiss, dope! Gid nails righd
t'rough 'em--righd t'rough de boddem --'Member, Kushy," he suddenly
guffawed, "w'en I tol yuh he said blitz--inna cheder? Rubbehs guzz on
shoes, greenhunn!"

"Aaa! Wiseguy!"

"W'ea wuz yiz?" Izzy ignored the slur.

"We?" Kushy paused importantly. "We seen a kinerry." A select few
snickered as if at a veiled jest.

"W'a kinerry?"

"G'wan tell 'im," someone urged.

"I wuz dere too!" another put in.

"Waid!" Kushy hastily cautioned them. "My brudder!" And leaning out
so he could view both wings, "Hey youz kids, gid odda hea. G'wan!"

"Naa!" The six year olds at either wing protested. "G'wan!" The older
ones blustered. "Skidoo!"

"Street ain' yours!" stubbornly.

"Wanna ged a lam onnuh eye?"

"I'll tell mama," one of the juniors threatened.

"I'll give yuh now!" Kushy half-rose.

Sulkily, they slid along the curb a few feet away from the rest.

"So w'ad kinerry?" from Izzy.

They drew closer.

"Yuh know Schloimee Salmonowitz wot lives in sebn-fawdee-fi'?"

"Wad he had de mockee wid de bendij on his head?" "Yea!"

"Yea, he wuz in my cheder. So wot?"

"So Sadie Salmonowitz came running downstairs 'n' hollerin', My
modder's kinerry, my modder's kinerry flied away! I'll give a rewuhd!"
"Yuh god de rewuhd?" Izzy asked eagerly. "How moch?"

"Waid a second. An' den we seen 'im on sebn-fawdy-six, across de stritt
an' ziz! He gives a fly back an' zip I op to duh roof--"

"My house!" another voice chimed in. "He flew--" "Shod op!" Kushy
snatched back the thread of his narrative. "Schmeelkee's house he flew. So
we all grabbed our hats an' runned inna duh hall. Yuh catch 'em wid a hat
--like dot!" Without warning he plucked his neighbor's cap from his head
and pitched it spinning into the gutter.

"Ha-a! Ha-a! He-e! He-e!" Clacking like nine-pins before a heavy bowl
of mirth they tumbled about the sidewalk. "He-e! He-e! Ha-a! Ha-a! Ha-a!"
"Cud id oud, wise guy!" Grinning at the clever prank, the owner rose to
retrieve it. Immediately all buttocks crammed together, squeezing him out
of his seat. Returned, he flung himself between the packed usurpers and
after much scuffing, cursing, butting and pushing, regained, if not his
own place, at least one as desirable.

"So dot's de joke?" inquired Izzy contemptuously when the new
equilibrium was finally restored.

"Naa!" crowed Kushy and one or two more. "Dat ain' de joke!"

"So w'od?"

"So we runned opstai's to de roof. An' Schmeelkee fell on his leg, duh
dope--"

"Wanna see wea I cut?" Schmeelkee's stocking went down, revealing a
newly scabbed skin. "Righd on duh bone!"

"Den wod?"

"So wa-a-aid a minid," drawled Kushy delighted at Izzy's nettled tone.
"So we wen' op--quiet! We didn' make no noise cause we didn' wanna
scare de kinerry. An' we god on de roof, an' we walked aroun' an we
looked-- He musta flied away!"

"But we seen annudder kinerry!" Schmeelkee boiled over.

"Woddayuh mean?"

"Sh!" Kushy looked to see whether the juniors on either wing still kept
their distance. "So we snuck ovuh by duh air-sheff--yuh know w'ea is
between sebn-fifty-one an' sebn-fawdy-nine?"

"Yea."

Absorption stilled their fidgeting. All eyes converged on Kushy. David
too leaned closer.

"An' we all gave a look--An' yuh know wod we seen? Hee! Heel We
seen a lady washin' huhself inna washtub! Hee! Hee!"

--Washtub! (David grew rigid)

"Wod lady?" Izzy asked.

"Don' know. Couldn't see good huh face."

"So wadjuh see?"

"Ev'ytingl Oh, boy! Big tids stickin' oud in frund!" His descriptive
hands, molding the air, dragged other hands along with them as though all
were tethered to the same excitement. "She was sittin' in duh wawduhl"

--She! Mine! Aaa, mine!

The rush of shame set his cheeks and ears blazing like flame before a
bellows, drove blood like a plunger against the roof of his skull. He stood
with feet mortised to the spot, knees sagging, quivering.

"So den?" Izzy spurred.

"So den, she jomps up an nen we seen ev'yting--!"

"Big bush under duh belly!" The others jumbled voice with gestures. "Fat
ass, we seen! Big --Wuh! Wadda kinerry! Wee! An' duh hull knish! All de hairs!"

"Yea? No kiddin'?"

"Sure!"

"Didja watch?"

"No. She gave a look righd ad us."

"She didn' look, I tol' yuh!"

"She did!"

"She didn'!"

"She did! Wod she jump oud for!"

"So?"

"So we run down-stairs--Wee! Wod a kinerry we seen!" --Aaa! Lousy
son of a bitch! Murder 'em! K-Kick 'eml Kill 'em! G-go 'way'--Yuh
gonna cry!

"W'a fluh--Yee, wish I wuz dere. W'ea! Tell us-- Led's go--"

Like flying hail against his nakedness their sharp cries stunned and
flayed him. Blind with loathing, he reeled away--unnoticed.

(--Ow! Ow! Don't let 'em see! Don't let 'em know. Owl) The hot tears
sprang to his eyes, the more scalding for resistance. He twisted about,
yanked his head down, and began running to the corner.

--Aaa! Mama! Mine it was! Should have kicked 'em, kicked 'em and
run. Go back! Kick em! Kick 'em in the belly. G'wan, you coward!
Coward! Coward! Coward! Hate 'em! All! All! Everybody! Shouldn't have
gone over. Never go over again! Never talk to them even! Hate 'em! And
she--Why did she let them look. Shades, why didn't she pull them? Ain't
none! Ain't none! And she let me look at her! Mad at her! Ow! Don't let
'em see me crying! Cry baby! Cry baby!

He stumbled blindly across the street, flung himself into the hallway.
The obscure stairs. At last he reached his own floor.

--Scared. Don't care. Scared before. Scared all the time.

--Got to stop crying. She'll ask why. What'll I say? From the roof they
saw you. No, no, don't say anything --roof they. Roof . . . Roof? Never was
. . up there . . . I wonder? . . .

He stared in breathless irresolution from his own doorway to the roof
door overhead. The clean, untrodden flight of stairs that led up, beckoned
even as they forbade; temptingly the light swarmed down through the glass
of the roof-housing, silent, untenanted light; evoking in his mind and
superimposing an image of the snow he had once vaulted into and an image
of the light he had once climbed. Here was a better haven than either, a
more durable purity. Why had he never thought of it before? He had only to
conquer his cowardice, and that solitude and that radiance were his. But
quickly, he must go quickly, before someone came out. He mounted the
stairs that even underfoot felt differently, as though the unworn mica in
them sparkled through the soles--and stopped at the door. Only a catch held
it back; it could be lifted. He tugged it with crooked finger. It flew up
suddenly-- Panic stricken, he watched the heavy door swing away from his
hand, squeak leisurely and on reluctant hinges into the sky. (--Down! Run
down!) He threw a frightened glance over his shoulder. (--No! Coward!
Stay right here! G'wan! G'wan out! It's light! What're you scared of?) He
lifted a tentative unsteady foot over the high threshold. (--Ow!) The red
painted sheet-iron crackled under his soles with a terrifying report. (--Go
back! Run! No! Won't! G'wan, make a noise! Who cares? G'wan coward!)
Breath bound in his lungs, he swung the snickering door back into place. It
stayed closed.

--Gee!

He sighed tremulously, lifted his head, and with body pivoting on fixed
feet, gazed about him.

The immense heavens of July, the burnished, the shining fathom upon
fathom. Too pure the zenith was, too pure for the flawed and flinching eye;
the eye sowed it with linty darkness, sowed it with spores and ripples of
shadow drifting. (--Even up here dark follows, but only a little bit) And to
the west, the blinding whorl of the sun, the disk and trumpet, triple-trumpet
blaring light. He blinked, dropped his eyes and looked about him. Quiet.
Odor of ashes, the cold subterranean breath of chimneys. (--Even up here
cellar follows, but only a little bit) And about were roof-tops, tarred and red
and sunlit and red, roof-tops to the scarred horizon. Flocks of pigeons
wheeled. Where they flew in lower air, they hung like a poised and never
raveling smoke; nearer at hand and higher, they glittered like rippling water
in the sun. Quiet. Sunlight on brow and far off plating the sides of spires
and water-towers and chimney pots and the golden cliffs of the streets. To
the east the bridges, fragile in powdery light.

--Gee! Alone . . . Ain't so scared.



VI



WHEN he came down from the roof a little while later, he crept down a
few steps toward the floor below his own. He would stamp up just before he
entered his house, stamp toward his door. It would make his coming home
seem more natural. He did so.

His mother looked strange when he entered--so strange that for a
moment, he thought his ruse had failed, he thought himself discovered. But
another glance reassured him, and yet while it reassured him on one score
troubled him vaguely on another. It wasn't awareness or alertness or
suspicion that was the cause of that glow in her features, that calm, but
something else, something he scarcely ever remembered seeing before--an
obscure lassitude, a profound and incomprehensible contentment. What was
it? What made the hand that had placed a finger across her lips, warning
him that he had made too much noise, come down so slowly and with such
peculiar, self-conscious grace as though her whole body found a relish in
the very movement of her limbs, and relishing, lingered. It touched a chord
of memory within himself, touched it with finger tips--Some thing he had
done, felt? What? The wisp of a stir within his being faded before the mind
could fasten on it It was baffling. He looked about the kitchen. The
bedroom door was closed--his father was asleep. And on the wash-tub lay
a bulky package, the strings cut, but the heavy brown paper still covering it;
and beside it, crossing each other, a new white-handled whip and the butt of
the old broken black one. He felt his legs stiffen, brace against the sudden
undertow of terror. He turned away. His mother had lowered the finger from
her lips and greeted him. (But where were the outstretched arms she always
met him with?) And then she smiled. (But was that smile for him or for that
inner languor that suffused and harmonized her spirit?) His eyes darted to
the parcel and the whips on the washtub and then returned to her--
questioningly. She seemed to avoid his query, and asked instead:

"Why is your nose so sunburned? Where have you been?"

The wonder that her singular appearance had produced within himself
almost lowered his guard. He came within a breath of telling her the truth--
but stopped himself in time. "On the sidewalk." His eyes wavered between
her waist and the linoleum. "We were all sitting. It was hot."

"Your father's bought a new whip," she smiled. "Is that what you
wanted to ask me?"

"N-no."

"Oh, no? I thought you were just dying to ask me if you could have the
broken one. Perhaps Albert will give--"

But he was already shaking his head. (It was hard not to be violent, not
to be vehement all the time. Sometimes the hoops of caution almost
snapped.)

"What's that?" he pointed to the parcel. "Can I look?"

"Why, of course! But I warn you," she laughed, as she went over to the
wash-tub, "this time it's really a big surprise!"

There was an old overtone in her words, but he was too experienced
now to ask, "Is it for me?" Instead, he merely lifted the heavy wrapping
paper flaps--and stared and blinked and stared again! At his back he heard
her expectant laughter. Before him on a shieldshaped wooden plaque, two
magnificent horns curved out and up, pale yellow to the ebony tips. So wide
was the span between them, he could almost have stretched his arms out on
either side, before he could touch them. Though they lay there inertly, their
bases solidly fastened to the dark wood, there pulsed from them still a
suggestion of terrific power, a power that even while they lay motionless
made the breast ache as though they were ever imminent, ever charging.
"And those?" her voice was bright with amusement "Do you know what
those are?"

He gaped at her. "A--a c-cow," he stuttered. "In pictures I saw them.
And--and when Aunt Bertha took me to the moving pitchers."

"A cow, but a he-cow!" she laughed. "A bull. I don't know whether you
ever saw one even as an infant in Austria. They were monstrous--walls of
flesh and strength."

"Did he buy it?"

"Why yes, of course. When he bought the whip."

"Oh! Is that why he got it?"

"Why yes, it reminded him of the time when he took care of cattle. You
see," she explained, "When your grandfather--his father--was overseer of
the baron's yeast factory, he put Albert in charge of the cattle. They fed
them on mash--but you've already heard him speak of that."

"What's he going to do with them?" he asked after a pause.

"Hang them up of course. In the front-room." Her eyes wandered to the
picture of the corn flowers on the wall. "He couldn't find a nail strong
enough."

He was silent. Somehow he couldn't quite believe that it was for
memory's sake only that his father had bought this trophy. Somehow
looking at the horns, guessing the enormous strength of the beast who must
have owned them, there seemed to be another reason. He couldn't quite
fathom it though. But why was it that two things so remote from each other
seemed to have become firmly coupled in his mind? It was as though the
horns lying on the wash-tub had bridged them, as though one tip pierced
one image and one tip the other--that man outstretched on the sidewalk,
that mysterious look of repose in his mother's face when he had come in.
Why? Why did he think of them at one and the same time. He couldn't tell.
He sensed only that in the horns, in the poised power of them lay a threat,
a challenge he must answer, he must meet. But he didn't know how.



VII



WHEN David thought of the roof the next morning, he thought of it with
so peculiarly selfish a joy that it kept him from thinking any further.
The roof, that precinct in the sky, that silent balcony on the pinnacle
of turmoil, demanded that what thoughts one had be had there. He culled
them, sorted out what he would think when he got up there--he would
allow them to blossom once he had climbed up the stairs. And a little while
later he was there. What sounds from the street, what voices drifted up the
air-shafts, only made his solitude more real, the detachment of his reveries
more delightful.

He had found an old, weather-beaten box lying in the shady side of the
roof-stair housing and he had been sitting there some time watching his
thoughts uncurl when the creak of a door somewhere startled him. His first
thought was that Izzy or Kushy were coming up again in order to see what
they had seen before. And listening to the tread of feet on the squawking
tin, he sat there rigidly, gritting his teeth in fury. What right had they to
come up again, to torment him after he had found a little peace? Would they
drive him out of every place he went, every retreat? He wouldn't let them!
He wouldn't let them look down his air-shaft again. He'd fight, he'd
scratch, he'd kick! Hidden behind the shed he listened a moment longer.
Footsteps were followed by another sound--a hollow scuffing noise as of
feet scraping up a fence. Then the tread again, but now no longer on the
tin.

Who was it? He heard a fluttering whirr. Faint taps. The slight, taut
snapping of a stretched string. That couldn't be them. What was it?
Cautiously he peeped around the edge of the shed--

On the high lean-to that covered the stairway of the next roof but one,
stood a boy, kite-string in hand, spindle rattling at his feet, and in the air
a short distance from him, a rag-tailed, crimson kite ducked and soared. His
blond hair, only a shade less fair than his brow, hung over his brow like a
gold claw. He was snub-nosed; his cheeks had a faint flush and his eyes
were blue. Teeth over lip, head lifted into light, he watched his kite intently,
now paying out string, now jogging it to newer heights. It swayed slowly,
tacking into upper air; there it steadied and drew away with sagging glint of
string.

Watching him, David felt a bond of kinship growing up between them.
They were both alone on the roof, both inhabitants of the same realm. That
was a bond between them. But David could tell by looking at him, that the
other had come up to the roof out of assurance--this was only another
phase of his life. David himself had come up tentatively, timidly, because
there was no other place to go. He suddenly began wishing he could know
this carefree, confident stranger. But he had never seen his face before--
that blond hair, those blue eyes didn't belong to Ninth Street. How could
he begin? Mentally he went over the various ways of striking up an
acquaintance. He wished that be had something to offer him--the cookies
he had thrown away yesterday or a bit of string. Longingly, he watched
him.

With one hand poised as though the string's steadiness depended on his
balance, he felt behind him for the sloping floor under his feet and then
sat down. He leaned back contentedly, whistling short fitful notes. David
couldn't make up his mind whether he ought to come out of hiding or
content himself with merely watching the kite. He watched the kite. And
suddenly stared--

It was hard to tell what street they were nearer to, Eleventh or Twelfth
but he could see them clearly. There were two, perhaps three boys, and with
bodies bent low, they were crawling over the roofs, now emerging now
ducking behind chimney pots and skylights. Another few seconds and they
were under the hanging arc of the kite-cord--although far below it. He
glanced sharply at the owner of the kite. Unaware of any danger, he lay
sprawled back, still whistling up at the sky. When David looked back to
the distant ones, they had already risen from hands and knees and were
vigorously twirling something in the air.

"Pssst!" He leaped out of hiding. "Pssst!" Not daring to speak, he made
frantic motions of dragging in the kite-cord.

"W'at?" The other scrambled to his feet. "W'atsa matter?" And when
David pointed vehemently in the direction of the distant marauders,
"Cheesis! Dey're sling-shoot-in' itl" he shouted excitedly. "Cheesis!"
And as fast as his hands could go, began yanking in the line.

The slings had been thrown. Both missed, fell, doubling back on the
strings they trailed. They flung them up again. But as the kite came sailing
home, it rose higher and higher--further from their range. At last the owner
rested, babbling exultantly.

"Cheesis! See 'em! Dere dey go! Hidin' back o' dat! Bot' of 'em! Didn'
get it dough. Lousy micks, nearly slung it! Waaa!" he screeched, thumbing
his nose at the two distant figures. "Ya Irish mutts! Waid'll I git ya, I'll
rap de piss odda ye!"

What abuse the others bawled back in reply was too faint to hear, but
David could see them wagging their hands under their chins.

"Ha! Ha! Look at 'em!" the blond one yelled over to him. "See w'at
dey're doin'? Dey t'ink I'm a Jew! See 'em! Dopy mutts! Dopy mutts," he
yodeled again. "Dopy mutts!" And then glancing at his feet. "Chee! Looka
my kite-cord--all twissed up! Hey, c'mon over, will ya? C'mon, give us a
hand."

David shook his head.

"Wottsa madder, can'tcha talk?" The other stared at him.

Nodding vigorously, David pointed down to the roof at his feet.
The other grinned, face lighting up as though he understood. "C'mon,"
he whispered throatily, head hooking the air. "It's easy!"

--Better not.

There was something hazardous about climbing over the wall on a roof,
especially with the deep pit of the air-shaft near at hand. The thought made
one dizzy. "Go over dat way," the other urged.

(--Ain't scared. Ain't gonna be!) He tiptoed breathlessly across the
crackling tin, climbed over the low wall onto the second roof. Another wall
and the blue eyes gazed curiously down at him over the edge of the shed.
"Who ye scared o'?"

"Nott'n. I live on de top-fluh. I did'n' wan' my modder sh'd hea' me."

"Oh. Wouldn' she letcha stay hea?"

"No. She'll make me comm donn."

"C'mon up hea' den. Nobody c'n see ye."

"So hoddy yuh go?"

"Hop up on 'at liddle winder. Den dese big bolts. See 'em?"

David essayed them. The other, one eye on his kite, lent a helping hand.

"Sit onna noospaper," he invited when David had climbed up; "Hoi' me kite
will ye an' I'll git me cord onna spool."

"Yea."

"Don' leggo of it." He gave the string into David's keeping. "It's got
some pull."

"Gee!" The tug on his hand was almost alive. "It flies!"

The other laughed. "Sure it flies. Yuh c'n sit down wid it." He squatted
down himself, began undoing the snarl of string at his feet. "De lousy
micks! Look wat dey made me do! G'wan sit down!"

"Don' your modder care if yuh come op hea?"

"She? Naw! She woiks!"

"Oh! W'ea's yuh foddeh?"

"I ain't got none. Me old man usetuh woik on de rail-ro'. But he wuz
squeezed between two trains when I wuz liddle an' we lived in Paterson.
Wot's yuh name?"

"Davy. Davy Schearl."

"My name's Leo Dugovka. I'm a Polish-American. You're a Jew,
ain'tcha?"

"Y-Yea."

"Say, wuz yew wit' dem kids w'at wuz runnin' on de roof yestiddy?"

"No I wuzn't," vehemently.

"I'll knock dere block off if I ketch 'em nex' time. Dey nearly made de
plaster fall down."

"Yea," David's heart warmed to Leo's. "Y'oughta gib'm. Gib'm good!"

"Jist waid'll I gid 'em." Leo worked rapidly at the spindle. "I'll bust
'em one."

"I never seen yuh in dis block. Yuh livin' hea long?" "Naa, we usen't to
live hea, but me ol' lady got a job in 'at big bank on sixt' and Avenee C--
yuh know wit dem swell w'ite stones an 'gold ledders--Foist National."
"Yea," said David wonderingly. "Wit' iron bars in id 'n' dat big clock.
Does she woik wid all dat money?" "Yea, she cleans all de desks an'
awffices 'n' ev'yt'ing." "Oh? So who gives yuh to eat?"

"I takes it myself."

"Gee!" David breathed in the enormous freedom. "Yuh gonna comm up
hea alluh time?"

"Naw! I hangs out on wes' elevent'. Dat's w'ea we lived 'fore we
moved. It's a mick block, only some of de Hogan's alley kids is in de All
Saints Camp."

"Oh!" disappointedly. "Gee, dat's far, wes' elebn't" "Yeah, but I got
skates."

"Skates, gee!" There was no end to Leo's blessings--no father, almost
no mother, skates.

"Git dere in a minute wit' 'em. You got a pair?" "No."

"Wyntcha git a pair an' hang out wit' me."

"I can't."

"Aintcher ol' man livin'?"

"Yea, but he wouldn' buy."

"Wyntcha ast yer ol' lady."

"She can't."

"Chees! Jews never buys nutt'n fer deyr kids."

David searched the horizon for something to fill in the awkward pause.

"Dey ain' dere now, doze--doze micks," he ventured.

"Don' worry! Dere jis layin' low, you watch!" He squinted at the distant
roofs. "But I ain' gonna let it out dough."


"No." He was relieved that the topic had changed. "How much cost a
kite?"

"Dat one's on'y two cents. Butcha gotta git a lodda cord wid it, er ye
can't fly it."

"Kentcha fly wit' cotton?"

"Naw! It busts. I had a big kite oncet--twicet as big as dis one--an' wot
a pull on it--an' it busted wid even red cord. Wuz way out over St. Jame's
Parochial on Twelft' an' Avenee C--yuh c'n see de cross--See it?" "Yea."
"Wuz full o' messages an' den it went an' busted. Lost nearly all me
cord too--got twissed on de roofs."

"Why yuh god id?" David gazed out at the distant spire outlined against
the hazy western blue. "Dat funny cross ev'y place?"

"Funny?" Leo's voice was nettled. "Wot's funny about it?"

"Not funny--I didn't mean!" He was quick to mollify. "I mean w'y yuh
god id?"

"Crosses is holy." Leo instructed him severely, "All of 'em. Christ, our
Savior, died on one o' dem."

"Oh! (Savior! What?) I didn't know."

"Sure, even if yuh wears 'em, dey bring yuh luck. When me ol' lady
had her appendixitis cut out, she had one o 'dem under her piller ev'y night,
an' dat's w'y she got better."

"Gee!"

"Yea an' ev'y' time I goes swimmin' in de Hudson I always cross
meself t'ree times--like dat. Den yuh kin Johnny-high-dive all yuh wants
an' yuh'll never hit bottom--didn'tcha know dat?" And when David looked
blank. "Yuh see dis?" As if to clinch his argument, he undid a button on his
shirt, reached in and drew out what looked like a square piece of leather on
a string. "Know what dat is?"

He scrutinized it, shook his head. Something had been stamped on it in
gold--a picture perhaps--but too faded now to make out. "Maybe a man
an' a liddle lady," he ventured. "I can't see so good."

"A man and a lady!" Leo turned his head aside to crow. "Oh boy, wot
Jews don' know! Dat's a scapiller, see? An' dat's a pitcher o' de holy
Mudder an' Chil'. Cheez! Doncha know de Woigin Mary w'en yuh sees
'er?"

"No," guiltily.

"Cheez!" incredulously, and then lifting the bit of leather to examine it
more closely, "It's gittin' rubbed off, I guess." He slipped it back under his
shirt. "Dat's cawz I goes swimmin' in it all de time in de river."

"An' yuh ain' ascared o' nottin' w'en yuh god dat on?"

"Naw! I tol' ye!"

"Chee!" David sighed and gazed at Leo's chest half in awe, half in envy.

--Not afraid! Leo wasn't afraid!

"Hey, look out for dat kite!" Leo relieved him hastily of the string. "Yuh
don' wanna led it dive like dat, it'll smack a roof!"

--Not afraid!



VIII



THE hour that had passed had been one of the most blissful in David's
life. He had never wanted to be anyone's friend until this moment, and
now he would have given anything to be Leo's. The longer he heard him
speak, the longer he watched him, the more he became convinced that Leo
belonged to a rarer, bolder, carefree world. There was a glamour about
him. He did what he pleased and when he pleased. He was not only free of
parents, but he also wore something about his neck that made him almost
god-like. Sitting next to him, David's one concern had been how to
ingratiate himself, how to keep Leo amused, keep him from remembering
that time was passing. Whenever Leo had laughed, David had felt his own
bosom swell up with joy; even when Leo had jeered at him he felt grateful.
It was right that Leo should jeer at him. Leo was a superior being; his
laugh was just. When Leo had asked him whether Jews wore amulets on their
persons, David had described the "Tzitzos" that some Jewish boys wore
under their shirts, and the "Tfilin", the little leather boxes, he had seen
men strap around their arms and brows in the synagogue--had described them,
hoping that Leo would laugh. He did. And even when Leo had said of the
"Mezuzeh", the little metal-covered scroll that all Jews tacked on the door
posts above their thresholds--"Oh! Izzat wotchuh call em? Miss oozer? Me
ol' lady tore one o' dem off de door w'en we moved in, and I busted it, an'
cheez! It wuz all full o' Chinee on liddle terlit paper--all aroun' an'
aroun'." David had not been hurt. He had felt a slight qualm of guilt, yes,
guilt because he was betraying all the Jews in his house who had Mezuzehs
above their doors; but if Leo thought it was funny, then it was funny and it
didn't matter. He had even added lamely that the only thing Jews wore
around their necks were camphor balls against measles, merely to hear the
intoxicating sound of Leo's derisive laugh. But at last, Time would have his
way. The sun had risen to the zenith and Leo began drawing in the kite
cord. Resentfully, David eyed the approaching kite.

"Yuh ain' gonna fly no maw?" he asked hoping against hope.

"Naw, I'm goin' down."

David hoped he would be invited. He wasn't. "Wy'nt-cha comm
t'morreh again?" he urged.

"I'm goin't' elevent', I tol' yuh."

His answer was like a pang. He was slipping away. He might never see
him again! "Wish I had skates!" he said fervently. "Chee! I wish I had
skates!" And suddenly a new thought struck him. "Wot time yuh com-min'
home? Dont'cha comm home on twelve a'clock an' eat?"

"Naw. I buys a couple o' franks on a roll fer a jit."

The last shred of hope. Leo's freedom was unattainable. David could
feel himself drooping. "So I ain' gonna see yuh?" he asked miserably.
"Hodda ya wan' me to know." Leo had begun climbing down the shed.

"I'll ged yuh somm cake--" David followed him down. "Big hunks if
yuh comm up hea tomorreh."

"Naw!"

"Can't I comm witchuh? I c'n walk."

But his clinging to Leo only tended to make him more unfriendly.
"G'wan! I don' wancher hanging' aroun' me. Ye ain't big enough."

"Yes I am!"

"Betcha y'ain't even ten."

"Sure I am!" He lied eagerly. "I'm goin' on eleb'n." "Well, I'm goin' on
twelve. Ye ain't got skates anyway." He opened the roof-door, impatiently.
"Better go acrost now, 'cause I'm goin down." And as he stepped down,
"So long!" And abruptly shut the roof-door behind him."

"So long!" he called through the metal-covered door. "So long, Leo!"

And could have wept the next moment. A little while he stood staring at the
door, and then mournfully crossed over the roofs and sat down on the box.
Without Leo, the roof had suddenly become vacant, had lost its appeal. Nor
was sitting on the box comfortable any longer--he could feel its hard edges
now, biting into his thighs. But a kind of inertia engendered by loss kept
him where he was, and he leaned back broodily against the skylight. Skates.
That was the real reason why he had lost Leo--because he lacked them. He
could almost see the gulf between himself and Leo widening with Leo's
flying skates. And he had liked Leo so much, even if he was a goy, had
liked him better than anyone in the whole block. If only he had a pair of
skates! There was very little chance though. A penny a day his mother gave
him; that made two on Tuesday; three on Wednesday. It would take forever,
and one needed dollars and dollars. If he had a pair of skates he could leave
the hated boys on his block behind him; he could go to Leo's block, to
Central Park, as Leo said he did. That park with the trees, where he went
with Aunt Bertha, that white museum--Aunt Bertha! Her candy store! She
must have skates in her candy store! She might even have an old pair that
she would give him for nothing! Why hadn't he thought of that before?
He'd go now. No, he couldn't go now. There was luncheon and cheder.
He'd go to-morrow. Oh, wait till Leo saw him with his skates! He hurried
joyfully down the stairs.



IX



WITHOUT telling his mother where he was going he had started out
early that morning for Aunt Bertha's candy store. It had been a long walk,
but high hopes had buoyed him up. And now he saw a few blocks away the
gilded mortar and pestle above a certain drugstore window. That was Kane
Street. His breast began pounding feverishly as he drew near.

What if she didn't have any skates. No! She must have! He turned the
corner, walked east. A few houses and there was the candy store. He'd look
into the window first. Jumping up eagerly on the iron scrolls of the cellar
railing beside the store window, he pressed his nose against the glass,
scrutinized the display. A wild, garish clutter of Indian bonnets, notebooks,
pencil boxes, pasteboard females, American flags, uncut strips of battle-
ships and ball players--but no skates for his flitting eyes to light upon.
Hope wavered. No, they must be inside. Aunt Bertha would be foolish to
keep anything so valuable in the window.

He peered in through a crevice in the chaos. Seated behind the counter,
one hand poising a dripping roll above a coffee cup, Aunt Bertha had turned
her head toward the rear of the store and was bawling at someone inside.
David could hear her voice coming through the doorway. He got down from
the rail, sidled around the edge of the window and went in--

"Sluggards! Bedbugs foul!" she shrilled unaware of his entrance. "Esther!
Polly! Will you get up! Or shall I spit my lungs out at you! Quick, stinking
heifers, you hear me! No?"

Aunt Bertha had changed since David had seen her last. Uncorseted, she
looked fatter now, frowsier. The last remnant of tidiness in her appearance
had vanished. Her heavy breasts, sagging visibly against her blouse, stained
by fruit juice and chocolate, flopped slovenly from side to side. Fibres of
her raffia-coarse red hair twined her moist throat. But her face was
strangely thin and taut as though a weight where her apron bulged were
dragging the skin down. "Wait!" she continued. "Wait till your father
comes. Hi! He'll rend you with his teeth! Stinking sluts, it's almost nine!"
She turned. "Veil?" and recognizing him. "David!" The hectic light in her
eyes melted into pleasure. "David! My litde bon-bon! You?"

"Yea!"

"Come here!" she spread fat arms like branches. "Let me give you a
kiss, my honey-comb! I haven't seen you in--how long? And Mama, why
doesn't she come? And how is your father?" Her eyes opened fiercely.
"Still mad?" She submerged him in a fat embrace that reeked of
perspiration flavored with coffee.

"Mama is all right." He squirmed free. "Papa too."

"What are you doing here? Did you come alone? All this long way?"

"Yes, I--"

"Want some candy? Ha! Ha! I know you, sly one!" She reached into a
case. "Hea, I giff you an pineepple vit' emmend. Do I speak English
better?"

"Yea." He pocketed them.

"End a liddle suddeh vuddeh?"

"No, I don't want it." He answered in Yiddish. For some reason he
found himself preferring his aunt's native speech to English.

"And so early!" She rattled on admiringly. "Not like my two wenches,
sluggish turds! And you're younger than they. If only you were mine
instead of-- Cattle!" She broke off furiously. "Selfish, mouldering hussies!
All they know is to snore and guzzle! I'll husk them out of bed now, God
help me!" But just as she started heavily for the doorway, a man stepped
into the store.

"Hello! Hello!" He called loudly. "What are you scurrying off for?
Because I came in?"

"No-o! God forbid!" she exclaimed with mock vehemence. "How fares
a Jew?"

"How fares it with all Jews? A bare living. Can you spare me a
thousand guilders?"

"Ha! Ha! What a jester! The only green-rinds I ever see are what I peel
from cucumbers." And turning to David. "Go in, sweet one! Tell them I'll
sacrifice them for the sake of heathens if they don't get up! That's my
sister's only one," she explained.

"Comely," admitted the other.

David hesitated, "You want me to go in?"

"Yes! Yes! Perhaps you'll shame the sows into rising."

"Your fledgelings are still in the nest?"

"And what else?" disgustedly. "Lazy as cats. Go right in, my bright."

Reluctantly, David squeezed past her, and casting a last vain glance at
the jumbled shelves, pushed the spring door forward and went in. Beyond
the narrow passageway, cramped even closer by the stumpy mottled
columns on pasteboard boxes carelessly piled, the kitchen opened up with a
stale reek of unwashed frying pans. The wooden table in the center was
bare except for a half-filled bottle of ketchup with a rakish cap. Pots, one in
another, still squatted on the gas-stove. From a corner of the stove-tray
under the burners, coffee dripped to a puddle on the floor. The sink was
stacked with dishes, and beside it on the washtub a bagful of rolls lay
spilled all over. Splayed newspapers, crumpled garments, shoes, stockings,
hung from the chairs or littered the floor. There were three doors, all closed,
one on either side and one with a broom against it opening on the yard.
--Gee! Dirty .... Which one?

A giggle at his left. He approached cautiously.

"Is she commin'?" A guarded voice inside.

"Sh!"

"Hey," he called out in a non-committal voice, "Yuh momma wants you
sh'd ged op!"

"Who're you?" Challengingly from the other side.

"It's me, Davy."

"Davy who?"

"Davy Schearl, Tanta Boita's nephew."

"Oh! So open de daw."

He pushed it back--The clinging stench of dried urine. Lit by a small
window that gave upon the squalid grey bricks of an airshaft, the room was
gloomy. Only after a few seconds had passed did the features of the two
heads that pronged the grey, mussed coverlets separate from the murk.
"It's him!" A voice from the pillow.

"So wodda yuh wan'?" He finally distinguished the voice as Esther's.

"I tol' yuh," he repeated. "Yuh momma wants yuh sh'd get op. She tol'
me I shul tell yuh." The message delivered, he began to retreat.

"Comm beck!" Imperiously. "Dope! Wodda yuh wan' in duh staw I
asked."

"N-nott'n."

"So waddaye comm hea fuh?" Polly demanded suspiciously. "Kendy?"

"No, I didn'. I jost comm to see Tanta Boita."

"Aaa, he's full of hoss-cops--C'mon, Polly!" Esther was the one
nearest the wall. "Ged out!" She sat up.

Polly clung to the covers. "Ged oud yuhself foist.'" "Yuh bedder! Yuh
hoid w'ad mama said."

"So led 'er say." Peevishly.

"I ain' gonna clean de kitchen by myself," Esther stood up on the bed.
"You'll ged!"

"Don' cross over me. Id's hard luck."

"I will if yuh don' ged out!"

"You jus' try--go over by my feet--"

But even as she spoke, Esther jumped over her.

"Lousy bestia!" Polly screeched. And as her sister jounced with unsure
footing on the bed, she clutched at the hem of her nightgown and yanked
her back. Esther tumbled heavily against the wall.

"Ow! Rotten louse!" Esther screamed in return. "Yuh hoit my head."
And swooping down on the coverlets, flung them back. "Yeee!" she
squawled as Polly, taken by surprise lay for an instant with nightgown
above naked navel, "Yeee! Free show! Free show!"

"Free show, yuhself!" Furiously, Polly clawed at the other's nightgown.
"Yuh stinkin' fraid cat! Shame! Shame! Free show!" Immediately four bare
thighs kicked, squirmed and locked, and the two sisters rolled about in bed,
slapping each other and shrieking. After a minute of this, the disheveled
Esther, with a last vicious slap, at the other, broke loose, leapt from
the bed and squealing rushed past David into the kitchen.

"I'll moider you--yuh rotten stinker!" Polly screamed after her. "I'll
break yuh head!" she rolled out of bed as well.

"Yea, I double dare you!" Quivering with spite, Esther bent fingers into
claws.

"I'll tell mama on you! I'll tell 'er watchuh done!"

"I ain' gonna go down witchoo." Her sister spat "Just fer dat, you go
yuhself."

"So don't. I'll tell him too!"

"I'll kill yuh!"

"Yea! Yuh know w'ot Polly does?" Esther wheeled on him. "She pees in
bed every night! Dat's w'at she does! My fodder has to give her a pee-pot
twelve a'clock every night--"

"I don't!"

"Yuh do! Dere!"

"Now I'll never take yuh down, yuh lousy fraid-cat Never! Never!"

"So don't!"

"An' I hope de biggest moider boogey man tears yuh ass out."

"Piss-in-bed!" Esther taunted stubbornly. "Piss in bed!" "An he'll
comm, Booh!" Polly pawed the air, eyes bulging in mimic fright. "Booh!
Like de Mask-man in de serial! Wooh!"

"Aaa, shoddop!" Esther flinched. "Mama'll take me down."

"Yea!" her sister gloated. "Stinkin' fraid-cat! Who'll stay in de staw?"

"You!"

"Yuh should live so!"

"So I'll pee in de sink." Esther threatened.

"Wid de dishes in id! G'wan, I dare yuh! An' yuh know w'ot Mama'll
give yuh w'en I tell 'er."

"So I'll waid! Aaa! He'll go down!" she shrilled in sudden triumph.
"Mbaal" her tongue flicked out. "Mbaa! Davy'll go down wit' me!"

"Yea? Waid'll I tell Sophie Seigel an' Yeddie Katz you took a boy down
in de toilet and let 'im look. Waid'll I tell!''

"Sticks and stones c'n break my bones, but woids can nevuh hoit me-e!"
Esther sang malevolently. "I ain'gonna led 'im look. C'mon, Davy! Waid'll
I ged my shoes on."

"Don' go!" Polly turned on him fiercely. "Or I'll give yuh!"

"An' I'll give you!" Esther viciously hooked feet into shoes. "Such a
bust, yuh'll go flyin'! C'mon, Davey!" "Waddayuh wan'?" He looked from
one to the other with a stunned, incredulous stare.

"I'll give yuh kendy," Esther wheedled.

"Yuh will not!" Polly interposed.

"Who's askin' you, Piss-in-bed?" She seized David's arm. "C'mon, I'll
show yuh w'ea tuh take me."

"Wea yuh goin'?" He held back.

"Downstairs inna ter lit, dope! Only number one. Srooo!" She sucked in
her breath sharply. "Hurry op! I'll give yuh anyt'ing inna store."

"Don'tcha do it!" Polly exhorted him. "She won't give yuh nott'n! I'll
give yuh!"

"I will so!" Esther was already dragging him after her. "Leggo!" He
resisted her tug. "I don't want--" But she had said anything! A vision of
bright-wheeled skates rose before his eyes. "Awri'." He followed her.
"Shame! Shame!" Polly yapped at their heels. "Ev'y-body knows yuh
name. He's goin' in yuh terlit!"

Cringing with embarrassment, he hurried across the threshold to
Esther's side.

"Shoddop! Piss-in-bed! Mind yuh own beeswax!" She slammed the
door in her sister's face. "Over dis way."

A short flight of wooden steps led down into the muggy yard, and a little
to the side of them, another flight of stone dropped into the cellar. At
the sight of the nether gloom, his heart began a dull, labored pounding.

"Didntcha know our terlit was inna cella'?" she preceded him down.

"Yea, but I fuhgod." He shrank back a moment at the cellar door.

"Stay close!" she warned.

He followed warily. The corrupt damp of sunless earth. Her loose shoes
scuffed before him into dissolving dark. On either side of him glimmered
the dull-grey, once-white-washed cellar bins, smelling of wet coal, rotting
wood, varnish, burlap. Only her footsteps guided him now; her body had
vanished. The spiny comb of fear serried his cheek and neck and shoulders.
--It's all right! All right! Somebody's with you. But when is she--Ow!
His groping hands ran into her.

"Wait a secon', will yuh?" she whispered irritably.

They had come mid-way.

"Stay hea." A door-knob rattled. He saw a door swing open--A tiny,
sickly-grey window, matted with cobwebs, themselves befouled with
stringy grime, cast a wan gleam on a filth-streaked flush bowl. In the
darkness overhead, the gurgle and suck of a water-box. The dull, flat dank
of excrement, stagnant water, decay. "You stay righd hea in de daw!" she
said. "An' don' go 'way or I'll moider you--Srooo!" Her sharp breath
whistled. She fumbled with the broken seat.

"Can I stay outside?"

"No!" Her cry was almost desperate as she plumped down. "Stay in de
daw. You c'n look--" The hiss and splash. "Ooh!" Prolonged, relieved.
"You ain' god a sister?"

"No." He straddled the threshold.

"You scared in de cella'?"

"Yea."

"Toin aroun'!"

"Don' wanna!"

"You're crazy. Boys ain't supposed t' be scared."

"You tol' me y'd give anyt'ing?"

"So waddayuh wan'?" In the vault-like silence the water roared as she
flushed the bowl.

"Yuh god skates?"

"Skates?" She brushed hastily past him toward the yard-light, "C'mon.
We ain't god no skates."

"Yuh ain'? Old ones?"

"We ain' god no kind." They climbed into the new clarity of the yard.
"Wadduh t'ink dis is?" her voice grew bolder. "A two-winder kendy staw?
An' if I had 'em I wouldn' give yuh. Skates cost money."

"So yuh ain' god?" Like a last tug at the clogged pulley of hope. "Even
busted ones?"

"Naaa!" Derisively.

Despair sapped the spring of his eager tread. Her smudged ankles
flickered past him up the stairs.

"Hey, Polly!" He heard her squeal as she burst into the kitchen, "Hey,
Polly--!"

"Giddaddihea, stinker!" The other's voice snapped. "Yuh know wot he
wants?" Esther pointed a mocking finger at him as he entered.

"Wa?"

"Skates! Eee! Hee! Hee! Skates he wants!"

"Skates!" Mirth infected Polly. "Waddaa boob! We ain' god skates."

"An' now I don' have to give 'im nott'n!" Esther exulted. "If he wants
wot we ain' got, so--"

"Aha!" Aunt Bertha's red head pried into the doorway. "God be praised!
Blessed is His holy name!" She cast her eyes up with exaggerated fervor.
"You're both up! And at the same time? Ai, yi, yi! How comes it?"

The other two grimaced sullenly.

"And now the kitchen, the filthy botch you left last night! Coarse
rumps! Do I have to do everything? When will I get my shopping done?"

"Aaa! Don' holler!" Esther's tart reply.

"Cholera in your belly!" Aunt Bertha punned promptly. "Hurry up, I
say! Coffee's on the stove." She glanced behind her. "Come out, David,
honey! Come out of that mire." She pulled her head back hurriedly.

"Aaa, kiss my axle," Polly glowered. "You ain' my mod-duh!" And
snappishly to David. "G'wan, yuh lummox! Gid odda hea!"

Chagrined, routed, he hurried through the corridor, finding a little relief
in escaping from the kitchen. "Skates!" Their jeers followed him. "Dopey
Benny!"

He came out into the store. Aunt Bertha, her bulky rear blocking the
aisle, her breasts flattened against the counter was stooping over, hand-
ing a stick of licorice to a child on the other side.

"Oy!" She groaned, straightening up as she collected the penny. "Oy!"
And to David. "Come here, my light. You don't know what a help you've
been to me by getting them out of bed. Have you ever laid eyes on such
bedraggled, shameless dawdlers? They're too lazy to stick a hand in cold
water, they are. And I must sweat and smile." She took him in her arms.
"Would you like what I gave that little boy just now--ligvitch? Ha? It's as
black as a harness."

"No." He freed himself. "You haven't got any skates, have you Aunt
Bertha?"

"Skates? What would I do with skates, child? And in this little dungheap?
I can't sell five-cent pistols or even homs with the red, white and blue,
so how could I sell skates? Wouldn't you rather have ice-cream? It is
very good and cold."

"No."

"A little halvah? Crackers? Come, sit down awhile."

"No, I'm going home."

"But you just came."

"I have to go."

"Ach!" she cried impatiently. "Let me look at you awhile--No? Take
this penny then," she reached into her apron. "Buy what I haven't got."

"Thanks, Aunt Bertha."

"Come see me again and you'll have another. Sweet child!" She kissed
him. "Greet your mother for me!"

"Yes."

"Keep hale!"



X



SPIT someone?

He glanced up and backward overhead. To the north and south the
cogged spindle of the sky was an even stone-grey.

--Dope! Ain't spit. Hurry up!

Umbrellas appeared. The black shopping bags of hurrying housewives
took on a dew-sprent glaze. Inside their box-like newstands, obscure dealers
tilted up shelves above the papers. As the drizzle thickened the dull facades
of houses grew even drabber, the contents of misty shop-windows indeterminate.
A dense, soggy dreariness absorbed all things, drained all colors to darkness,
melted singleness, muddied division--only the tracks of the horse-cars still
glinted in the black gutter as whitely as before. He felt disgusted with himself.

--Wet on my shirt, hair, gee! Two blocks yet. Giddap!

Rain had coated sidewalk and gutter with a slimy film.

On flattened tread, he jogged cautiously homeward, ducking under awnings
when he could, skirting the jutting stoops. Not too drenched, he reached
his corner.

"Run! Run! Sugar baby! Run! Run! Sugar baby!" Sheltered from the
downpour, children in the dry covert of hallways relayed the cry--a
mocking gauntlet for those who hurried in the rain. There were several such
bantams snugly crowing in his own doorway. One or two of the faces
belonged to those who had sat on the curb while Kushy had told about the
canary. Resentfully, he fixed bis eyes before him and ran up the iron stairs
of the stoop. He wasn't going to talk to them at all. But as he was about to
enter the hallway one of them stepped in his path--

"Hey, you're Davy aintcha?"

"Yea." He looked up sullenly. "Waddayuh wan'?"

"Dey's a kid lookin' fuh yuh."

"Yea," another chimed in. "W'it' skates he had."

"Fuh me? A kid w'it' skates?" His heart bounded with incredulous joy.
Sudden warmth gushed through every vein. "Fuh me?"

"Yea."

"Leo? Did he say he wuz Leo?"

"Leo, yea; futt flaw, sebm futty fl'. He's a goy."

"So wad he wan'?" eagerly.

"He says comm op righd away."

"Me?"

"Yea, he wuz jost lookin'--"

But David had already leaped down the stairs and was sprinting through
the rain toward Leo's house. Up the stoop he went, proudly, as though Leo's
call had saturated the fabric of his spirit with a tingling, toughening glow, as
though his being were pursed into a new shape of assurance. Here also
children crowded the hallway, but he brushed by them without a word or a
moment's hesitation. He was Leo's friend! And he climbed the obscure stairs
without a wisp of fear. At the top floor, he stopped, looked about--all
the shadowy doors were closed.

"Hey Leo!" he sang out, and the boldness of his own voice surprised
him. "Hey Leo, w'ea d'yuh live?"

He heard an answering voice and almost immediately after, a door
splayed out a fan of light.

"C'mon in." Leo stepped out

"Leo!" David would have hugged him if he dared. "Yuh called me?"

"Yea, it begun to rain, so I come back. Didn' wanna get me skates all
rusty."

"Gee, I'm glad I comm home!" David followed him into the kitchen.

"I wuz just wipin' 'em." Leo sat down on a chair, picked up an oily rag
at his feet and began vigorously polishing the various parts.

"Yuh all alone." He found a seat against the wall. "Sure."

"Hoddy yuh ged in yuh house?"

"W'it' a key, hodja t'ink?"

"Gee!" admiringly. "Yuh god a key of yuh own 'n' ev'y t'ing?"

"'Course. See dat shine?" He lifted the gleaming skate.

"Gee, you know how."

"Yuh do dis ev'y day, dey never get rusty on ye." "No. But look w'ad I
brung ye, Leo." Heart leaping with delight he held out the two candies.
"Gee!" Leo hopped up with alacrity. "W'ot kind?"

"A emmend an' pineapple."

"Oh, boy! Bot' of 'em fuh me?"

"Yea." He found himself regretting he had not accepted the other tid
bits his aunt had offered him.

"Yer a nice guy!" Leo set the chocolates on the table. "W'edja git 'em?"

"Aintcha gonna ead 'em?" He asked eagerly.

"Naw, I'm savin' 'em fuh later. I wanna eat sumpt'n else foist."

"Oh! My a'nt ga' me 'em--Gee! I fuhgod tuh tell yuh. She owns a
kendy staw."

"No kiddin'! W'ea does she live?"

"Wey down in Kane Stritt. But you c'n go easy--yuh god skates."

"Sure let's go dere sometimes--maybe we c'n cop a whole box of jelly
beans. D'ja get any gum drops?" "No," self-reproachfully. "I coulda--
Gee!"

"Dey're good." Leo had put down the skates and gone over to the bread
box on a shelf beside the sink. "Me fuh sumpt'n t' eat." He drew out a loaf
of bread. "Want some?"

"I ain' so hungry." He felt suddenly shy. "Id's oily yed."

"Wot of it?" He began undoing the printed waxed-paper about the
bread. "I eats w'en I wants tuh."

"Awri'." Leo's independence was contagious.

"Got sumpt'n good too," he promised, going over to the ice-box.
"Sumpt'n we don' have ev'y day."

While Leo ferreted among the dishes, David stole blissful glances about
him. It gave him a snug, adventurous feeling to be alone in a whole house
with someone so resourceful as Leo. There were no parents to interfere, no
orders to obey--nothing. Only they two, living in a separate world of their
own. Nor were goyish kitchens so different from Jewish ones. Like his own,
this too was a cubical room with stove, sink and washtubs flush against the
walls. And the walls were green, and the white curtains, hanging from taut
strings across the window-frames, sere with too much washing, and the
flowered linoleum, scuffed like his own. Both were equally scrubbed and
tidy, but where David's kitchen had a warm tang to its cleanliness, Leo's
had a chill, flat odor of soap. Hiat was all the difference between them,
except perhaps for a certain picture in the shadowy corner at the further end
of the room--a picture that for all of David's staring would not take on a
reasonable shape because the light was too dim.

"Is she got a reggiler big canny staw?" Kneeling before the ice-box, Leo
had been buttering bread. And now he pushed several objects from a large
platter onto a small one. "Ice-cream poller too?" He arose.

"My aunt? Naa. She god just a--" He broke off, gaped at what Leo had
placed on the table. In one of the plates was a stack of buttered bread, but
on the other, a heap of strange pink creatures, all legs, claws, bodies--

"Wod's dat?"

"Dese?" Leo snickered at his surprise. "Don'tcha know wat dis is?
Dem's crabs."

"Cre-- Oh, crebs! Dey wuz green-like, w'en I seen 'em in a box on
Second Evenyeh--"

"Yea, but dey a'ways gits red w'en ye berl 'em. Dey're real good!
Gonna eat some?"

"Naa!" His stomach shrank.

"Didntcha ever eat 'em?"

"Naa! Jews can't."

"Cheez! Jew's can't eat nutt'n." He picked up one of the monsters.
"Lucky I ain' a Jew."

"No." David agreed vaguely. But for the first time since he had met
Leo, he rejoiced in his own tenets. "Hoddayuh ead?"

"Easy!" Leo snapped off a scarlet claw. "Jist bite into 'em, see?" He did.
"Gee!" David marveled.

"Here's some bread an' budder," Leo offered him a slab. "Yuh c'n eat
dat, cantchuh? It's on'y American bread."

"Yea." David eyed it curiously on accepting it. Unlike his own bread,
this slice was neither drab-grey nor brown, but dough-pale and soft as paste
under the finger tips. Where the crust on the bread his mother bought was
stiff and thick as card-board, this had a pliant yielding skin, thin as the
thriftiest potato paring or the strip one unwound from a paper lead-pencil.
And the butter--he tasted it--salt! He had never eaten salt butter before.
However, pulpy and briny though the first mouthful was, there was nothing
actually repulsive about it--

"We c'n eat anyt'ing we wants," Leo informed him sucking at a crushed
red pincer. "Anyt'ing wot's good."

"Yea?" While he rolled the soggy cud about in his cheek, his eyes had
lighted on the picture again, and again were baffled with shadow.

--A man. What? Can't be.

"An' I et ev'y kind o' bread dey is," Leo continued proudly. "Aitalian
bread-sticks, Dutch pummernickel, Jew rye--even watchuh call 'em,
matziz--matches--" He snickered. "Dey're nuttin but big crackers--D'ja
ever eat real spigeddi?"

"No, wod's dat?"

"De wops eat it just like pitaters. An' boy ain' it good!" He rubbed his
belly. "Could eat a whole pailful by me-self. We usetuh live nex' door to de
Aglorini's--dey was Aitalian--"

--Like my picture too--in my house--with the flowers. Is something
else if you know. Have to know or you can't see.--

"An' Lily Aglorini usetuh bring in a big dishful fuh me and de ol' lady.
Dat wuz w'en me ol' lady give 'em cakes when she woiked in a ressarran'.
On'y wot cheese dey put in--Holy Cheel No wonner guineas c'n faht wit'
gollic bombs!"

--A man, for sure now. Has to be. Only his guts are stickin' out.

Burning. Gee what a crazy picture. Even mine ain't so. But get mad if I ask
--

"Wisht me ol' lady could make real Aitalian spigeddi-- Hey!" He
demanded abruptly. "Wotcha lookin' at?"

"N-nott'n!" David dropped guilty eyes. "W'ad's-" (--Don't, don't ask
him!) "Gee!" He felt the shooting warmth of his own flush and stopped
confusedly. (--Dope! Next time listen!)

"Wot's wot?" he demanded staring at him with a wide* mouthed, suspended
grin.

"A--yea!" Again, as on the roof, he found a convenient switch. "But I
don' know hodda say. My modder, she says it-- on'y id's Jewish." He
grinned deprecatingly.

"Well, say it!" impatiently.

"W'ad's a orr--a orrghaneest? Dat's how she says id." "A awginis', yuh
mean! Awginis'--Sure! We got one in our choich. He plays a awgin."

"Yea?"

"Dey looks like pianers, on'y dey w'istles--up on top, see? Got long
pipes an' t'ings. Didtcha know dat?"

"I didn't know fuh sure--on'y in Jewish."

"Yea, dat's wot it is. Anyhow, who wuz talkin' about choich?"

"Nobody!" With apologetic haste, "Spigeddeh yuh said."

"Yea!" offendedly.

"D'yuh go skatin' in de windertime, too?"

"Naw, wadda gink!" Leo struck at the lure. "How c'n yuh go skatin' in
de winter time wit' snow on' de groun'? Yuh skate on slyin' ponds den. Dja
ever make one a whole block long?" He expanded again. "We did--me and
Patsy McCardy an' Buster Tuttle--it went all de way from Elevent' to
Stevens Street."

"Gee!" David relaxed again.

"An' Lily Aglorini tries to slide on it an' bang!" The crab shell cut a red
arc. "Right on her can! Wow! She went a whole block wit' her legs stickin'
up innee air."

--Guts like a chicken, open. And he's holding them. Whiskers he's got,
or no?

"An' den de hawse falls on it and de cop trows ashes on it. But didn' me
and Patsy kid de shoit off her 'cause she wuz wearin' red drawers."

--Don't look any more, that's all!

But Leo had flicked his gaze over his shoulder. "Oh!" He asked in resentful
surprise. "Is zat all yuh tryin' to look at?"

"No I wuzn' tryin'! Hones'!--"

"Yes, yuh wuz, don' tell me," disgustedly. "At's twicet now yuh wuzn'
even listenin'!"

"I didn't mean--" He hung his head.

"Well, go on!" The crab crunched under exasperated teeth. "Take a good
look at it, will yuh!"

"Kin I?"

"Dat's w'at its fuh! Course yuh c'n!"

He slid apologetically from the chair, walked over. "Oh, now I see." He
gazed up at it intently. "It ain' w'at I t'ought." The man was bearded, but
instead of holding his bowels in his hand, he was pointing at his breast in
which the red heart was exposed and luminous.

"Wadjuh t'ink it wuz?"

"Couldn' see good," evasively.

"Dintcha ever see dat befaw?"

"No."

"'At's Jesus an' de Sacred Heart."

"Oh! What makes it?"

"Makes wot?"

"He's all light inside."

"Well 'at's 'cause he's so holy."

"Oh," David suddenly understood. "Like him, too!" He stared in facination
at the picture. "De man my rabbi told me about--he had it!"

"Had w'a'?" Leo drew abreast of him to look up.

"Dot light over dere!"

"Couldnda had dat," Leo asserted dogmatically. "Dat's Christchin light
--it's way bigger. Bigger den Jew light."

David had turned around to face Leo, but now he stopped, stared at the
opposite wall. Directly above his chair all this time the same bearded figure
had been hanging. Only this time David recognized him. He was made of
flesh-tinted porcelain, and with what looked like a baby's diaper around his
loins, hung from a glazed black cross. ''Dat's him?"

"Sure! Yuh seen him befaw, dintcha?"

"Some place, yea. But I didn' know he wuz righd over me." With a feeling of
dread he eyed the crucifix. "Oncet I seen him in a 'Talian funeral store.
He's a'ways wit' nails, ain't he?"

"Yea." Leo took another slice of bread.

"But I didn' know dat wuz a--You ain' gonna git mad, will yuh if I ast
you?"

"Naw!" And a second crab. "Ast me!"

"W'y is dat dish on his head busted over dere?" He pointed to the
crucifix. "An it ain' busted over--hea." He pointed now to the picture.

"Ha! Ha!" he guffawed through a mouthful of food. "Aintcha de sap,
dough! Dat ain' a dish; dat's a halo! Dintcha ever see a halo? It's made ouda
light! An dat ain' a dish, neider," pointing to the figure on the cross, "dat's
his crown o' t'orns--sharper'n pins wot de Jews stuck on him."

"Jews?" David repeated, horrified and incredulous. "Sure. Jews is de
Chris'-killers. Dey put 'im up dere."

"No?"

"Sure, youse!"

"Gee! W'en?"

"Long ago. T'ousan's o' years."

"Oh!" There was a little comfort in remoteness. "I didn' know." A
hundred other questions clamored at his tongue, but fearful of further
revelations, he stifled them. "Gee! He's light inside and out, ain' he?" was
all he dared offer.

Without bothering to answer, Leo licked his fingers and reached for the
candy. "Ummm! Ammonds! Oh boy, bet I could put about ten o' dese in me
mout' at oncet. D' yuh ged 'em ev'ytime yuh go dere?"

"I don' go dere."

"Yuh don'? Cheez, I'd go dere ev'y day if me a'nt owned a canny
staw!"

"It's too far." He was answering because he knew Leo expected an
answer, but within him, something strange was happening, something that
swelled against his sides and bosom, that made his palms damp and
clinging, his speech muffled and reluctant as in drowsiness.

"Wot of it?" Leo sucked the fragments from his teeth. "Grab a hitch on
a wagon w'y dontcha?"

"Didn't see none." He wondered how Leo had failed to hear the
pounding of his heart

"Didn't see none!" he snorted incredulously. "On Avenue D--dat's
w'ea yuh went--dintcha?"

"Yea." The strangeness was grown almost as palpable as phlegm to his
breathing. Terrific desire seemed to sicken him. He must ask! He must ask!

"Well, wudja go dis time fuh?"

"Skates. I taught maybe--" his voice trailed off.

"Didn' she have 'em?"

"No." He found himself resenting the thorny brightness of Leo's voice
--a brightness that kept pricking him always out of a passionate yet
monstrous lethargy.

"Make 'er buy 'em faw ye den. Dat's wud I'd do. She'd gid 'em
cheaper 'n' you--"

"Leo!"

"W'a?"

"C-can you gibme--" A slow finger rose and pointed "G-gib me--one
o'-- one o'--" He couldn't finish.

"One o' wa-a-a?" Leo clapped hand to chest in sharp surprise.

"Yea." He felt giddy.

"Me scappiler? Cheesis, yuh mus' be nuts! Wat de hell d'ye wan' 'at
for?"

"I jos' wan' id."

"Are you tryin' to git funny er sumpt'n." Suspiciously.

"No!" He shook his head vehemently. "No!"

"Well, yer a Jew, aintcha?"

"Yea, bud I--"

"Well, youse can't wear 'em--dontcha know dat? Dey're fer Cat'licks."

"Oh!"

"Ain't got one anyhow--nutt'n 'cep' a busted rosary, me ol' lady foun'
in a ressarint."

"Wot's dot--rosary--" eagerly. "Can I have?"

"G'wan, will yuh! Are yuh bugs or sumpt'n?"

"I c'n giv yuh a lodda cakes an' canny--even my penny --See?" He
displayed it.

"Naw! It ain't mine an' it costs way more'n dat. Cheez! If I'd aknown
you wuz such a pain inna can I wouldna let yuh come up hea."

"I didn' know." He could feel his lips quivering.

"Aw yuh never know!" There was a harsh silence. "Yuh wan' me tuh go
donn?" His voice was desolate.

"Aw yuh c'n stay hea." Leo growled. "But stop bein' a pain inna prat,
willyuh?"

"Awrigh'," humbly, "I won' ask no more."

"Is yer a'nt stingy too?" Leo irritably ignored the apology.

"No." He thrust desire and disappointment from him and gave all his at-
tention to Leo. "She gi's me anyt'ing."

"Well why don'tchuh do like I said --ast her to buy a pair of skates and
den sell 'em to ye on trust, or sumpt'n."

"Maybe I'll ask her nex' time."

"Sure. Go dere every day till she gizem tuh yuh, dat's de trick."

"I don' like id."

"Wot, astin' her?"

"No. Her kids. Dey ain' her real kids."

"Step-kids yuh mean."

"Yea."

"Wotsa matter wid 'em? Snotty or sumpt'n? W'yncha gib'm a poke
innie eye?"

"Dere bigger'n me. An' dey holler on yuh an' ev'yt'ing."

"Yuh ain' scared of 'em are yuh? Don' let 'em bulldoze yuh!"

"I ain' so scared, but dere doity an' wants yuh tuh go donn in de cella'
wit' 'em an' ev'yt'ing."

"Cellar?" Leo grew interested. "W'yntcha say dey wuz goils."

"Yea, I don' like 'em."

"D'ja go down?" Grinning avidly he bent forward. "Yea."

"Yuh did? Wadja do--no shittin' now!"

"Do?" David was becoming troubled. "Nutt'n."

"Nutt'n!" Leo gasped incredulously.

"No. She ast me to stay inna terlit an' she peed."

"Yuh didn' do nutt'n an' dey ast yer to come down de cella' wid 'em?"

"On'y one of 'em ast me." Confusedly he fought off Leo's insistence.

"Oh!" he crowed, "Wot a sap!"

"'Cause, she said she'd gib me anyt'ing."

"Wee, an' yuh didn' ast 'er?"

"I wanned skates--a old pair," he beat a lame retreat. "I t'ought maybe
she had."

"Oh, boy, wot a goof! Yuh said yuh wuz ten yea's old. Oh, boy! She
letcha see it?"

"W'a?" He refused even to himself that he guessed.

"Aw! don' make believe yuh didn' know--" his legs spread. "De crack!"

"Dey wuz fight'n in bed," he confessed reluctantly, and then stopped,
wishing he had never begun.

"Well, wot about it?" Leo exacted the last scruple.

"Nutt'n. Dey wuz just kickin' wit--wit deir legs, and so--so I seen it"

"Chee!" Leo sighed, "No drawz?"

"No."

"How big 're dey?"

"Bigger'n me--about so moch."

"Bigger'n me?"

"No."

"Jist me size--oh boy! Wa' wuz ye scared of, yuh sap! Dey ain't yuh
real cousins. Oh boy, if me an' Patsy was dere--oh boy! Wish he wuzn' in
de camp. Oncet we took Lily Aglorini up me house on elevent', an' we
makes believe we wus takin' de exercise up de playgroun' in St. Joseph's
--bendin', yuh know? An' we bends 'er over a chair an' takes 'er drawz
down--oh boy! Hey! Le's go dere, you'n' me--waddaye say? I like Jew
goils!"

"Yuh mean yuh wanna do--yuh wanna play--" David shrank back.

"Sure, c'mon, le's bot' go now!"

"Naa!" His cry was startled, "I don' wanna!"

"Watsa madder--ain't dey dere now?"

"N-no. But I--I have to go home righd away." He had slid off his chair.
"Id's dinner time."

"Well, after den--after yuh eat!"

"I have tuh go t' cheder after."

"Wot's dat?"

"W'ea yuh loin Hebrew--from a rabbi."

"Cantcha duck it?"

"He'll comm to my house."

"C'mon anyways, 'fore yuh go t'dat place."

Again that warping globe of unreality sphered his senses. Again the
world sagged, shifted, Leo with it--a stranger. Why did he trust anything,
anyone? "I don' wanna," he finally muttered.

"Waa! I t'ought yuh wuz me pal!" Leo sneered in ugly disgust. "Is zat
de kind of a guy y'are?"

David stared sullenly at the floor.

"I'll tell yuh wot," the voice was eager again. "Yuh wanna loin t' skate,
dontcha! Dontcha?"

"Y-Yea."

"Well, I'll loin yuh--right away too. I'll lenja mine w'en we goes over
dere--one skate apiece."

"Naa! I'm goin' down."

"Aw, yuh sheen--C'mon I'll give yuh some o' me checkers--got a whole
bunch o' crownies. Look, you don' have t' do nutt'n if yuh don' wanna.
Us'll go togedder, but you kin stay outside. I ain' gonna do nutt'n--
jes' give 'em a feel."

"I don' wanna." David was at the door.

"Yuh stingy kike! Yuh wan' it all yerself, dontchuh? Well, don't hang
aroun' me no maw, 'er I'll bust ye one! Hey!" As David opened the door.
"Wait a secon'!" He grabbed his arm. "C'mon back!" He dragged David in.
"C'mon! I'll tell yuh wot I'll give yuh--"

"I don' wan' nutt'n!"

"Jis' wait! Jis' wait!" Still calling to David, he dragged a chair across
the kitchen to a dish-closet above the pantry, climbed up on the pantry
ledge, and reaching over his head, drew down a dusty wooden box, which
he dropped on the table as he climbed down. In shape it resembled the chalk
boxes in school and even had the same kind of sliding cover. But it couldn't
be a chalk box, for David had just enough time to glimpse the word God
printed in bold, black letters--though curiously enough the letters were
printed right above a large, black fish. But before he could bend closer to
spell out the smaller letters under the fish, Leo, with a "Hea's wotchuh
wanted," had whipped the cover off. Inside lay a jumble of trinkets, rings,
lockets, cameos. Leo fumbled among them. "Yea, yuh see dis?" He pulled
out a broken string of two-sized black beads near one end of which a tiny
cross dangled with a gold figure raised upon it like the one on the wall.
"Dat's de busted rosary me ol' lady foun', dere's on'y a coupla beads
missin'. I'll give it tuh yuh. Come on it's real holy."

David stared at it fascinated, "C'n I touch id?"

"Sure yuh c'n, go on."

"Does id do like de one around' yer neck?"

"Course it does! An' it's way, way holier."

"An' yuh'll gib me id?"

"Sure I will--'fer keeps! If you take me over witchuh t'morrer it's all
youra. Waddaye say, is it a go?"

Head swimming, he stared at the definite, unwinking beads. "It's a-a
go." He wavered.

"Atta baby!" Leo whirled the beads enthusiastically. "Look! you don' have
t'do nutt'n'--jis' lay putso like I tol' yuh. Dey ain' yer real cousins--
wadda you care-- oh boy! W'eadja say yuh took 'er?"

"I didn' take her--she took me." Now that he had consented dread
gripped him in earnest.

"S'all de same--w'ea?"

"In de cella'--huh cella'--unner de staw w'ea dere's a terlit."
"We'll take 'er dere too huh?"

"Butchuh have t'go troo de staw."

"W'a? Cantchuh sneak in troo de outside?"

"De staw?"

"No de cella'."

"I don' know."

"Sure ye c'n! Door's open I bet-- Wot time we goin?"

"W'ad time yuh wan'?"

"In de mawnin--oily--ten o'clock. How's zat? I'll meetcha front o' yer
stoop wit' me skates. Awright?"

"Awri'," he consented dully. "I'm goin' donn now."

"Wot's yer hurry?"

"I have tuh. I have tuh go home."

"Well, so long den! An' don' fergit--ten o'clock."

"No--ten o'clock."

He went out, the door closing on Leo's final chuckle. And he groped
toward the dim stairs and descended. Hope and fear and confusion had
drained him of thought. His mind was numb and suspended now, as though
he were drowsy with cold. Without word, without image, he sensed again
the past and the future converging on the morrow. And either he found a
solvent for his fears or he was lost. He walked into the dreary rain as
into an omen. . . .



XI



HIGH morning.

His nervous gaze wandered from frosted window to clock and returned
to the window--

"Turn, turn, turn, little mill-wheel," her voice barely more articulate
than a hum, sounded curiously distant now. "Work is no play, the hours
steal away little millwheel." With only her legs hanging in the kitchen--
the slack soles of worn house-slippers curving down from bare heels--his
mother sat on the sill wiping the outside of the pane. Under the vigorous
strokes of the rag the snowy shores of cleaning powder parted rapidly from
a channel to a gulf. And in the widening clarity first her throat appeared,
straight between lifted chin and old blue dress, and then her face, pale and
multiplaned and last her brown hair catching the sun in a thin haze of gold.

"Turn, turn, turn, little mill-wheel.. .."

--Wish she came in! Get scared when she sits like that. Fourth floor too
--way, way, down! If she--! Ooh! Don't! And that window it was. Can see
the roof from here. Yes, there where they--Son-of-a-bitch!--there where
they looked.

Irritably, he shifted his gaze to the other window, which was open and
looked out on the street. The sky above the housetops, rinsed and cloudless
after rain, mocked him with its serenity. In the street, too far below the
window to be seen, the flood of turmoil had risen with the morning and a
babel of noises and voices poured over the sill as over a dike. The air was
exceptionally cool. Between the drawn curtains of an open window across
the street, a woman was combing a little girl's hair with a square black
comb. The latter winced every time the comb sank, her thin squeals
skimming above the intricate crests of the surging din of the street.

--Louse-comb. Hurts. Sticks in your head . . . wonder if--wonder if--I
Late now, but dassent look out. If he's waitin'--But can't be there any
more. Must have went. Sure! Now is--? Nearly ha' past eleven. Ten, he
said. Must have went. Ha' past eleven and ha' past eleven and all is well . . .
Where? Watchman then, in book. Three A, yea. Clock. Someplace had.
Hickory dickory, dock. Clock. Never had. But--wheel--what? Once . . .
Once I . . . Say again and remember. Hickory, dickory--crazy! Why do they
say? Hickory, dickory, wickory, chickory. In the coffee. In a white box for
eight cents with yellow sides. In a box. Box. Yesterday. God it said and
holier than Jew-light with the coal. So who cares? But that fish, why was
that fish? Couldn't read all the little letters. Wish I could. Bet it tells. The
beads made you lucky, he said. Don't have to be scared of nothing. Gee if I
had!--but don't want it, that's all. Ain't going. And that funny dream I had
when he gave me it. How? Forgetting it already. Roof we were with a
ladder. And he climbs up on the sun --zip one two three. Round ball.
Round ball shining-- Where did I say, see? Round ball and he busted it off
with a cobble and puts it in the pail. And I ate it then. Better than sponge
cake. Better than I ever ate. Wonder what it's made of--Nothing, dope!
Dreams. Just was dreaming--

The squealing window stalled his fitful revery.

"There!" His mother sighed with relief as she ducked under the sash.
"Now all it lacks is another good rain to ruin it."

His gaze followed hers. Spotless now, the panes betrayed no more of
their presence than a jeweled breath --except where tiny flaws spiraled
inexplicable hues into warping rarities.

"They're all clean," he said with emphatic reassurance. "You don't have
to sit outside any more."

"So they are,." she washed her hands under the tap. "I'll hang my curtains
up now." And reaching for the towel. "You don't intend to go down today, do
you?" Her smile was perplexed.

"Yes, I do!" he protested warily. "But later, maybe."

"Do you know," she unfurled the curtain, "you've been acting of late almost
the way you did in Brownsville when you clung to my side like pitch. And
how you feared that short flight of stairs! That can't be troubling you now?"

"No." He suddenly felt cross with her for cornering him. "There's
nothing to do down stairs. I told you." "What's happened to all your
friends." Her rapid hand wound the curtain string about a nail. "Have they
all moved?"

"I don't know--don't like them anyway."

"Ach!" Despairingly. "The skein the cat's played with is easier to
unravel than my son. Yesterday it rained from noon till nightfall--you flew
up and down those stairs like a butter-chum. And after supper, between
Albert's bed-time and yours you sat there beside that window as fidgety as a
bird--only more silent. I saw you!" She lifted a mildly admonishing finger.
"Now what's the trouble? What is it?"

"Nothing!" He pouted moodily. "Nothing's the matter." But his brain
was already at work martialing the excuse.

"I know there is," she insisted gravely. "This morning you woke when I
did--seven--and yesterday too. But yesterday you would have spurned
your breakfast if I had let you in your eagerness to go down. To-day--Now
what is it?" A faint impatience colored her tone. "Nothing." He shook her
off.

"Won't you tell your mother?"

"It's just a boy." He had to answer now. "He--he wants to hit me. He
said he would if he caught me. That's all."

"A boy? Who?"

"A big boy--Kushy--his name is. Yesterday, they said there was a nickel
in the cellar on Tenth Street. And they all ran over and tried to get it
up. And Kushy said he didn't get it up because I pushed him."

"Well?"

"So he and his partner want to hit me."

"Oh, is that all? Well, that's easily remedied."

"Why?" The momentary satisfaction with himself changed into uneasiness.
"What are you going to do?"

"I'll go downstairs with you."

"No!"

"Why, of course I will. I'm not going to let anyone coop you up here all
day. You just point them out to me and I'll--"

"No, you can't do that," he interrupted her desperately.

"If you come down and you talk to them, they'll call me 'fraid-cat'!"

"What does that mean?"

"It's a cat that's afraid."

"Well, aren't you?" she laughed. "Aren't you just a little afraid?"

"I wouldn't be if they weren't so big." He tried to deepen the channel of
digression. "You ought to see how big they are. And there's two of them."

"That's all the more reason I ought to go down with you."

"But I don't want to go down!" Emphatically. "I want to stay here."

"You're just pretending."

"No, I'm not! I'm hungry."

"I offered you cake and an apple," she reminded him-- "Only a little
while ago when I began cleaning."

"I wasn't hungry then."

"Ach!" she scoffed, glancing at the clock. "You're like those large bright
flies in Austria that can fly backwards and forwards or hover in the
air as though pinned there. And what will you do after you're fed--stay
here till the Messiah comes?"

"No. I'll run to the cheder then, and play in the yard and wait for the
rabbi."

"I wonder if you're telling the truth?"

"I am too." His injured gaze held steady.

"Well." She sighed. "What would you like--a jelly omelette?"

"Yum! Yum!"

"Very well then." She smiled fondly. "As long as I can get you to eat, I
feel safe--That's our only sign." Her breasts heaved, nostrils dilating
suddenly. "But why do I sigh?" And going to the china closet drew out
several dishes. "I think washing windows makes me do that. It always
reminds me of Brownsville and that window with the scrawls and faces on
it. I wonder if they've cleaned it yet?" She went to the ice-box. "Is it
only a year and a half now since we moved out? It seems further away than
five cents will take one." And she fell silent, cracking the eggs against
the edge of the bowl.

--Gee lucky for me I thought. Can fool her any time.

She don't know. So I won't get that black thing in the box. So who
cares! The gas-stove popped softly under the match. Lifting a frying pan
from its hook on the wall, she set it on the grate--but a moment later
pushed it to one side as though she had changed her mind, and walked to
the street-window.

--Hope he ain't! Hope he ain't yet. (His startled thought overtook hers)
"Good!" she exclaimed triumphantly and pulled her head in. "I struck it
just right. Sometimes I do believe in premonitions."

--Aaa! Wish his horse fell or something!

"Now I can feed all both my men," she laughed. "This is a rare pleasure!"
And she hurried back to the ice-box.

He stiffened, ears straining above the rapid beating of eggs. Presently,
he heard it, deliberate, hollow, near at hand. The knob turned--The harsh,
weather-darkened face.

"I'm prepared for you!" she said cheerfully. "To the second."

Cheeks distended in a short customary puff, he dropped his cap on the
wash-tub, leaned his new whip against it. David glanced toward the stove.
His mother had dropped the old broken one between the stove and the wall.
His father went to the sink and began washing his hands.

"Tired?" She asked as she poured the golden foam into the hissing
skillet.

"No."

"Jelly omelette and dried peas, will that please you?" He nodded.

"Is he still out?"

"That's why I'm late again." He wiped his hands. "Till tomorrow."

"Ach! I'll be so glad when he returns."

He met her gaze with dark impassive eyes, slumped down into a chair.

"How is it the heir is home?" His thin lips twitched, warping the flat cheek.

--Don't! Don't tell him! Ow! (But he dared not even look at her imploringly)

"Oh!" she said lightly. "There's someone after him. One of the bigger
boys in the street."

--Aaa! She went and told him. Hate her!

His father's incurious gaze turned from her face to David's like a slow
spoke. "Why?"

"Something about money in a cellar. They were all trying to get it up--
how I don't know. But the other-- what did you call him?"

"Kushy," sullenly.

"Yes. This Kushy claimed he pushed him just when he lifted it--the
money. Isn't that the way it goes? Wouldn't you know the usual childish
quarrel?" She bent over the stove. "Only if it's over money, it's not so
childish, I guess."

"A cellar?" The hardening of his voice was barely perceptible. "When?"

--Ow! He thinks I told!

"Yesterday, you said, didn't you, David?" Her back was turned. "You
don't mind if we have the coffee I brewed this morning?"

"Yes," David's scared eyes rose to the gloomy pressure of his father's.
"I--I just said yesterday."

His lean jaw had tightened. Drooping eye-lashes banked his smouldering
anger. "What else?"

And though David knew the question was directed at himself--

"Why that's all!" His mother laughed, as though surprised at her husband's
interest. "Except that I offered to go down into the street with him,
since the other had threatened to strike him." She brought the omelette
and coffee pot to the table. "But he refused--said they'd call him--what?--
frait-katz." And surveying the spread. "Have I got everything here I want?
Water, yes. Dear God!" She exclaimed as she went to the sink. "Isn't it time
I learned to speak English?"

--Knows it wasn't! (David steeled himself) Knows it wasn't yesterday!
Knows I lied!

But, "Hmph!" his father grunted, relaxing. "He's big enough to take care
of himself." There was a strange, veiled look of satisfaction on his face.

"What if they're bigger than he is, Albert?" Protesting mildly, she set
the dewy, glass pitcher on the table. "You know, they--"

"Still," his father interrupted her, "if they're too much for you, tell them
I'll take the horsewhip to them if they touch you." And glancing up at her,
began slicing the bread. "Just to scare them." He added.

"Yes." She sat down uncertainly. "But there's no use kindling a feud out
of a threat--especially an urchin's threat."

He made no reply. And during the interval while food was being passed --

--Took my part. Gee! (Mechanically, David lifted his fork) She told
him and he knows I lied and he took my part. What did I--fooled him
maybe? Naaa! How he looked at me--

"You know," his mother tilted her smile meditatively, "it's almost seven
years since I came off that ship, and I've never quarreled with anyone yet.
I wouldn't like to start now."

"It would be miraculous if you did." His voice was level. "Your life has
been as sealed as a nun's."

"Not quite so sheltered, Albert." She looked faintly piqued. "Compared
to yours, yes. But pushcart peddlers when I do my marketing--ach!--they
deal out words as sharp as mustard-plasters--more than they do onions or
carrots. . . . There's nothing like a pushcart peddler."

--Sure he knows. Bet a million. In the wagon he was then. Just when
Kushy got up. And she told him it was yesterday. And he wouldn't say--

"But what I mean is how shall I answer one of these native shrews if she
shakes the clapper of her tongue at me in English? Cheh! Cheh! Cheh! They
chatter and hiss like a sieve full of ashes."

Thin as a shadow or a breath on water, a rare smile slackened his father's
face. "Merely cheh, cheh back at her in Yiddish."

"But I'd feel so humiliated," she laughed.

"Then don't answer her at all. Grow red and march off with your head
in the air."

"Ach!" She looked at him curiously. "That's too easy. But if I had
worked in a shop the way Bertha had, I could have known by now--What a
smoke comes out of her mouth."

"Smoke indeed! It blinds you." His lips barely curled. "Does it? To me,
especially since she has the candy store, she sounds like running water--"

"A muddy spatter."

"Or sand. I was going to--"

"In one's teeth."

"You're witty to-day." Her curiosity seemed permanently fixed in her
face.

His jaw tightened again and he reached for his coffee. --Is he my friend?
No. Can't be. 'Course he ain't. But why if-- Oh! He knows I lied.
That's-- Dope! Eat! They'll see!

"And you speak so well, because you learned among goyim?"

"In part. But when I ate in beer-saloons to save money for your passage,
I used to listen to the others--In beer saloons they speak loudly. And one
day I grew bold enough to answer one who was drunk. And he thought I
was too. Then I knew I had made a beginning."

"Good kosher food they gave you." Her look had changed to quiet
sympathy.

"When you spend fifteen cents a day to keep the breath in your body,
you get over asking if the rabbi's blessed your meat."

"I'm glad you had a stronger stomach than him who ate the duck-dinner
so cheaply. And wrote home about it--and died of it."

"Humph!"

"Will you have time for a nap to-day?" Reaching over she patted his
hand--as rare a gesture as his smile.

His face darkened. He cleared his throat. "I still have an hour."

David slid from his chair. "Can I go down now, mama?" "Wait, I still
have a pear to give you."

"Can't I eat it when I go down?"

"And you feel safe now?" She went to the ice-box. "Yes." He glanced
hurriedly at his father.

"And you're sure you don't want me to watch awhile at the window?"

She slipped the chilled, glossy fruit into his hand. "Until you've found out
whether this Kushy is there or not?"

"No. I'll just run to the cheder." And as his mother bent down to kiss
him--

"Keep out of mischief," the barest overtone hardened his father's voice.
"Hear me?"

"Yes, papa." Once more their glances grazed. He reached out for the
knob.

"And don't forget to eat your pear," she reminded him. "It's as sweet as
--" her voice blurred with the closing door.

He hurried down the stairs, and reaching the street glanced about hastily.
No sign of Leo anywhere. Good, that was a relief! He would go to the cheder
now and stay in the cheder yard till the rabbi came. He swerved around
his father's milk wagon, crossed the gutter obliquely and turned west--

The sudden whirr of wheels behind him--now louder on the side-walk
now roaring momentarily over the hollow buckle of a coal chute--

"Hey you!"

There was no need to turn.

Leo, cap in hand, angry mouth open in flushed face, hooked about him,
braked his course with a grinding skate, eagle-spread to a stop. Standing on
his skates, he looked almost full grown, his bright blonde head towering
above David's.

"Yuh runnin' away aintcha?" His snub nose crinkled into an angry
sneer. "W'yntcha tell me yuh didn' wanna go--'stid o' makin' me hang
aroun' here all day!"

"I didn't say I didn' wanna go." David looked up, smiling placatingly.

"Well, w'yntcha come down? Wotcha waitin' fuh? Yuh noo we said ten
o'clock."

"I had to stay upstehs till my fodder came--Yuh see? Dot's his wagon."
He pointed to it, hoping Leo would supply the connection he knew didn't
exist.

"Well, wot of it?" After a glance.

"Nott'n. But my modder wuz sick, so I had to stay--" "Aw, bullshit!
Yuh know yuh lyin'!"

"No, I ain'!"

"Awri'I c'mon if yuh cornin'. Be'faw yuh have to go to dat udder joint
--w'utever yuh calls it."

"I can't. I have to go dere now. Wonna pear?"

"Wot!" Leo ignored the proffered fruit. "After ye sez yuh wuz goin'?
Don' try t' back out on me or I'll take me skates off and beltchuh one.
Listen! I ain' gonna do nutt'n! I tol' yuh I wuzn'--wotcha scared of?"

"My a'nt's dere too," he countered feebly. "In de kendy staw. She'll
know."

"How'z she gonna git wise, yuh sap? We'll duck 'er, dontcha see? Git
'er down de cella' w'en nobuddy's lookin'. We won't try it if she's
watchin'! C'mon! I'm gonna give yuh one o' me skates." And drawing out
his skate-key, he slipped down to the curb. "Sit down, will ye? Yuh know
wot I got fer ye, dontcha? Sit down!" And as David crouched down beside
him. "Iz zat fer me?" He reached for the pear.

"Yea."

"Looks like a good one." He licked his lips.

"Yuh god id witchuh?"

"W'a'?" Between mouthfuls. "Yuh mean de ros'ry? Sure, w'eadja tink
it was, up de house?" Leaning sidewise he drew a few beads from his
pocket. "See 'em? Dere yours, don't fergit." And thrusting them back,
busied himself with the left skate--kicked it free. "G'wan, now, put dis on.
I'll loin yuh how to go--don't git scared. Give us yer hoof. Like dat, see?"
The strap tightened below David's ankles, next the clamps gripped his sole.

"Shove with yer udder foot--watch me. Now slide! 'At's it! Atta baby.
Let's go! 'At's it!" He flung the fruit-core into the gutter, headed toward
Avenue D. "We'll git dere in a minute wit' a good hitch--wait'll yuh see."

"Gee!" The new freedom of motion was exhilarating. "Gee, id's fun!"

'Wat'd I tell ye!" he urged jubilantly, "Go on, I tell ye, it's easy as pie--
Hey, you'll loin real fast!"

They rounded the corner, Leo still barking encouragement.



XII



LAUGHING, jabbering breathlessly, they had been hauled within two
blocks of Kane Street when the wagon turned from their route. They let go.
The gilded mortar and pestle loomed up--so near! Sobered in an instant,
David lagged behind.

"Dontcha wann jos' skate back now?"

"Naw!" Leo exploded eagerly. "Wotcha t'ink we came hea fuh? Nex'
block, ain' it?"

"No," listlessly. "It's de one after, but I--"

"C'mon den." Leo forged ahead. "C'mon, will ye!" There was nothing
to do but follow. His blood, which a moment before had been chiming in
bright abandon, deepened its stress, weighted its rhythm to an ominous
tolling. They reached the corner they were to turn-- "Hey, Leo," David
plucked at his sleeve, "w'en yuh gonna gimme it?"

"W'a'?" impatiently.

"Dat ros'ry, watchuh called it, in yuh pocket?"

"Aw, w'en we gits dere!" Leo waved him off vehemently. "Wadda-yuh
worryin' about? Show us de joint foist, will ye?"

"On dis side." He led the way cautiously. "See w'ea de ices barrels is--
by de daw?"

"Yea," Leo scrutinized the terrain, "It's jist a liddle dump, ain' it? W'ea
did ye--Wow!" His voice dropped in suppressed elation. "Didn' I tell ye?
Dere's de steps under de staw right like I t'oughtl" He nudged David
abruptly. "Foller me, will ye."

Heart-beat rising to a panicky thumping, David trailed him across the
street. It seemed odd to him that those standing on the stoop or passing by
were not aware of his growing terror.

'Take de strap off." Leo kneeled to undo his own.

"Watchuh gonna do?"

Crouching beside him, David undid the buckle with clammy fingers.

"Nutt'nl Don' git scared." His whisper sounded strange against the loud
background of the street. "Let's gitcher clamp." He unloosened it, arose
with both skates in his hand. "C'n ye see anybody in de staw?"

"Can't see good f'om hea."

"Well, sneak over dis way. Jeez! don' be dumb. Keep goin'."

From his momentary vantage, David squinted hurriedly into the shady
doorway across the sunlit gutter. "My a'nt's dere!" He whispered,
quickening his step. "An I t'ink it's Polly."

"Dey's two goils dere!" Leo countered sharply as they passed. "I seen
'em meself stannin' in front."

"Yea, but I don' know de odder one."

"An she wuzn't dere, wot's 'er name? De one dat went down witcha?
No? Well, let's walk back." They retraced their steps.

"No. Couldn't see 'er anyhow. We better go back."

"Aw hoi' yer hosses, will ye! Can't chuh wait here a minute till she
shows up?" Disgruntled, he flung himself back at the railing beside a stoop.

"You'll have lots o' time, wotcha worryin' about--Hey, duck! Duck, will
ye!" He pushed the startled David behind him. "Dey're cornin' out! Stay
dere or dey'll see ye!" And after a few seconds, "Cheez, dat wuz close, but
dey're goin' de udder way now. Awright." He stepped to one side, giving
David room to view them. "Wich one is her sister?"

"De skinny one," David stared furtively after the two girls. "Dat's Polly
in de yeller dress wit' dat black ma'ket bag."

"Wot about dem, huh?" Leo's blue eyes widened significantly. "W'en
dey come back."

"Naa!" He drew away. "I don't know 'em--de odder one.

"Aw, balls!" Leo see-sawed between anger and ardor. "You ain' game
fer nutt'n, dat's wot! C'mon, Le's take anudder look. Maybe dat Est'er goil
is in dere now." He dragged David past the store again. No sign of her.
There was only Aunt Bertha sitting behind the counter reading a newspaper.

"Aw, Jesus, wot luck!"

"Yuh see, Est'er ain' dere." David felt that he could argue more boldly
now. "An' if we stay hea, de kids an' ev'rybody'll be watchin' us."

"Aw, de hell wit' 'em! De street's free, ain' it? Who's gonna stop me
from walkin' here, I'd like t' know." Nevertheless his lower lip drooped
disappointedly. "She lives in de back, don' she?"

"Yea," he offered the information eagerly. "In de back o' de staw. Yuh
have t' go troo w'ea my a'nt is sittin', an' yuh can't do dat."

But his advice, instead of convincing Leo of the futility of all further
effort merely spurred him on. "I can't, huh?" was his defiant answer.
"Well, watch me! C'mon!" He stepped off the curb.

"Wotchuh gonna do?" He hung back in consternation. "Jist don't let dat
fat dame see ye," Leo took his arm confidingly, "An do wot I say, get me?"

They stopped before the stoop of the next house west of the candy store.
"Now w'en nobody's lookin', sneak over to dat cella' and duck down. I'll
lay out, see?"

"Naaa!"

"G'wan! Be a nice guy." He became even more confiding, "Yuh want dat ros'ry,
dontcha? Well, you giz down--I comes after yuh. I'll give it t'ye right dere."

"Den wotcha gonna do?"

"Den we giz inta de yard." His candor was painstaking. "An' if she's dere,
all right, an' if she ain' dere all right-- I gives it t'ye anyway. An' we
goes home."

"An dat's de last?"

"Honest t' Gawd! Now g'wan, sneak over."

With a scared glance about, David sidled to the cellar stairs beneath the
store window.

"Duck!" Leo's side-mouthed signal.

He slipped down the steps. A moment later, Leo followed, brushed past
him toward the closed door.

"Hope t' shit it opens." He leaned against it. "Yea!" in subdued triumph
as the door swung back.

The sudden draft through the cellar bore with it the familiar dank. At the
opposite end of the corridor of the dark, the oblong of light was narrow--
the door slightly ajar. "C'mon," Leo whispered stealthily. "Don' make no
noise."

"Yuh gonna gimme id now?" He wavered at the threshold.

"Sure! Soon as we gits in de yard." He shut the door again as David
stepped into the clinging dark. "Don' make no noise, will ye? Wea's de shit
house?"

"Over by dere." The seamless dark swallowed the pointing hand.

"Dere's a daw. Waddayuh--"

"Sh! Folly me. Maybe he's in it."

"She don' never comm down by huhself."

"Let's look anyways."

He groped after... A bar of murk in a wall of gloom. "Iz zat it?"

"Yea."

A pause. "No one's dere."

"No."

"Hey, hoddy ye say it again?" Leo's breath was warm on his cheek.
"Dem Jewish woids I ast yuh on de hitch? "Wa?"

"Yuh know! Shine--shine?"

"Shine maidel," grudgingly.

"Yea! Shine maidel! Shine maidel. An' de udder. Took --tookis, ain'
it?"

"Yea."

"Le's go."

They moved forward. Where the wedge of brightness pried the narrowly-
opened door, Leo stopped, peered out into the yard. "She live up dere
w'ea dem steps is?"

"Yea."

"Hea take dis, will yuh--'faw we giz out." A skate clicked faintly as he
thrust the strap into David's hands.

"W--waddayuh wan' I shuh do?" David held it off as if it had become
dangerous.

"Nutt'n. Don' do nutt'n." Leo urged reassuringly, "Jis' come out wit me
and make believe you takin' it off--make a noise, see? If she's in de back,
jis' say I'm yuh frien' an I lets yuh use me skates an' ev'yting. An' nen I'll
talk to 'er."

"An' nen yuh'll gimme it?"

"Didn' I say I would? C'mon." He glanced boldly around at the gaping
windows. "Nobody's watchin'." And both climbed up into the brilliant
yard.

"Now!" He whispered, dropping to one knee and dragging David down
beside him. "Like yuh jis' come--a lotta noise. G'wan!" He clashed his
skate on the ground. "Yea! Gee!" His voice rose in loud, pretended bluster.
"Can I beatchoo? Wow! Anytime! Two blocks? Wut's two blocks. I'll race
yuh ten--Say sumpt'n fer Chris' sake!"

"Yea! Yea!" David contributed quaveringly. "Ten blocks, yuh can't.
Yeal Yea!"

"G'wan I c'n too!" His bragging grew even louder. "Waddayuh wanna
bet! A dolla'? Le's see yer dough--" The click of the latch in the door.
"Sure I c'n. Run ye ragged--" Midway up in the widening groove of the
doorway, two eyes peered out A loose pigtail swung into sun. Esther,
picture-magazine in hand, looked out startled and angry. "You!" To David.
"Waddayuh doin' in my yod." "N-nutt'n, I--"

"Hello, Kid!" Leo pleasant and unfazed.

"Shott op!" Indignantly. "I'll tell my modder on-- Ma--!"

"Hey!" Leo's quick cry cut her short. "Wait a secon' will ye?" And
when she paused to pout. "Dis guy's yuh cousin ain' he?"

"So wadda you wan'?"

"Well," in grieved surprise. "Can't he come into yaw yard?"

"No, he can't". She thrust her head out emphatically. "W'y didn't he
come troo de front? Mama!"

"I'll tell yuh." Leo strove desperately to engage her. "Give us a chanct,
will ye?"

"W'a'?" in contemptuous disbelief.

"It's like dis," Leo drew near the steps, lowered his voice confidentially.
"He's too bashful."

"Wot's he bashful about?"

"Yuh see," he grinned up at her, winked. "He had to do sumpt'n, dat's
all--you know wot!"

"I don' know wot." Appeased somewhat, she was still emphatic.

"Dintcha Davy? Yuh had to go t' de terlit."

"Yea I had tuh." David followed the lead. "I had tuh go."

"Ye see?" Leo rested his case soberly. "Dat's why."

"So wyntcha comm beck to duh frond?" Suspicion still lingered in her
face.

"Aw!" Leo flipped an admiring grin up at her. "He says he had a real good-
looker fer a cousin. So I says I don' believe it. So he says I'll show 'er
t'ye. Boy!" His confirmation was intense. "Oh boy!"

"Pooh!" Shut eyes and tossed pig-tails. "Smott alick."

"Sure he did, dintcha, Davy?"

"Yea," He grinned uneasily at the ground.

"See? So I says if she's a real good-looker like you says I'll let 'er use
me skates."

"So who wants yuh skates."

"Yuh don'?" He swung an injured look at David, "Wadja say she did
fer?"

"He says to me," his crestfallen voice blocked David's. "He says she wants
t'loin, so I says, awright--if she's a real good-looker I'll loin 'er. Cheez!
Wot a guy! I t'ought-cha wuz me frien'."

"Aaaa! Yuh a lodda hoss-cops!" Esther's disbelief wavered--She
smiled. "Yuh bedder ged oud, 'faw I tell my modder on ye."

"Now I know w'y y'ast me t'come hea." Leo still clung fast to his res-
entment at David. "Yuh jis' wanned t' lend me skates so's yuh could
come up hea easier, dat's all. Yer a fine guy! I'm goin'!" He moved in no
particular direction.

"Whose skates are dey?" She took a step down the wooden stairs.
"Yaw's?"

"Sure dey're mine. Ball-bearin's' n' ev'yting. Go like lightnin'. Yuh
wanna loin?"

"Wat's yuh name?"

"Leo--uh--Leo Ginzboig."

"You ain' a Jew!"

"Who ain'!" In his vehemence he still had time to dart a triumphant
glance at David, "Cantcha tell by me name?" "Aaa, yuh a lia'," she giggled.

"W'at d'ye wanna bet? Dontcha believe a guy?"

"Yea, g'wan!"

"I can't talk so good 'cause we alw'ys lived over on de Wes' side. But I
c'n say sumpt'n. Wanna hea' me?"

"Yea!" derisively.

"Shine maidel, dere! Dat's wutchoo are. see? Tookis! Mm! Oh boy!
Ain' dat good."

"Oooh! W'otchoo said!"

'Tookis. Wud of it?"

"Eee!" Her shrill squeal was more delighted than shocked.

"Hey, woddy yuh say." Leo became earnest. "W'y d'ntcha come down
into de yard an' skate?"

"Naa, I can't."

"Dontcha wanna loin?"

"Naa!"

"Sure yuh do! I'll loin yuh in one lesson. C'mon!" "Naa, can't skate
hea." She threw a glance over her shoulder. "My modder'll call me."

"Well, you c'n go up if she wants yuh," Leo suggested generously.
"Nobody's gonna stop ye."

"Yea," her eyes sought the windows overhead. "Bot ev'ybody c'n look."

"Oh, I see! Yea. Well w'y dontcha come outside, see? We'll wait fer
ye in de street--nobody'll watch yuh." And when he saw that she was
wavering, he indicated David and himself arrogantly. "Us two is goin'
outside, see? We'll wait fer ye acrosst de street. Waddayuh say?"

"Mmm!"

"Den we skates yuh aroun' de block--w'ea nobody knows us. Wotchuh
scared of? C'mon, 'faw he has t' go t' dat place."

"W'a' place?"

"You know--wadduh yuh call it, Davy?"

"Yuh mean cheder?"

"Yea."

"Bot you don' go dere!" she jeered.

"Well, he does." Leo grinned. "So yuh better shoot! C'mon Davy!"

Linking his arm into David's, "We'll be waitin' fuh yuh outside across de
street, don' fergit!"

A coy giggle was the only response.



XIII



"CHEEZIS, kid!" Leo whispered excitedly as they plunged into the
gloom. "We got' er goin'--W'y'd'ntcha tell us she had tits on 'er?"

"Yuh gonna gimme it now?" In the reeling of his mind, only one thing
held out hope of steadfastness.

"Aw take yer time, will ye!" Leo rebuffed him impetuously. "You'll git
it, watchuh worryin' about? I don' wanchuh backin' out on me soon as yuh
grabs it-- Cheeziz!" he marveled. "You're nuts, ye know? Dont'cha wanna
give 'er a feel 'er nutt'n?"

"No!" The darkness hid the revulsion of his features if not of his voice.

"Oh, boy, watch me den!" He pulled the door back cautiously. "Wait'll
we gets 'er down--oh boy! Give us it now, will ye." As they stepped out he
snatched the skate from David's slackening fingers. "And stay hea a secon',
see!--I'll lay chickee." He crept warily up the stairs. C'mon!" A peremptory
hand curved upward.

David ran up the stairs, joined him as he sneaked away from the store.
Together, they crossed the street.

"Wait fer 'er here." He stepped under the shadow of an awning. "See 'er
yet?" His head bobbed from side to side in his eagerness. "Jesus, if she don'
come out I'm gonna beat de piss outa-- W'eas me skate key? Le's walk
past--Naw! Wonder w'en dat udder liddle--dat sister o' hers'll come
back? Better go dat way w'en she comes out--so's we don' run into--
Hey!" His hand's quick thrust jarred the inert David. "Dat's her! She sees
us! C'mon!"

Esther stood in the doorway. With a single sly wag of his head, Leo made
for the west corner, went a short distance, turned abruptly and hurried
across the street. David trailed him.

She approached with a casual, leisurely air.

"C'mon, kid!" He went to meet her. "Let's git dese on."

"I don't think I wanna." She tilted her nose indifferently.

"Sure yuh do." He swamped her with enthusiasm, "Waid'll yuh feel dat
wind blowin' aroun' ye w'en' yuh goin' fas'--right up yer drawz."

"Aaa, hee, hee!" she snickered, shaking off his ardor. "Shot up, you!"

"Sit down on dat stoop, will ye?" he drawled masterfully, at the same
time pushing her against the steps behind her. "So's a guy c'n put 'em on
fer ye!"

"I don' wanna!" she squealed, kicking her legs out in gratified protest.
"Yuh gonna lemme fall--I know!"

"G'wan, who's gonna letcha fall!" He throttled the coy jerking of her foot,
rested it on his knee. "Hoi' still, will yuh! I gotta pull 'at skate in a liddle."
The skate-key dropped beside him to the pavement. "Wait a secon'!"
Head cocked, facing Esther, he bent sideways almost to the ground,
picked it up, dropped it again--

"Oooh!" she squealed reproachfully. "Stop dot!" Both hands snatched
the curtain of her dress tight below her knees. "Yuh doidy!"

"Who me?" Leo straightened innocently. "I wuz jis' lookin' fer me
skate-key."

"Yuh wuz not--you!"

"Aw, hey! Cantcha b'lieve a guy--? Give us yer udder leg, will yuh, yer
seein' t'ings." And as he tightened the clamps of the other skate. "Gonna
lemme put me key in yer lock?"

"Wadje say?" She leaned forward.

"I says, d'ye care if I put me key in yer lock?"

Her eyes bulged. "Aw!" she shrieked, flinging herself back. "Watchoo
said!" And giggled behind her palms and yanked her dress down again.
"Shott up!"

"Wat'd I say?" unflinchingly.

"You know!" Her two pigtails rayed out from her vigorously wagging
head. "Shame on you!"

"Aw! Hey, Davy," he smirked significantly. "Wot'd I say?"

"I don' know." David returned his gaze apathetically. "Dere y'are! I
wuz jis' talkin' about me skate-key-- Come on!" He scrambled to his feet.
"Give us yer hands."

"Eee!"

"Co-om o-on!" He lifted her to her feet, and-- "Whoo!" as the skates
slid under her. "Gotchuh w'ea I wantchuh." He grabbed her below buttock
and breast, steadying her. "Oh boy!"

"Leggo!" She thrust him back, lost balance and, "Eee!" held on to him.
"Dey'll see!"

"Awri', don' git leary!" Leo became the grave instructor. "Jis' take
Davy and me's shoulder, see?" He pushed the unwilling David to the other
side. "Dat's it! Hoi' onna us!"

"Slow now!" she warned, "Or I won't--"

"Yea! Yea! We'll take it easy! C'mon, wake up, Davy! Giddap!" And as
both began trotting. "Dat's it! Atta babyl I'll hoi' yuh if yer goin' on yer--
you know--oh boy! Gid otta de way, kid." He brushed a boy from the path.
"Liddle bassid can't stop us, kin he! Atta kid! Aintchoo goin' dough. Gittin'
any wind up der yet. Atta kid!" He plied her with short yelps of flattery and
encouragement.

As they neared the corner, Esther's shrieks grew shriller and shriller,
Leo's cries more ardent, his supporting arm lower and more lingering. To
the left of them, David, aware she was hardly holding him, jogged on in
silence, listening with dull apprehension to their jangled excited cries. At
the corner, Leo halted them breathlessly--

"Ain' dat fun?"

"Yea, ooh!"

"Yuh wanna go faster?"

"No-o!" provocatively.

"Sure ye do-- Hey, Davy!" with sudden solicitude. "Yer all plugged
out, aintcha?"

"Me? Uh--"

"Sure y'are!"

"He ain' so big like you." Esther seconded him. "I can't hold so good."

"Yea." Leo agreed, and solemnly, "Yuh better stay right hea, Davy, an'
wait fer us. I'll pull her meself."

"Awri'," sullenly.

"Naa, let 'im comm too," Esther repented her rashness.

"G'wan!" He grabbed her hand. "He don' wanna! Whe-e-e!" He sirened
like a fire engine, pawed the ground. "Hoi' fast!" And before she could
tear from his grasp he was off--Esther squalling rapturously after.



XIV



DAZED with a kind of listless desolation, he watched them speed toward
the opposite corner, saw Esther whirled round and grabbed, and then
both spin screeching out of sight. He slumped as though his own gathering
foreboding dragged him down, slouched aimlessly to the curb and sat down.

--I know ... I know ... I know . . . (Like a heavy stone pried half out of
its clinging socket of earth, sluggish thought stirred and settled again) I
know . . . I know . . . They're going to. So . . . Don't care. I know.

Incurious eyes glided over the shallow glare of the street, caught on
slight snags of significance, dwelled, returned, dwelled, shuttle-like. There
were several boys across the street, playing for steel marbles which they
rolled beside the curb. They played with the large ones, the twentiers, and
paid each other off with small ones, as big as steel beads. He watched them
awhile, and then his mind returned to its own misery.

--Getting scared . ..

--Wonder where they are? Could have gone all around the block already.
Twice. Two blocks, even. Went away, maybe? Naa staying there. I know.
Hope they never come-- Will though ...

--Getting scared . . .

--Shut up! I ain't! So if he gets her--down there-- what? What'll I
do? I'll ask. Just ask, that's all. I'll say, give it to me, them lucky beads,
c'mon! You said you would before. And now he'll give it .to me. Has to.
Then what? Go someplace else. So I'll go. And I'll take them, yea. And I'll
look in and I'll let them down slow, slow, that's right-- Gee! And if I get it
so it'll be all right. I'll do it all the time, so it will be all right.

--A twentier I'll try to get--a twentier-light. It was bigger the first time,
a quarter-big-light. But even if it's a twentier, I'll be glad. Even if it's only
a tenner-light, I'll be glad. Could get it light. He said like his. In and out
Wonder how big his is. Didn't ask. But never have to be scared even if it's
only a tenner-light. And have to watch out too--don't lose them. Where'll I
put? Lots of places. Could hide them on roof. Top of chimney where no one
looks. Yea--but! Fall in, maybe. Gee! And hee! Lady finds them in the
stove. Look! Ooh! What! A cross! Oy! Gevalt, like my aunt says. Naa.
Better in the house. Under the bed--no. Mama cleans. Then where then . . .
behind looking--yea! Big looking glass on the floor. Every time I looked,
yea, could remember--

'Talk like I said!" The sharp undertone meshed with no cog in the
humming street

He started, turned around.

"Hullo, Davy!" Leo, boldly impassive, now carried the skates. Esther
beside him lifted guilty eyes from the ground, squirmed, scratched
painstakingly under a pigtail. "I tolju he wuz sleepin'. He's a'ways sleepin',
aintcha Davy?"

She giggled.

David rose, watched them uneasily.

"We had some skate, didn' we Esther?" Leo prompted her.

"Yea." And as if by rote. "Yurra good ronner,"

"Sure I am." Exuberantly. "But y'oughta see me w'en I'm goin' real
good! An' c'n she skate, Davy! Wait'll you see 'er do a spread eagle--way
out, dat way!"

"Shottop!" She blushed, shuffled.

There was a pause.

"Uh--I gotta go, Esther." Abruptly he took David's arm.

"Aintcha--? Aintcha--?" David was startled. "Wea yuh goin'?" Auto-
matically, he fell into step as though he had been braced against a body
charging at him and been missed. "Home, yuh goin'?"

"Naw!" Leo led him two or three paces off, and with elaborate modesty
whispered loudly in his ear. "I gotta take a piss."

"Oh!"

"See I tol' 'er dat!" Leo hissed the last words, nudged him. "See!" And
called back noncommittally. "Yuh goin' in de staw, aintcha Esther."

"I don' know," she shrugged in huffy indifference.

"C'mo-on," he drawled at her and smirked when he saw her melting, wink-
ed. "Le's go, Davy!" His urgent hand hurried David toward the store again.
"Here she comes after us!"

Out of the corner of his eye when he turned, David glimpsed her lei-
surely trailing behind them. Reaching the cellar steps, they halted, Leo
glancing around under the guise of fumbling with his skates. A few houses
away Esther too had stopped and was watching them with a queer, mixed
simper--as though she were flaunting her vacancy.

"Don' watch 'er!" Leo snapped. "Hop down!" Frightened now to the very
core, sure of the approaching crisis, David stumbled down the steps.
Before he reached the bottom, Leo's feet came pattering after, and Leo with
a "Hurry up!" threw back the door. Together, they entered. The door swung
to. In the rank gloom nothing had changed but the notch of light bitten from
the further dark, which was wider.

"Cheezis!" Leo's clashing skates heightened the exultation of his voice.
"Tol' yuh I'd git 'er goin'! Didn' I? Didn' I? Oh, boy! Wut we didn' do
aroun' at corner! Did I feel 'er! Oh, boy! Looka--" hastily. "You don'
know nutt'n about it, see? Don' fergit now--I'm jis' takin' a piss!"

"Y-yea."

"Oh, boy! oh, boy!" His restless feet patted the earthen floor. "Wait'll
she gits down here."

(Ask him now!) "Yuh--are yuh--?"

But as though the dark were a medium for his thought --"Yea! Yea!"
Leo interrupted him irritably. "Cantcha wait'll she gits down! Cheez, I
fergot!" He hurried past the toilet. "Lemme try some of dese daws faw she
comes--see if dey--" And yanked at one after another of the grey doors of
the storage-bins. "Oh, boy!" As one swung open. "Lot's o' room in hea. See
dat?" He motioned for David to draw closer. "Lot's o' room ain' it?" There
was a small, clear space between the doorway and the shapeless black
masses of furniture piled high in the rear.

"Now one fer you!" He clawed the doors across the murky alley, found
another that opened. "Now if some-buddy comes, see, you gits in hea--her
ol' lady er sumpt'n. Soon as ye hear 'em you go psst! an' duck! See? But
stay near dat daw so's yuh c'n see 'em faw dey sees you--den duck an'
psst! Catch on? An' nen we're safe --all of us!" He glanced at the open
doorway. "Wea de hell is she? An' looka, w'en she comes down wotever I
says, jis say yea, see? An' look dumb, dat's all, jis' look dumb! An' I'll
give it t'ye like I said--jus w'en she comes. Now don' fergit." He motion-
ed to the cellar bin, "Dat's w'ea you runs, if--Sh!"

Both had heard it--the scrape of feet outside.

"Lay low!" Leo shoved him before him into the bin, shut the door,
"Sh!" He peeped out through a crack in the doorway. "Who de hell is it?"
Strumming silence. Only the sound of their breath in the blackness.
Behind him the hard edges, knobs, of piled furniture, and higher something
yielding, sack or mattress. Confused and formless memories. Again the
scrape of feet, cautious and approaching.

"Wonner if--cheezis, must be her! Hoi' me skates!" He pushed the door
open a few inches wider, knifed through and ran on tip-toe toward the yard
light.

Watching him through the bin-door, David froze in terror.

"Hey, c'mon!" Leo had flattened himself into the shadow behind the
door-jamb. "C'mon down, will ye. We're hea." A pause. "C'mon kid."
Again the persuasive drawl. "You know me-e."

Feet scuffed outside, descended slowly into the oblong of light. A short
dress. Esther.

"No, I ain' gonna!" She balked on the last step. "Awri' listen den! I
wanna tell yuh sumpt'n."

"So tell me hea!" She peered into the dark.

"Look, yuh-don' wan' me t'yell or nutt'n, do ye? Or go outside w'ea
ev'ybuddy c'n see us?"

"Hea den. I'll stay righd hea." She stepped down, toed the plank of the
sill. "Now tell me."

"Aw, I can't tell ye hea!" Leo sounded both hurt and despairing. "Give
us a chanst, will ye? Listen!" He took her arm. "We don' want dat sap back
dere t' hea' wut I say--Hey, Davy!" Peremptorily. "Come out o' dere, will
ye!"

David sneaked from the bin, edged closer.

"W'ea wuz he?" Esther eyed him furtively.

"Jis' inna back. Jis' inna back!" Leo pulled her toward him. "Now you
stay hea." He turned to David severely. "I wanna talk t' Esther--Jis', a
secon' Esther, dat's all!" She followed Leo in. They brushed past David on
the way, and floating by him, their faces in the murky air were staring and
pale. Where the deeper gloom near the toilet half-dissolved them--

"No maw!" sharply from Esther.

"Ye ain' scared, are ye?" Himself wavering in the dark, Leo's husky
voice was distinct. "Wit' me witchuh?" "Aw!" irresolutely.

"Well, listen . . . now I wuz gonna . . . Whee! Oh, boy!" "Stop!" Her
loud hiss. 'Tell me, or I'm goin' out!" "Listen den. See dat bin? Waid'll
I show ye." The door creaked faintly.

"Yea," suspiciously.

"Well, I sez t' him, yuh know who dat bin b'longs tuh? It b'longs t'
Esther's ol' lady. She tol' me, I sez, see? "So?"

"Den he sez, wot's inside? So I sez, wodjuh t'ink-- candy!"

She tittered.

"Ain' he a sap!" Leo's amused snort joined her eagerly. "An' den I sez
yuh know wut me an' Esther's gonna do? We're gonna sneak in an' find
some--yuh know, chawklits, gum drops. He sez, yuh gonna gimme some?
Sure I sez if we finds some-- Weew! Esther!"

"Don'!" half-heartedly. "Yuh didn'!"

"Yes, I did! I did so! An' I sez lay chickee fer us-- Mm! will ye--
Eww!"

A silence.

"No!" protestingly. "So w'at?"

"So I sez . . . lay chickee fer us ... an! ... an! . .. so he sez ..."

"Ooh!"

"He'll lay chick . . . Weew . . . Kid! Waddayuh say?"

A mumbling, A rustling ...

"He'll watch. It's better in dere den hea'. Can't see us!"

"Uh!"

"Wait a secon'! I wanna git me skates. Hey Davy!" Quick-footed, breathless
he loomed from dark to half-light. "Gonna git de candy like I tol' yuh. Hea!"
As he grabbed the skates from David's fist, his other hand flew to his side.
"Take it! Now lay putso!"

The slight rattle of a small heap suddenly grown in his palm. Them! A
shudder ran through him.

"Don' fergit!" Leo's voice sped off. "Till we comes!"

Stealthy gurgles, hissings, mutterings.

"C'mo-on!"

The bin-door creaked. Feet shuffled. Faint whines. And the door creaked
again, clicked. Only the barest of whispers now, stirrings blending
with the dark's hum.

--Mine! It's mine! (The jerky throbbing of his blood reiterated) Mine! I
got h. Big-Iittle-big-little-little-little-big-busted. Gee! Him hanging--
What!

A thin squeal seeped through door and dark. Esther's.

--Aaa! (Disgust filled him. He stumbled toward the yard-light) By light
go, can't hear! Right ones? (A sudden qualm of doubt. He scrutinized them)
Yes, right ones! Same! Didn't fool me. Out of the box with God. Mine!
(Convulsive fingers crushed them) Don't care! Ain't scared! If I can make
it! Ooh, if I can make it! Never be scared! Never! Go on! No, wait! No,
now! Where?

Darting eyes fastened on the snug niche behind the open door. He squeezed
in, pulled the door back as far as it would go, and enclosed as in a cell,
he squatted first, then stretched his legs out altogether and leaned his
cheek against the slim airy bar of light cut twice by the hinges.

--Hurry up! Look where it's dark, real dark . . . Look. . . . No . . . No
good. See too much yet, stops it. Then shut then. Same thing. Like he said.
It's inside and it's out. Like him with the light-guts. Now keep. How big did
I--? Twentier I said. But not now. First you have to get it. After it's a
twentier. Like the light in the hall, when I seen it. Gee, how I peed-- Hurry
up! So now you're standing on them--only alone. Nobody else is akey
now. It's going to be all mine. Quarter I thought then --bigger it was. But
it's round, so better twentier. So shut up! You're standing on them--you
said that already. On your knees. Feel how they were? How--bum--like.
Began to hurt just before Kushy wanted to fight and papa came. Hurry up!
Down, look down! Can you see? Maybe. Nearly can't But--Look! G'wan
now! G'wan! 'Fore it goes! Let it down! One is--is a little bead. Real easy!
Two is little bead. Faster! This--little. This--little This-- faster. And that
--him now--right over it Long enough? Gee. Hope so! Right over!

Past drifting bubbles of grey and icy needles of grey, below a mousetrap,
a cogwheel, below a step and a dwarf with a sack upon his back, past tram-
pled snow and glass doors shutting, below the gleam on a turning knob and
bird upon a lawn, sank the beads, gold figure on the cross swinging slowly,
revolving, sank into massive gloom. At the floor of the vast pit of silence
glimmered the round light, pulsed and glimmered like a coin.

--Touch it! Touch it! Drop!

And was gone!

--Aaa! Where? Where? Look harder! Bend closer! Get it again! Again!

And would not reappear.

"I'm gonna get it," almost audibly. "I am!"

His teeth gritted, head quivering in such desperate rage, the blood
whirred in his ears. Like a tightened knot, his body hardened, hands
clenched, breath dammed and stifled within him. He fished.

"I am!"

Now saliva drooled unheeded from his lips. Pent breath pressed veins in
anguished bulges against his throat. His nostrils flickered scooping vainly
at the air. And still he sought the depths, strangling. Then darkness, swirl-
ingand savage, caught him up like a wind of stone, pitched him spinning
among palpable drum-beats, engulfed him in a brawling welter of ruined
shapes--that parted --and he plunged down a wailing fathomless shaft A
streak of flame--and screaming nothingness.

The tortured breast rebelled, sucked up air in a squealing gasp. He
collapsed against the bin behind him, leaned there with whirling senses . . .
Slowly the roaring shadows quieted. Cloudy air displaced the giddy dark
like a fixed despair.

--Lost it . . . (Leaden-slow his thought) Lost it . . . Covered up all. . . .
Cellar-floor dirty . . . Like the nickel then . . . Gone. Gone. . . .

A sound in the yard outside. Inertia's thick buffer about the mind
muffled it Again. He listened. The hiss of shoes, stealthily on the stone
outside the door approaching. He sat bolt upright, staring at the crack
between door and jamb.

--Who? Can't call!

Pricked ears sifted the depths of the shadowy corridor where Esther and
Leo were-- All was hushed.

--Hope they hear! Hope! Hope! Gee! Ow! Be still!

The steps drew nearer--Unblinking eyes glued against the bar of light,
he stuffed the beads in his pocket, crowded back against the corner, dropped
his jaw to breathe in silence. The careful steps drew nearer. For the briefest
instant like a figure in a cramped panel, Polly, lips thrust out in scared
curiosity, paused in the crack of light and vanished. Soft footfalls behind
the door, she appeared again in the murky frame between him and the door
edge. He saw her advance into the cellar, lift herself on tip-toe and cock her
head from side to side, listening--

Murmurs beyond. A muffled giggle.

--Aaa (He clenched his teeth against the inner fury) Why didn't they
keep still! Polly had heard them!

"No! No maw!" Louder, "Leggo!" The unseen door banged open.

"Aw, hey!"

"No! Lemme oud!" A scuffling. "Lemmeee--Unh!" As though someone had
butted her, Esther's cry ended in a terrified grunt. "Polly!"

"Eee!" her sister squealed. "You!"

For a moment all three seemed to have lost their tongues.

"Aw, it's only yer sister, ain' it?" Leo bolstered up a shaky voice with a
clash of skates.

"Yuh wuz wit' him in dere!" Polly's voice was a mixture of gloating and
disbelief.

"I wuzn'!" Esther's shrill cry rose furiously. "I'll give yuh in a minute!"

"I seen yuh! I seen yuh! I knew yuh wouldn' comm donn by yuhself.
Waid'll I tell!"

"Hey, wait a secon'," Leo hastily took control. "Wea's Davy? He'll tell
yuh wot we wuz doin'? Hey Davy! We wuz playin' a trick on him, see?
He's in dere! Betcha million!" A bin-door creaked. "Hey Davy!" A pause.
"W'ea de hell--"

"Aaa, Davy!" Polly sneered venomously. "Yuh cowid! Don't blame it
on sommbody else, 'cause yuh can't fool me!"

"Who's tryin't' blame it on somebody else!" Leo was nettled. "He's hea
I tell yuh--someplace. Hey Davy!" "He is!" Esther maintained stormily.
"He wuz wit' us!"

"Hey, Davy! C'm out wea'ver y'are! C'mon." His voice rang through the
cellar. "I'll bust ye one! Come on out!" Shrunken with guilt and terror,
David crammed himself deeper into the corner.

"He musta run away, de liddle bastid-- Hey Davy!" He bellowed.
"Ooo, waid'll I gitchoo!"

"Aaa, shod op!" Contemptuously from Polly. "Stop makin' believe!"

"Waddayuh lookin' at me faw?" Esther stormily. "You know w'at!" Her
sister answered significantly. "You know w'at."

"W'at!"

"Snot! Yuh wuz playin' bad in dat place wit' him! Dat's watchoo wuz
doin'! Wit' dat bum! Yuh t'ink I don' know?"

"I wuz not!" Esther screamed.

"Yuh wuz!"

"Who's a bum?" Leo's voice bullying.

"Who else? You! You took her in dere, yuh rotten bum!"

"Don' call me a bum!"

"I will so--yuh rotten bum!"

"I'll slap yuh one, yuh stinkin' sheeny!"

"Me! Wotta you? Ooo!" Her voice trailed off into horrified com-
prehension. "Oooh, w'en I tell--He's a goy tool Yuh doity Crischin,
ged oud fom my cella'--faw I call my modder. Ged oud!"

"Yuh mudder's ass! Call 'er, I dare ye! I'll rap de two o' yiz!"

"You leave her alone!" Esther turned on him fiercely. "Ged odda you!
Go on! Ged oud!"

"Aw, shet up!" He was stung. "Ye wuz in dere yeself --w'ut're ye
takin' her side fer?"

"Ooo! Hooo!" Esther burst into a loud betrayed wail. "Ged oud! Waaa!"

"Ged oud, yuh doity Crischin!" Polly's screech swelled above her
sister's bawling. "Doity bum, ged oud!" "Aw righ'--" mockingly. "Keep
yer drawz on! G'wan fight it out yerself." His voice retreated.

"Doity bum!"

"Sswt!" He whistled jeeringly from a distance. "Tell 'er wut I wuz
doin', kid. Yuh jew hewhs! We wuz hidin' de balonee! Yaaa! Sheenies!
Brrt!" He trumpeted. "Sheenies!" Skates clashed. The door slammed.

"Oooh! Hooo!" Esther's sobbing filled the cellar. "Yuh oughta cry, yuh
doity t'ing!" Polly lashed at her. "Good fuh yuh! Comm down wit' dat
goyish bum in de cella'!"

"Y-y* ain' gonna t-tell." Esther whined brokenly. "He made me! I didn'
wanna go!"

"Made yuh!" scornfully. "Mama said yuh wuz in de back o' de staw.
Yuh didn't have t' comm down--if yuh didn' wanna! I'm gonna tell!"

"No!" Her sister lifted a frantic wail. "Didn' I stop him fom hittin' yuh?
Didn' I? Poppa'll kill me if yuh tell 'im! You know!"

"So led 'im!" Stonily. "Den yuh won' go wit' goys no maw. Yuh always
callin' me piss-in-bed, anyway! So dere!"

"I'll never call yuh again, Polly! Never! Never in all my life!"

"Yea, pooh! I b'lieve yuh!"

"I won't! I won't!"

"Lemme go!"

"Don't tell! Ow!"

"Lemme go!"

David, petrified in his niche of darkness saw her drag the screaming
Esther after her toward the cellar door. "Don't tell! Don't tell!"

"Lemme go! Yuh hea?" Polly seized the door-knob foi support, wrenched
her other hand free. "I am gonna--" "Eee!" Esther screamed.

"Look! Look!"

"Wa?" In spite of herself.

"It's him! Him! Davy!"

He had scrambled to his feet, cowering--

"He made me! He brung him!"

Cornered, he tensed for an opening.

"You!" Esther screamed. "Now I'm gonna give yuh-- rotten liddle
bestitt! It's your fault!" And suddenly she struck out with both hands,
caught him flush on the cheeks, clawed.

With a gasp of pain, he ducked under her arms, butted past her. She
pursued, squalling with rage, collared him again, pounded his back and
head. As if in a nightmare^ he struggled, silently in the dark to tear himself
free. "Mama!" Polly's scream at the other end. "Mama!" "Polly!" Esther's
hold loosened. "Polly! Wait, Polly!" She flew after her sister. "Wait! Don't
tell! Don't tell! Polly! Polly!"

Her frenzied cry ringing in his ears, he flung himself at the street door,
raced up the cellar stairs. Without caring whether any one marked him or
not, he leaped out into the street and fled in horror toward Avenue D.



XV



HE HAD run and run, and now his own breath stabbed his lungs like a
knife and his legs grew so heavy, they seemed to lift the sidewalk with
them. Tottering with exhaustion, he dropped into a panicky, stumbling walk,
clawed at his stockings, gasping so hoarsely, people turned to stare. Only
one thought in the screaming chaos of terror and revulsion his mind had
fallen into remained unbroken: To reach the cheder--to lose himself among
the rest.

--Like I never came! Like I never came!

Now he ran, now he walked, now he ran again. And always the single
goal before him--the cheder yard, the carefree din of the cheder. And
always the single burden:

--Like I never came! Like I never came!

Fourth Street. In the flat smear of houses, he descried, or thought he did,
the edge of his own on Ninth. It quickened his flagging legs, quelled
somewhat the tumult and the fierce yapping pack within him and behind.
--Near house; Don't go. Go round. But tired, all tired out. No! Go
round! Go round!

At Seventh, he cut west, entered Avenue C, and at Ninth, turned East
again, dragging his faltering legs cheder-ward. He must hold gnashing
memory at bay. He must! He must! He'd scream if he didn't forget! A
furtive glance at his house as he reached the cheder entrance. He slipped
into the hallway, hurried through.

The cheder yard. Haven! Haven at last! Several of the rabbi's pupils
were there. Loiterers, late-corners, elfin and voluble, they squatted or
sprawled in the dazzling sun, or propped idle, wagging heads against the
blank wall of the strict cube which was the cheder. His heart sprang out to
them; tears of deliverance lifted so brimming high in his eyes a breath
would have spilled them. He had always been one of them, always been
there, never been away. Silently, fears relaxing in the steeping tide of
gratitude, he came down the wooden steps, approached. They looked up--

"Yaw last!", said Izzy, languid and scrupulous.

He grinned ingratiatingly. "Yea."

"Aftuh me!" Solly severely.

"Aftuh me!" Schloimee.

"Aftuh me!" Zuck, Lefty, Benny, Simkee decreed.

"Awril" He was only too glad to be lorded over-- the token of their
accepting him, the token of their letting him share their precious
aimlessness, innocence, laughter. "Yea, I'm last. I'm last." And finding
a place against the cheder wall, he squatted down. He focused his whole
being upon them. He would not think now. He would only listen, only
forget.

Solly was speaking--in his voice an immense and mournful yearning.
"Wisht I had a chair like dat!"

"Me too! Yea! Wisht I had t'ree chairs, like dat."

Their amens were also mournful as if little hope inspired them.

"So yuh don't have to gib'm all, do yuh?" Izzy fought back despair. "If
yuh don' wanna play fuh 'em, waddayuh wanna give 'im all, if yuh god so
moch?"

"Cauthye I wanthyloo, dayuth w'y'." Benny was obdurate. Benny was also
afflicted with a lateral emission--no word he uttered ever succeeded in
reaching his lips, but instead splashed out through his missing teeth. But
David was only too glad that Benny spoke so thickly. It meant that he had
to concentrate all his faculties on what he said. In trying to divine Benny's
meaning, one could forget all else. "If I blyibm duh ywully ylyod, den he
wonthye hilyt me so moyuch, myaytlybe."

"Yea, he geds a lodda hits," sober Simkee reminded the rest. "De rebbeh
never knows w'at he's tuckin' aboud."

"Dat's righ'!" Izzy tacked into sympathy. "We know yuh gid hit a lot,
Benny, bot one poinder ain' gonna make no differ'nce, is id? How moch
yuh god?"

"A ylod."

"How moch?"

"Thwenny thlyeb'm."

"Twennyy seb'm!" they echoed marveling. "He's god 'nuff fuh a mont'!"

"So if yuh gib'm twenny-six?" Izzy persisted. "Won' he drop dead
anyways? Nobody ever gab'm twenny-sixl Only Hoish w'en he won 'em
aftuh Wildy swiped 'em. Let's see 'em!"

After a moment of hesitation, Benny opened several buttons on his shirt,
drew out a bundle of sticks neatly tied with a string, and displayed them
fondly. They were sharpened at one end and were of the same length and
color as pointers--though not quite so straight.

Necks were craning. Some sighed. Some gasped. Within David surge after
surge of gratitude beat about his heart. Oh, he was glad to be among
them! To forget! "Like real poinde's!"

"C'n yuh bend 'em?"

"'N yuh cut 'em all outchuh self?"

"Gee, I wish I had dot kin' o' chair!"

And as Benny was about to stow them away in his bosom again--

"Aintcha gonna give us one?" Izzy pleaded, "Look, I god de match!
Led's smoke one--jos' one--will yuh, Benny."

"Nyo!"

"Aaa, don't be a stingy louse!" they clamored.

Benny hesitated. "Lyuh gonniyl yuledth mhe sthmhoke tdew?"

"Sure! We'll letcha smoke all yuh want!"

"Wadyuh t'ink!"

"Dlyust one." He relented and drew a single reed out of the bound
sheaf.

Izzy seized it jubilantly. "Now watch!" he admonished them. "Like a
steamboat it's gonna give." And striking the match on the stone between his
legs, applied it to one end of the reed, meanwhile sucking at the other. The
former glowed, the latter yielded a sere, aromatic smoke.

"Gee!" they saucer-eyed. "Give a look, he's real smokin'!"

"Wad'd I tell yuh!" Izzy's features spread out in triumph. "I know dem
chairs. Dey makes a noise w'en yuh sid on 'em. Crrk! Crrrk! Don' dey
Benny?"

"Lyea. Dlyon' flyegedl, I'm fylyoist t' stlmook."

"Next aftuh Benny!"

"Next aftuh Simkee!"

"Me! I'm nex' aftuh--!"

"You! Hoddy huh gid like--!"

"G'wan!"

"Wadda noif! Hooz nex', Izzy?"

After much wrangling, turns were assigned.

Being near them, hearing the erratic spatter of their voices, yielding to
their flickering moods was like basking in a hectic familiar oblivion. Their
squabbling, their stridence drowned memory; that tireless tossing of their
bodies, their whirring gestures, jerky antics stitched a fluctuant, tough,
everrenewing veil between himself and terror. David forgot. He was one of
them.

Someone--it was Srooly--came out of the cheder, and once outside the
door, squinted at them in surprise. "De cop'll getchoo!"

"Yea!" they sneered. "He ain't a'scared o' us! Ha! Ha! Haw! Haw!"

Still squinting, Srooly approached. "Watcha smokin'?" "Cantchuh see,
cock-eye Mulligan? A cigah!"

He bent closer. "It's a stick, liar!"

"Sure! It's a smoke-stick an' id could be fuh a poinder. Bud we didn'
wanna."

"Uh! So hoddy yuh go?"

"Like dot." Lefty, whose turn It was, enlightened him with a billow of
smoke. "Dere's liddle holes in id, all de way t'roo!"

"Give us a puff," Srooly asked.

"Id's mine," Izzy announced. And no one contesting his claim, "I'm
gonna dinch it an' smook somm maw lader--aftuh Lefty finishes."

"Give us a puff befaw."

"Fuh somm o' yuh flies I will."

"Wise-guy! Yuh givin' Lefty a smook fuh nutt'n." "So wot? Don'
smook den!"

"Aaa! Kipp it!"

"Puh! Who wants yuh flies!"

"Awri!" said Srooly. "I'll give yuh one."

"Give!"

Srooly brought out a smallish, square vial, squinted thoughtfully at the
flies inside. "Most o' 'em I jos' caught in de gobbidj by Seven-twenty. On'y
de big ones I take." "Hurry op, Lefty!"

"Aaa, waid a secon', I jos' god id!" Lefty puffed vigorously.

"Hey! I fuhgod!" Srooly suddenly remembered. "Huz nex'? Yuh bedder
go in, de rebbeh says. Cause on'y Moishe is dere."

"Me!" Schloimee rose. "Waid fer us, will ye, geng. Don' forged!" He
went off.

Srooly held the vial up to the light. Grey horseflies, glittering blue
bottles crawled and fell on the glassy sides. "Dey's a old geezer in de
cheder, yuh know?"

"Wit' whiskers like de rebbeh!" The rest informed him. "We theleen 'im
faw lyow dyihl. He's loinin' de guys." "Naa, he ain' loinin' de guys," said
Srooly. "He's jost sittin' an' lookin."

"So watz'e want?"

"Cow shid I know?" Srooly shrugged. "De Rebbeh wanzuh show off,
dat's all. An' now--Hch! Hch! Hch! Moish is readin' an' he's dumb like
anyt'ing. Hch! Hch! De rebbeh's gonna be med on him."

"Aw' yaw dumb too," said Izzy cuttingly.

"So he sh'd worry," the rest consoled themselves. "De rebbeh never hits
w'en sommbody's lookin!"

"Yea--? He stuck me in de ass wid de poinder--under de table! So de
udder old geezer shouldn't see!"

"Ppprr!" Lefty surrendered the inch-long reed to Izzy. "Hea! Id's
gedden hod!"

"Give us de fly now if yuh want id."

"Wad kind d'yuh want? De shiny or de hawsfly?"

"De haws! Dey fighd bedder."

Tilting the vial up, Srooly spilled two or three flies into his palm, stuffed
back into the neck all but one and this he gave to Izzy. In return, the stumpy
reed was handed over. The horse-fly, wing-stripped, crawled impotently
about on Izzy's hand.

"Now I'll show yuh hoddeh smook!" Srooly put the bit of reed to his
mouth. "Watch a real, reggilieh smooker --like I loined f'om my fodder!
Watch!" and sucked with such abandon the ember at the other end sparkled
-- "M'lya!" Sudden pain contorted his face. "Luddle luddlel Ow! Id boins
like fiah! Ow!" He threw the stub down. "Mplyaw!"

"Yeee! Look o' him dance!" Glee filled them. They howled with mirth.
"Oooo! My dung! Ow!" Frantically he licked the sides of the glass
bottle--"Ooo, id's hod!"

"Lummox!" they jeered.

"Dot's watchuh ged fuh bein' a hog!"

"Wadyl pulyly stho hodth!"

"Aa, shod up!" Srooly was almost in tears. "I'll feel you off, see if I
don'. All o' yuh! Waid'll I ged my big brudder aftuh yuh--lousy bestitts!"
He walked off, tongue in the wind.

"Big smooker!" They howled after him. "Fot brains! Yaaa! Good fer
yuh! Yaaa!"

When their hoots, cat-calls, capers had subsided--"Who yuh gonna give
id?" Lefty asked.

"T Choloimis on de foist step." Izzy waved farewell to the fly in his
palm. "Bye! Bye! Buzzicoo!"

"Naa, don' give id t' him--he's fat a'reddy. Give id t' Baby Moider by
de fence!"

"Naa!" Zucky urged, "Schreck-dreck by de daw--he's de best spider in
de woild."

"No, I ain'!" Izzy would not be overruled. "Choloimis 'z' de biggest so
Choloimis geds id."

He rose. They followed him noisily across the yard.

--No! No! No! (Without stirring, he stared fixedly after them) No! No!
You forgot! You forgot!

"Don't scare 'im! Don' shake his house! Sh! Stholop yuh plyushin!"

They trooped down the cellar steps. From below the level of the yard, as
from underground, their stealthy voices rose. "C'n yuh see 'im? Yea! See
'im in his hole dere? See? He' thyl waitlyn!"

--Ow! (Like a stopper blown or a plug, the terrific jar of awakened
terror) The cellar! The cellar! The cellar! Told her now! She, Polly! Aunt
Bertha, she told! Knows! Long ago! Long ago! She knows! What? What's
she going to do? What? No! No! Don't tell, Aunt Bertha! Don't tell! Don't!
No! No! No! Ow, Mama! Mama!

Shrill from the cellar, their voices rose:

"Dere! Look! Look! T'row it now! Easy don' bust id! Look o' him!
He's walkin' roun'. Whee! Dere he comes! Dere he comes! Lyow! He
glyabth 'im! Fight! Fight! Gib'm, haws-fly! In de kishkis--nudder one!
C'mon, Choloimis! Yowee! Tie 'im op! He's god 'im! Wid de legs! Waddye
big wungl! Pullin' him! Pullin' him! Hully Muz-ziz! Look! In de holel Bye!
Bye! Buzzicoo! Yea! Yea!" Excited voices fused into a treble dirge. "Bye!
Bye! Buzzicoo! Yea Spider! Yea!"

The cheder door swung open. With a hunted expression on their faces,
Schloimee and Moish came hurrying out, and a moment later, the rabbi,
red lips visible in the glossy black beard, corners down-curved into a
threatening frown.

"Where are they?" He crimped blunt brows at David. "There? Below?
In that black chaos?"

Grafted to terror, the mind, wrested away, tore terror with it. He couldn't
speak.

"What ails you? Are you gagging? Speak!"

"Th-they're down there!" He stammered.

"So!" He intoned viciously. "When I'm through with them, even death
will spurn them!" And lifting his head, he bellowed across the yard. "Clods!
Bleak and eternal! Come out of that pit, you hear me? Come out before a
rain of stripes drowns you there!"

Hasty, startled cries below, scufflings, scuffings. They pellmelled up the
cellar-steps, halted in a cluster, shamefaced and cowed. He surveyed them.
"Mice!" His voice was withering. "Mice! Who gnaws at the Torah next?"

"Me." Zuck shuffled forward warily.

"You?" Disgustedly. "What is this? Have all the plaster golems in the
cheder connived to read in relays? Hanh? Will you torture me like the
heathen god? Or what?" His sour gaze swept them, alighted on David.

"You! Come in!"

"Me?" He started.

"On whom does my gaze end? Get up!" And once more to the others.

"Let the rest of you sit here in an agony! But sit!" He shook a violent finger,
and then crooked it at David.

He had scrambled to his feet and hurried to the rabbi's side. For the first
time since he had entered the cheder, the perilous task of reading when the
rabbi was angry suddenly became welcome to him. Any anxiety, any disquiet
was inviting if it could stem or shunt the fierce rush of this terror.

"Only one more!" As he entered, the rabbi addressed someone inside.

"Be patient, Reb Schulim! Would you leave me in disgrace, nor hear at least
one limber tongue? Hanh? Surely, you wouldn't."

Trailing behind, David peered past him toward the light. In the swirling
sepia that always seemed to fill the cheder after the glare of the yard, he
could distinguish no one. But when he waded to the window, risen like a
square, variegated rock above the sifting dusk, the wavering outlines of a
man drifted out of the dim corner beside the rabbi's chair. The figure was
seated, hunched over a cane. The wan gleam on his grey beard was like a
whisper from light to shadow.

The rabbi chuckled, apologetically, drew up his chair: "When I can
pierce stiff brass with a hair of my head, then I'll pierce their skulls with
wisdom. American Esaus, all of them! But this, Reb Schulim, this is a true
Yiddish child."

Reb Schulim's only reply was to clear his throat.

David slid over the bench, and while the rabbi pinched the pages, the
dusk lifted, and he peeped shyly up at the stranger. He was old, Reb
Schulim, hawk-beaked. Although his lipless mouth in the grey beard looked
stretched and grim, his eyes, his dark eyes in their intricate pouches were
liquid, strangely sorrowful and attentive. Unlike the rabbi, he was neat,
wore a black coat of thin, rusty cloth, and instead of an oily brown straw, a
wide black hat crumpled the skull cap at the back of his pink and silver
grizzled pate. He hawked incessantly which made David glance up again
and again only to be caught in the mournful quietude of those eyes. They
affected him strangely.

"He's a curious child." Reb Schulim's voice was husky and deliberate.
"His look is hungry and unquiet."

"You've struck it, Reb Schulim!" The rabbi spread hairy fingers on the
page--kept them spread. "Sometimes he prays like lightning, sometimes
an imp flies into his head and he can't see a word. Today I know he'll
pray. Here's something to make him." As though it were hinged to the
book, he lifted his hand, but only enough for Reb Schulim to read--not
David. "Do you remember I told you once--?"

Reb Schulim puckered his lips, cleared his throat, lifted grave, benign
eyes to David's face, but made no answer.

"I'd start him in chumish," the rabbi wheeled the book around. "But I
see his mother so rarely. I've never asked her--Listen!" He took his hand
away from the page. "Begin, my David!"

The type was small. The thrill of apprehension that ran through him
seemed to flutter the characters before him. He focused on them,
condensing their blur. "Bishnas mos ha melech Uzuyahu--I" And stopped
and stared. The number on top of the page was sixty-eight. The edge of the
book was blue.

"What's the matter?" Rare tolerance softened the rabbi's voice. "Why
do you wait?"

"It's--It's him!" Past radiance threw a last parting beam into the depths
of his mind. "That one!"

"Which one? Who?"

"That man! Th-that man you said! Isaiah! He said-- he said he saw God
and it--and it was light!" Excitement clogged his tongue.

"Well, Reb Schulim!" The rabbi's swarthy brow canted in triumph.

"One glance was all he needed, and that was months and months ago!
This!" His blunt finger drummed on David's brow. "This has an iron wit!
No?" His black beard seemed to shake out sparks of satisfaction.

Reb Schulim tapped his cane against the bench. "A cherished seedling
of Judah. Indeed!"

"Now all of it!" The rabbi settled down to business. "Begin once more."

"Beshnas mos hamelech Uzuyahu vaereh es adonoi yoshaiv al kesai
rom venesaw veshulav melayim es hahayhel Serafim omdim memal lo."
Not as a drone this time, like syllables pulled from a drab and tedious reel,
but again as it was at first, a chant, a hymn, as though a soaring presence
behind the words pulsed and stressed a meaning. A cadence like a flock of
pigeons, vast, heaven-filling, swept and wheeled, glittered, darkened,
kindled again, like wind over prairies. "Shaish kenawfayim shash
kenawfayim leahod. Beshtyim yehase fanav uveshtayim." The words, forms
of immense grandeur behind a cloudy screen, overwhelmed him--"Yehase
raglov uveshtayim yeofaif--"

"As though, he knew what he read," Reb Schulim's husky speech. "That
young voice pipes to my heart!" "If I weren't sure--indeed, if I didn't
know him, I'd think he understood!"

David had paused. The rabbi sat back, hands locked on his belly.

"Vekaraw se el se vamar--"

The head of the cane clicked against the table; a shadow glided over the
page. Leaning forward with outstretched arm, Reb Schulim patted David's
cheek with chill fingers.

"Blessed is your mother, my son!"

(-Mother!) "Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh adonoi tse-vawos." The words
blurred. A howl of terror beat down all majesty. (-Mother!) "Mlo hoi
haeretz h-vo-do--" He stumbled. (-Mother!)

"What is it?" The rabbi's fingers unbraided upon his paunch and
stretched out as if to seize.

"Va-va- yaw-yaw noo-noo-" (-Mother!) Without answering, he
suddenly burst into tears.

"Hold! What is it?" His hasty hand clicked David's chin up. "What
makes you weep?"

Reb Schulim's large compassionate eyes were also on him: "Reb Yidel,
I tell you he does understand."

David sobbed brokenly.

"Come, answerl" Perplexity made the rabbi urgent. "One word only!"

"My-my mother!" he wept.

"Your mother--well?" Sudden alarm quickened his speech. "What of
her? Speak! What's happened!"

"She--she's!--"

"Yes! Well!"

He did not know what it was that compelled him to say it, but it was
compulsion greater than he could withstand. "She's dead!" He burst into a
loud wail.

"Dead? Dead? When? What are you saying!"

"Yes! Ooh!"

"Shah! Wait!" The rabbi stemmed his own confusion. "I saw her here.
Why! Only--! What--! When did she die, I ask you?"

"Long ago! Long ago!" His head rocked in the abandon of his misery.

"Hanh? Long? Speak again!"

"Long ago!"

"But how could that be? How? I've seen her. She brought you here! She
paid me! Tell me, what is long ago?"

"That--that's my aunt!"

"Your--!" The breath jarred audibly against his throat. "But--but you
called her mother! I heard you! She told me she was."

"She just says she is! Owooh! Just says! Just says! To everyone! Wants
me to call her too--" A gust of grief blew his voice from him.

"Aha!" In suspicious sarcasm. "What kind of a yarn are you telling?
How do you know? Who told you?"

"My aunt--my aunt told me!"

"Which aunt? How many are there?"

"Yesterday!" He wept. "No. Not--not yesterday. When you wanted to
--to hit me. Then. That--that day, when I c-couldn't read. She owns a
candy st-store. She told me."

"On that day--Monday?"

"Y-yes!"

"And she told you? The other one?"

"Yes! Owooh! She owns a c-candy-store."

"Ai, evil!"

"Foolish woman!" Reb Schulim chided sadly. "To reveal this to a child."

"Pheh, foolish!" The rabbi spat disgustedly. "Sweet sister, the hussy!
What business of hers was it? Squirming tongue! The gallows is due her!
No?"

Reb Schulim sighed, shook David gently: "Come, my child! Dry your
tears! If it was long ago--then long ago already was too late for your
weeping. Come! She no longer has ears where she lies there. God
commanded it"

"Well, where's your nose-rag?" The rabbi patted irritably among David's
pockets. "The gallows! Here!" He drew it out. "Blow!" And as he pinched
David's nose clean. "You don't remember her then, do you? When did she
die?"

"No! I don't--I don't know. She didn't tell me."

His brow knit in fresh perplexity. "Well, why aren't you with your father?
Where's he?"

"I--I don't know!"

"Hmpph! Did she say anything about him?"

"She s-said he was a- a-"

"What?"

"I forgot! I forgot how to say it." He wept.

"Then think! Think. What was he, a tailor, a butcher, a peddler, what?"

"No. He was-- He was-- He played--"

"Played? A musician? Played what?"

"A-- A-- Like a piano. A--A organ!" He blurted out

"An organ? An organ! Reb Schulim, do you see land?"

"I think I see what is seen first, Reb Yidel. The spire."

"Mmm! Why aren't you with him?" His voice was cautious.

"Because--because he's in Eu--Europe."

"And?"

"And he plays in--in a-- She says he plays in a ch-church. A church!"

"Woe me!" He slumped back against his chair. "I foresaw it! You hear,
Reb Schulim? When he said an organ-player, I--I knew! Oh!" his face
lighted up. "Is that what you meant when you said spire--a church?"

"Only that."

"Ha, Reb Schulim, would God I had your wisdom! And what do you
think now?"

Reb Schulim gravely flattened his grey beard against his coat. "There's
truth in an old jest"

"That a bastard is wise?"

Reb Schulim hawked, hawked again more violently, spat under the
table. For a second or two, the only sound in the room was the smeary
scrape of his foot on the floor. "Let us hope they saw to it he was made a
Jew."

"I'll do more than hope." With a righteous scowl, the rabbi scratched
the blunt end of the pointer among the sparse hairs of his underlip.
"I'll do more!" He regarded David fixedly. "Er--David, mine, tell me this
one thing more. Did she, that everlasting slut, that candy store muck-
raker, your aunt, did she tell you where--in what land your mother met
the-er-the organ-player?"

"She-she--yes-- She said."

"Where?"

"In where there was-- there was c-corn."

"Where?" His brows drew together in ragged ridges. "Where corn was
grow-growing. She said. Where corn was. They went there. She told me
like--like that they went."

"Oy!" The rabbi sounded as though he were strangling. "Enough!
Enough! Thank God you're here, Reb Schuliml Else who would have
believed me! Ai! Yi! Yi! Yi! Can you picture so foul, so degraded a she
who would tell this to a child so young!"

"A vile, unbridled tongue!"

"Ach! Pheh!" the rabbi spat over the edge of the table. "The gallows I
say! A black, uncanny death! But you--" he turned abruptly to David.
"Go now! Weep no more! And hear me: Say nothing--nothing to anyone!
Understand? Not a word."

"Yes." He hung his head in misery.

"Go!" Hasty fingers fluttered before him. David slid from the bench,
turned, feeling their eyes pursuing him, and stumbled toward the door.
The yard. They were still lolling against the cheder wall.

"Hooray! Hully Muzzis!" Izzy's aggrieved voice greeted him. "He's
oud a'ready! Hooray!"

David hurried toward the wooden stairs.

"Hey, look, Iz, he's cryin'!"

"An' jos' my nex' too!"

"Waddee hitchuh fuh? Hey!"

"Hey watsa madder!"

The corridor muffled their cries. He fled through to the street. One wild
glance at his house and he scurried west. A strange chaotic sensation was
taking hold of him--a tumultuous, giddy freedom, a cruel caprice that made
him want to caper, to skip, to claw at his hands, to pinch himself until he
screamed. A secret wanton laughter kept arising to his lips, but never
issued, gurgled in his throat instead with a gurgle of pain. He wanted to
smirk at the people whom he neared, wanted to jeer, bray, whistle, double
thumb his nose--but dared not until they had passed. He rattled the loose
spheres on the stanchions of stoops, struck the tassels of the awnings, set
the chains before the cellars swinging, kicked the ash-cans.

"Fugimbestit! Fugimbestit!" The pressure of his frenzy, too great to be
contained seethed from his lips. "You! You! Watchuh lookin'! Yoop! Don'
step on de black line! Bing! Don' step on de black line. Ain't I ain't! Ain't
I! Pooh fuh you too 'lilulibuh! Don' step on de black line! I'm sommbody
else. I'm somebody else--else--ELSE! Dot's who I am. Hoo! Hoo! Johnny
Cake! Bit! Dat's fuh you! Blyoh! Stinker! Look out fuh de fox. Fox; fix fux,
look out! Don' step on de black line. Yoop! Take a skip! In de box! Yoop!
Yoop! Two yoops! Yoop! Hi! Hop, skip an' a yoop! Hi! Funny! Ow! Owoo!"

At Avenue C, he ran blindly north.

"Yoop! All busted lines. Here all busted. Watch oud! Watch oud! Hey,
busted sidewalk, lousy, busted sidewalk, w'y yuh busted? Makes double
jumps! Triple jumps! Fawple jumps. Fipple jumps. Yoop! Yoop! Triple!
Fipple! Fipple! Kipple! Is a cake! Johnny cake! Why yuh busted? Touch a
crack, touch a cella', touch a cella', touch a devil. He, black buggerunner!
Busts it! Hee, yee! Va y'hee! V y'hee, wee, wee. Wee. Wee. Pee, pee! Pee,
pee, tee tee! Yoop! sh! So watchuh lookin'? Make me step on it. Don'
count, devil, 'cause-- Pee, pee, dere! Blya! Pee, pee, yea, gotta. Sommtime
gotta. Gonna now! Naa! Yea! Gonna now. Take id oud! See! Look! Look!
All de goils. Sh! Shattop! Wot I care. See! Hea id comes. Double dare yuh
stop me. Double--"

He stepped to the curb.

"Izz wit! Zzz! Lager beeuh comms fom--He said, Goy, sonn'va bitch!
Goy sonn'vabitch! Leo sonn'vabitch! He said! Zzz! Ha! Piss higher! Look
o' my bow! Who cares! Ooh bedder! One bott'n, two bott'n! C'n jump
now! Higher. Yoop! Yoop! Hi--"

Tenth Street. The car-tracks. To the east the panel of the river, shore and
hazy sky.

"It follows! Run to elebent'. Run, run, Johnny cake! Yoop! Look o' me
ev'ybody! Watch me! No, no! Not me! Him! Him--me! Me--Him.

Watchuh lookin'? Fuhgim-bestit, it's him! He fooled him! 0l' smoke
mout'-stink! He fooled him, ol' geezer. Wuz'n me. Him! He did it! I ain't! I
ain' even! So tell. Can't tell on me. I ain'. So tell! Tell her! Tell Tanta
Berta! Tell my modder! I ain'! Yoop! Look o' me-no-him-go! Look o' him! Him!
Him! Weewuth! Weeewuth! Ain' even tiad! Ain' even me! Elebent, a'reddy!
Follers me it, water. Follers no me-him! Watchuh fol-ler'n fuh? Lousy,
bestitt, copycat river! Skidoo! Mind yuh own lousy biz! Beat it den,
beat it, lousy! Beat, Beat itl Beat it! Yoop, Yowooh!"

He ran screaming northward. . . .



XVI



THREADING his way among the hordes of children, hurdles of baby
carriages, darting tricycles and skate-wheel skooters that cluttered the
sidewalks of Avenue B, the squat, untidy Jew waddled northward on weak
and flabby hams. He stooped slightly as he walked. Seen from the front, a
glossy black beard hung suspended from a brown straw hat; the arms that
were locked behind his buttocks furled both sides of his dull alpaca coat
revealing a greasy insufficient vest that lapsed before reaching his belt;
upon the spotted broad expanse of vest a broad watchchain stretched across
the wide paunch, barely spanning the gap from pocket to pocket; between
the vest and the belt, soiled, wrinkled shirt tails cropped out in a foliated
ledge of linen. Seen from the side, baggy pants of indeterminate somberness
swept upward and outward in a soft curve, bracket-wise to the overhanging
shirt Slant sun-light on his rear, alternate upon the worn-smooth, almost
lacquered cheeks and cylinders of his pants teetered with his teetering limbs
and ricocheted. And he walked northward threading his way.

Arrived at the corner of Sixth Street and Avenue B, be stopped to let an
automobile pass, and made good the few seconds he whiled away by draw-
ing out his watch. Under the pressure of thick and oily thumb, the case
snapped open like a gold, obedient bivalve. He glanced at the face. Ten
minutes to six. Hi! (He sighed mentally) Over an hour before sunset There
was time. There was time. None would gather in the synagogue before seven.
There was time to spare. And he squeezed the gold lips clicking over the
glint of white. But as he brought the watch near his vest pocket, his head
snapped back, jarring his brown straw hat over his eye-brows and he
sneezed. Shaken fingers missed the slit in the cloth. The time-piece bounced
off his paunch and swung out on its gold chain like a pendulum. He cursed
in Yiddish, clutched at it, hauled it in and thrust it rudely back into its
place. And then retreating a step from the curb, bowed himself, and pinching
his nostrils trumpeted their contents into the gutter. The mucus spattered
into the dust like livid fleurs-de-lis. He reached for his grey handker-
chief, buttoned his coat, (it was cool for July) and stepped forward again.

Yi! Yi! Yi! He mused bitterly as his rambling fingers investigated the
dryness of his beard. Nothing had gone right with him this day. Nothing.
Unfortunate Jew! Was he not an unfortunate Jew? Dear God! Dear God! To
sneeze when he holds a watch in his hand. Hi! Hi! Hi! True, it was chained
to his person. But what if it was? Does the heart know that? The foolish
heart! How it leaps with fright like a colt! And then finds out. A curse on it!
On what, the heart? No, not the heart, the watch! No, not the watch either.
Hi! Hi! Hi! He was getting stupid with his years. Not the watch, the event.
A curse on the event! By all means! Hi-i! An evil day! And this morning
when he crossed the gutter, engrossed in bad news (truly, the cause of it all,
he reassured himself) engrossed him! Where was his brain that moment?
Engrossed, he had caught his walking stick in the eye of a sewer-cover.
May it be ground to a powder! Caught and broken it above the ferrule. And
a dollar and thirty cents he had paid for it not so long ago, a dollar and
thirty cents. From Labele Rifka's, his cousin, and would it not be meet in
the eyes of the Almighty that death befell Labele for selling him a broom
straw for a dollar and thirty cents? For that price, God would surely nod in
assent. Broken it above the ferrule. And the brats had stood about him and
laughed. . ..

A curse on them! He glared about him at the children and half grown
boys and girls who crowded the stoops and overflowed into the sidewalks
and gutter. The devil take them! What was going to become of Yiddish
youth? What would become of this new breed? These Americans? This
sidewalk-and-gutter generation? He knew them all and they were all alike
--brazen, selfish, unbridled. Where was piety and observance? Where was
learning, veneration of parents, deference to the old? In the earth! Deep in
the earth! On ball playing their minds dwelt, on skates, on kites, on marbles,
on gambling for the cardboard pictures, and the older ones, on dancing,
and the ferocious jangle of horns and strings and jigging with their feet.
And God? Forgotten, forgotten wholly. Ask one who Mendel Beiliss is?
Ask one, did he shed goyish blood for the Passover? Would they know?
Could they answer? Vagabonds! Snipes! Jiggers with their feet! Corrupt
generation! Schmielike, his own grandchild, lifting a nickel from his purse.
(Ah, but he fetched him a few sterling whacks when he caught him. A few,
but good ones.) And his wooden pointers stolen from his cheder. And those
brats in the street laughing when he broke his Walking stick. An ageing man
and they had jeered at him. And that lout especially, may he break his bones
before the rest; asking him if he had lost a ball, in the foul water below. He,
a rabbi, an ageing man. Hi! Hi! May a tumor in his belly and a tumor in his
head grow to be as big as that ball. Mocking an ageing man. Yiddish youth!
Turd-worth. Exactly so was his own boyhood in Vilna, in Russ-Poland. Ex
a-actly so-o! Others went sliding on sleds. Not he. Others slid on the ice
with the goyim. Not he. They stuck pins into each other in the cheder. Not
he. Hi! He had scarcely ever laughed even in his youth. Pogroms. Poverty.
What was there to laugh at? Reb R'fuhl was his rabbi then. That was a
rabbi! No random cuff did you get from him when he was vexed. No mild
pinch on the jowl. Ha, no! When he was angered, he flogged, and when he
flogged he took their pants down and spread the flap of their drawers--and
all so slowly and with what sweet words. Hi! Ha! Hal That was a sight to
behold! They remembered it those young ones. Not the watery discipline
that he enforced. That's what was ruining this generation, watery discipline.
Hi! And he, himself a rabbi now, he had held the culprit's legs while the
straps sank into the white buttocks. There was a kind of pleasure then in
hearing another howl, in watching another beaten, seeing the naked flesh
squirm and writhe and the crack of the buttocks tighten under the biting
thongs. A kind of pleasure, but it had passed now, dulled with over-use he
supposed.

Hi! Hi!...An evil day....

And at noon, he had quarreled with Ruchel, his daughter, over the
chicanery of her husband, Avrum, the butcher. Cold-storage liver he was
selling and palming it off for fresh. A snide generation. Why should the
children be better than their fathers? No sanctity anywhere, no faith. It's
kosher, she said. Ruchel his daughter, his thorn. It tastes just as good. In
food there should be some trust, he had answered. If you were selling
walking sticks sell the flawed, the warped, the brittle. Say nothing, tell
nothing. But what enters the mouth, there you must betray no trust. If
you're selling "treifes" say it is "treife" and men will hold you a man. If
you're selling cold-storage for fresh--But it's kosher, she had said. Of
course it's kosher, he had answered. Liver is kosher till it rots. It needs no
washing before the third day. No salting. Even a goy knows that. Hi! Hi!
My daughter, my daughter! It's good. It tastes good you say. There was a
Jew traveling toward Odessa and he ate in an inn without knowing what he
ate. Good beef he called it. Savory gravy. And they told him--what? They
told him it was horsemeat. And hi-hi-hi my daughter--it tastes good. And
how far is the step from cold storage meat to meat not kosher and how far is
the step from meat not kosher to pig's flesh? Hi! Hi! Hi! My daughter!
You'll drive me into the deep earth with a weight of shame. May your head
drop off from your shoulders, and your husband's head beside it. My
daughter...

Hi... An evil day....

And in the afternoon, Reb Schulim had come to his cheder, Reb
Schulim, his townsman, to review learning. And had reviewed not learning
but a long procession of numbskulls, stutterers, louts half blind with too
much loitering in cellars. A black fate had let the best ones read first, and
the best had scattered before Reb Schulim came and only the dullards were
left to shame him. A good rabbi, Reb Yidel, he must have thought--
Hmmmm-m-m! h-m-m--h-m-m-m! A good rabbi! Not one has he taught to
utter three words one upon the other without fumbling. Not one could speak
the tongue without a sniffle or a snort--except this child, David, this
bastard, God have pity on him, a goy's spawn, a church organist's. Hi! Hi!
And it is strange that true Yiddish children of pious parents should prove
such God-forsaken dolts and this one--only half-a-jew--perhaps not (I
could have found out then and there, but--) circumcised--an iron wit
God's ways. Hidden. A pitiful story and a triple curse befall the aunt,
sister, slut, who revealed it I say the gallows, Haman's gibbet high ...

Hm-m-m-m! Evil day! . . .

Then why do you go? Reb Yidel, why do you go? Would it not be better
on a day like this not to be the bearer of evil tidings? Accursed, calamitous
day! Would it not to be safer to turn and stride back toward the synagogue.
They may not understand. Should they accuse you of breeding hatred, call
you augur-nosed, are you prepared? Should they mock at you and scorn you
and say, Reb Yidel, your nose is in every wind like the spokes of a wheel,
have you a remedy? Have you an answer? None. But I am an upright man,
and someone must tell them. Shall the child know and they not know he
knows. Is he truly a Jew, this David? Shall the foul sister go unspared?
Someone must warn them, advise. And I vowed. I vowed. Hi! Hi! Hi! Alas!
Foreboding! . . .

Grimacing so violently his black beard twitched in several places
simultaneously, twitched and caught the sunlight in a skein of drawn pitch,
pin-point glints and iridescence, the dumpy, ageing Jew stopped at the
corner of Avenue C and Ninth Street, looked west into the sun when he
meant to go east, and opened the trigger-taut button on his dull alpaca coat.
Relieved from strain, the cloth crumpled against his arms in flutings. The
curtains drawn, the grease spots on his vest glistened in vitreous tableau.
Beaked thumb and forefinger pecked among his pockets, drew out a torn bit
of paper, unfolded it.

"Seven-forty-nine," he muttered after scanning the Hebrew characters.
"Fourth floor. Perhaps this corner of Avenue D. Perhaps the other. Pray God
I put it down correctly."

He replaced the scrap of paper, turned and strode east through the fam-
iliar street. Abreast of his cheder doorway, he felt the old bleak stir of
recognition, glanced into the hallway and crossed the street Head cocked,
he scanned the house numbers increasing one after the other.

"Seven-forty-nine." His lips formed the words silently^ "Fourth floor."
He added mentally. And taking a deep, sighing breath against the stairs he
had to climb, climbed the stoop, entered the hallway and mounted the
shadowy stairs.

Winded, stertorous, perturbed, he reached the top and brightest landing,
and with heaving paunch, eyed the Mizzuzahs, some still bright, some
painted over, above the several doors. And knocked at the nearest one.
"Who is it?" The sharp female voice behind the panels inquired in
Yiddish.

"Does the Mrs. Schearl live here?" He asked, knowing somehow that
she didn't.

"No." A heavy busted, bar-armed woman opened the door. "She lives
there. That door in the front. That door."

His eyes swept from the coarse-grained red skin of her throat to the door
her finger pointed at. He nodded, not surprised that she kept her own door
opened, watching him inquisitively. And knocked again.

"Oh! David! David! Is it you?" A voice of immense eagerness called
out to him. "Is it closed? I've been waiting--"

"This is I--Reb Yidel Pankower," he said as the door opened.



XVII



WISH I had a potsee, a potsee. Could go slower. Go slower. Look
around. See if to see. Look around. An exhaustion beyond anything he had
ever felt; a weariness the vastest rest could never match. He was so tired his
very thought seemed a function of his breathing, as though the mind were
so spent it needed the impulse of breath to clear the word away, else it
echoed in stagnance.

He dragged tottering rebellious legs toward the car tracks of Tenth.
--Take longer if I had a potsee. Longer, lots longer. And kick it here, so
it goes there. And there, and there, and kick it there, so it goes here.
And here and follow it. And follow it where it went. And if it went away,
go away. Go with it. And if it comes back, come back. Ow! Mama! Mama!
Tired all out! Ow! Mama! Should have gone away. Anyway. Away. Forty
one Street, said. Big house. Forty-one street River was. And Thirty Street
River was. And was and it followed. And train and it followed. And he said
it goes. Goes where? Br-Bronx, Bronx Park, he said. Is animals, he said
with the package. Lots and trees. Lots. Then it comes back. Five cents.
Have to come back always. Go home. Never get lost no more. No more.
Know number. Never. Slow. Go slower. Car-tracks. Ow! Too near! Too near
already. Ow! Ow!

With all the horror of one tottering over an abyss, he stared at the
cobbles, the gleaming tracks.

--Stay here! Go back! Stay here! Ow! What'll I do? Where'll I go?
Mama! Mama! Stay here till fifty wagons; take a step. Fifty autos; take a
step. Fifty--Tired! Tired all out. Can't wait! Can't wait no more. Don't let
him hit me, Mama, I'm crossing! I'm crossing, Mama! Ow! Getting near!
Getting near! Where's a potsee? A potsee. Garbage cans look. Ain't out yet.
Flies he found. Cellar. Them! Ow! A potsee! A potsee! Something. Find!
Find!

Nerveless fingers fumbled numbly in his pockets.

--Pencil. No good. Break off gold and rubber. Step on--No good! No
good! What? Cord when I thought kite. What'd I go up for? Why! Why!
Canary! Ow! Lousy! Lousy son-of-a-! Back pocket . . . Them! It's them!
No good shitten them! Kickl Throw away! Tear! Shitten, goy-beads! Tear!
Kick for a potsee! Gwan! They'll see, but they'll see! Don't care! Ow!
Getting near! Getting near! My lamppost, Ninth! Oh, Mama, Mama, don't
let him hit me! I'm going round! I'm going round! Oooh, look every place!
Look every place!

Only his own face met him, a pale oval, and dark, fear-struck, staring
eyes, that slid low along the windows of stores, snapped from glass to
glass, mingled with the enemas, ointment-jars, green globes of the drug-
store-- snapped off--mingled with the baby clothes, button-heaps, under-
wear of the drygoods store--snapped off--with the cans of paint, steel
tools, frying pans, clothes-lines of the hardware store--snapped off. A
variegated pallor, but pallor always, a motley fear, but fear. Or he was
not --On the windows how I go. Can see and ain't. Can see and ain't. And
when I ain't, where? In between them if I stopped, where? Ain't nobody.
No place. Stand here then. BE nobody. Always. Nobody'd see. Nobody'd
know. Always. Always No. Carry--yes--carry a looking glass. Teenchy
weenchy one, like in pocket-book, Mama's. Yea. Yea. Yea. Stay by house.
Be nobody. Can't see. Wait for her. Be nobody and she comes down. Take
it! Take looking-glass out, Look! Mama! Mama! Here I am! Mama, I was
hiding! Here I am! But if Papa came. Zip, take away! Ain't! Ain't no place!
Ow! Crazy! Near! I'm near! Ow!

His eyes glazing with panic, he crept toward his house, and as he went,
grasped at every rail and post within reach--not to steady himself, though
he was faint, but to retard. And always he went forward, as though an
ineluctable power tore him from the moorings he clutched.

A boy stood leaning against the brass bannister on the top step of the
stoop. He held in his hands the tom tissue of a burst red balloon which he
sucked and twisted into tiny crimson bubbles. As David, fainting with
terror, dragged himself up the stone stairs, the other nipped at a moist, new
made sphere. It popped. He grinned blithely.

"Yuh see how I ead 'em? One bite!"

David stopped, stared at him unseeingly. In the trance that locked his
mind only one sensation guttered with a bare significance. The chill of the
tarnished railing under his palm, the chill and the memory of its lustre and
the flat taint of its corruption.

"Now, I'll make a real big one!" said the boy. "Watch me!" The stretched
red rubber hollowed into a small antre in his mouth, was engulfed, twisted,
revealed. "See dot! In one bite!"

Pop!

Despair. . . .



XVIII



"FAH a penny, ices, Mrs! Fah a penny, ices! Fah a penny, ices, Mrs!"
The grimy six-year-old who had just come in, rapped on the marble
counter with his copper.

"Fah a penny, ices, Mrs!"

But neither the slight, long-nosed owner of the store, gnawing bitterly at
his sallow mustache, nor his slovenly, red-haired wife glaring at him, nor
their pimpled, frightened daughter in the rear moved to do his bidding.

"Fah a penny, ices, Mrs! Hey!"

Another six-year-old came into the store.

"Yuh gonna gimme a suck, Mutkeh?"

"Dey dowanna gib me even!" Mutkeh turned to his friend with an
injured look.

"Let's go t' Solly's. Yea?"

"Noo!" muttered the owner in Yiddish. "Are you going to give it to him
or will you let him clamor there all evening?"

"Boils and pepper, that's what I'll give him!" she crossed her arms
defiantly. (The six-year-olds looked hurt.) "Can't you do it? Are you dead?"

"I won't!" His small peevish jaw shot as far forward as its teeth would
allow. "Let the whole store be burnt to the ground! I won't!"

"Then be burned with it!" She spat at him. "I need you and your penny
business! A candy-store he saddled me with--good husband! Polly, go give
it to him."

Sullenly, red underlip curled out like a scarlet snail-shell, Polly left off
pinching the sides of her dress and came out into the front. There she lifted
the rusty lid of the can floating in the half-melted ice of the tub, ladled out
the pale-yellow, smoking, crystalline mush into a paper cup and handed it to
the boy. The two children went out. And as the girl retreated to the rear of
the store, her mother nodded at her vindictively--

"And you had to tell him, ha? Foul-piss-in-bed! After I warned you not
to!"

"You ain' my moddeh," Polly mumbled in English.

"I'll give you something in a minute," her stepmother unlocked her
arms, "You think you're safe because your father's here?"

"Leave her alone!" her husband interfered resentfully, "Do you think
she's wrong maybe? Had it been your own flesh and blood, you would have
been there in a wink, no? You'd have watched. You wouldn't have sat in
front on your fat hole, while that Esau scum handled my poor daughter--"

"Be a scape-goat for dogs!" her voice rose in a browbeating stormy
scream. "And for rats! And for snakes! Can I watch everything? The store!
The customers! The salesmen! The kitchen! And your stinking daughters as
well! Isn't it enough you've given me a candy-store to age me, and with a
candy-store loaded my belly with one of yours--Here!" She lifted the
chocolate-stained, mounded apron as though she meant to throw it at him.
"And besides all this, you ask me to watch those filthy hussies! If they don't
even listen to me, how can I watch them? Aren't they old enough? Don't
they know enough? And that one in the kitchen where she pretends to weep
--a wench of twelve! Let her choke there! And you--you don't deserve to
have the earth cover you! Telling me to watch them! And if you want to
know something else, you'll make no more fuss about it, but you'll go into
the kitchen and eat your supper!" Gasping breathlessly, she stopped.

"Yes?" Though he groped for words, it wasn't fury that halted his
speech, but a kind of invincible stubbornness that kept laboriously
intrenching itself deeper and deeper. "Supper--me--you ask--me--to eat?
Your zest --and may your zest--for life--be as little all your life --as I--
as mine is for food! Supper--after what's happened! Woe to you! But this
once--I--You won't straddle me like a--a good horse! No! This--you--
this once you won't ride--"

"Kiss my arse!" She broke in on him again. "Riding you! I'm not
ridden, ha? Oh what a fool you are--choking over it! As if it's never
happened before that two brats should be playing like animals. Is she
maimed! Has he snatched it from her--the prize? Won't it heal before she's
married?"

"How do you know? Do you know how big he was? What has he wrought?
Did you even look to see?"

"Look? Yes!" she suddenly snorted mockingly. "I looked! Her drawers
were dirty--as they always are! Why don't you go inside and look at her
yourself!"

"Go break a blood vessel!" he muttered.

"Brats at play and he's worrying! About what, God knows--the future,
marriage, suitors. They'll explore her before they'll marry her, is that it?
Oh, idiot! Do you want a suitor for her? Blow your nose--she'll have a tall
one!"

His small frame stiffened. Blood flared in his sallow face.

"That's how your mother answered your father, ha? Over your sister,
Genya, ha? And exactly the same way-- a goy! It's a family trait by now!
To you it's nothing!" The spurt of anger that had driven his words failed
him suddenly. He retreated.

"Burn like a candle!" She advanced upon him furiously. "Will you vomit
up past shame! A secret I told you, you dare mock me with? I'll give
you something to make your world keel over!"

His back against the glass doors of the toy closet, he had lifted his arms
defensively. "Go away! Let me alone! If you'll swill refreshments at my
funeral, I'll swill them at yours!"

"Be slaughtered by a chinaman!" She turned her back on him
contemptuously. "Manikin! I don't hear you any more! Go talk to my
buttocks!"

"All right! All right!" He swayed impotently. "Let it be as you say. My
just one! My righteous! Let it be as you say. But him, that little rogue with
the big eyes, he goes scot-free, ha? That's dealing justly, ha? A nephew is
dearer to you than the daughters I brought you. But remember there's a God
in heaven--He'll judge you for this!"

"Did I say he ought to go unpunished?" She wheeled around again.
"Did I? I told you I'd tell Genya in the morning. With the first light of day
I'll tell her. What more do you want? Would you like Albert to know?
Would nothing else suit you but that? How many times have I told you what
a maniac he is? Haven't you even seen it for yourself? He'd tear that child
limb from limb! Is that what you want? Well you won't get it! And now go
inside and eat! Go inside as I tell you and stop hammering the samovar--
daughter! daughter! Or God help me you'll have pangs and hemorrhoids for
an appetizer!"

Completely cowed and yet too stubborn to move, he stood there mutter-
ing while she glared at him. "Genya. .. . Good! Good! She with her light
hand and soft voice. Yeh! Yeh!" He nodded bitterly. "She'll never lift
either against him. She'll talk to him, that's what she'll do-- fondle him.
And with that he'll be punished--words. With words after what he's done
to my Esther. All right! All right! If that's the kind of treatment I get--
good. . . Good! Good! But I'm not satisfied--know that! I'm not satisfied."

"Will you go in?"

He turned to go. But as he turned, a woman entered the store.

"Hello, Mrs. Sternowitz!"

"Hello!"

"And Mr. Sternowitz! I didn't see you. How fares it?"

"Fair."

"Only fair? Tt! Tt! Well, give me for two cents hairpins. You sell three
packages for two cents, no?"

"Yes."

Mrs. Sternowitz turned and waddled heavily toward the rear of the store;
Polly, her mouth still hanging, stepped sullenly to one side. As she
fumbled among the boxes stacked on the shelves, fumbled and sighed
laboriously, and muttered about the dark, her husband watched her, flex-
xing and unflexing nervous hands. Suddenly he clenched his fist, and while
his wife's back was still turned to him, sidled toward the front of the store,
brushed by the puzzled woman at the counter and slunk out. Polly gaped
after him. Her step-mother, all unaware, lifted haphazardly now one lid
of a box, now another. The customer laughed. "What's the matter with your
husband?" she asked. "Ach!" Mrs. Sternowitz threw casually over her
shoulder. "God alone knows what's ailing him. His nose has fallen to the
ground and he won't pick it up."

"That's the way with men," the woman chuckled. "You'll be lying in
soon, no?"

"Too soon. Oh! Here it is! A new box?" She dragged it out. "These have
something between their legs, these hairpins, cha! cha! Another new
variety." She broke off abruptly, her questioning glance flicking from
daughter to customer. "Where is he? Nathan!"

"That's why I asked you." The woman still smiled. "It looked to me as
though he fled."

"Fled?" She stood stock-still. "Where?"

"There. Toward Alden Avenue I think. What is it?"

But Mrs. Sternowitz had already flung back the counter lid, and with a
frightened yet furious expression was hurrying toward the door. She ran out
on the sidewalk, stared eastward frantically, ran a few steps, came rushing
back.

"I don't see him! I don't see him!" she spluttered, pinching frantically
at her neck and dragging at the flesh. "He's tricked me! He's off--to
Genya's!" She turned furiously on her daughter. "Why didn't you tell me he
was sneaking off, you little snake!" She lifted her hand to strike, but
thought better of it. "Ai!" She threw the box of hairpins down on the
counter, and began fumbling desperately with her apron strings. And while
the other woman stared at her in alarm, shouted garbled, flurried injunctions
at Polly.

"Go call Esther!" She threw the apron from her at last and stooped
down to button her shoes. "Hurry! Hurry! Call her out! Quick! Oh, if I get
my hands on him! Oh, God help him. Quick! Oh, if I get him! Quick! Call
her! You two mind the store. Call Mrs. Zimmerman if I don't get back
soon! Watch the cash drawers! Hurry, do you hear? He can't have gone far!
I'll get him! I'll make a scene in the middle of the street. I'll drag him
back by the hair! Hurry! Watch! The two-faced--" She rushed out of the
store. The other woman looked after her in amazement and then turned to
Polly. "What's the matter with your mother?"

"I don't know," was the morose answer. And then she went to the back
of the store, threw open the kitchen door and screamed at someone inside.
"C'mon out, Esther! Poppa wen' away! Momma wen' away! Comm out! Comm on!
Yuh hev t' watch!"



XIX



AT THE second landing of the unlit hallway, the harsh stench of disin-
fectants rasped the grain of his nostrils. Behind that doorway where the
voices of children filtered through, Mrs. Glantz's brood had the measles.
Upward and beyond it, wearily, wearily. And at the turn of the stairs, the
narrow, crusted, wire-embedded window was open. He loitered again, stared
down. In the greying yard below, a lean, grey cat leaped at the fence,
missed the top and clawed its way up with intent and silent power. And he
upward also, wearily.

--Her fault. Hers. Ain't mine. No it ain't. It ain't. Ask anybody. Take a
step and ask. Is it mine? Bannister-sticks, is it mine? Mine is . . . Mine
ain't . . . Mine is . . . Mine ain't. Mine is . . . Mine ain't. . . There! See!
Chinky shows! Her fault. She said about him. Didn't she? She told it to Aunt
Bertha. Her fault. If she liked a goy, so I liked. There! She made me. How
did I know? It's all her fault and I'm going to tell too. Blame it on her.
Yours Mama! Yours! Go on! Go on! Next! Next floor! Mama! Mama!

Owoo!

And leaving the third landing where the stale reek of cabbage and sour
cream filled the uncertain light, a low whimper forced its way through his
lips and echoed with an alien treble in the hollow silence. And upward,
clammy palms clinging to the bannisters and squealing in thin reluctance as
they slid. And again the turn of the stairs and the open window framing a
soft clarity with the new height. Across the alley, a face between curtains
grimaced, tilted back; crooking fingers plucked the collar off.

--Stop hollerin'! Stop! You, inside, stop! Don't know. They don't
know. Who told them? Tell me, who could've? Well, tell me? There! See!
Polly didn't tell--Esther wouldn't let her. She ran after her. But maybe
she didn't catch. She did! She didn't. She did! But even if--so what?
Aunt Bertha wouldn't tell. Aunt Bertha likes me. See? Aunt Bertha
wouldn't tell on me for a million, zillion dollars. Don't she hate Papa?
Didn't she want me 'stead of them? Didn't she? So she wouldn't tell. Gee,
ooh, God! 'Course she wouldn't tell. So what? What am I scared of? (He
leaned against the bannister in an ecstasy of hope) Nobody knows! Oooh,
God, make nobody know! Go on then! Make believe nothing happened.

Gee, nothing-but --but him. Rabbi? Aaa, he forgets. Sure he does! All the
time. What's he got to remember for? Go on, gee, God! Go on! But--but
where were you? It's way late. Me? Where was I? Got lost, that's what.
Way in the other side of Avenue A. Why? Thought it was the other side.
That's where I was. Go on! Oooh, God! Wish I broke a leg. Ow! Don't!
Yea! Sh!

The pale blue light of the transom obliquely overhead.

--Nobody--in?

He crept to his doorway, stiff ankle-joints cracking like gun-shots. A
blur of voices behind the door.

--Sh! Who? Who's there?

Pent breath trembling in his bosom, he leaned nearer, leaned nearer and
poised for flight.

Someone laughed.

--Who? She? Mama? Yes! Yes!

Again, out of a mumble of voices, again the laugh-strained, nervous, but
a laugh. Hope clutched at it.

--She! Laugh is hers! She don't know! Don't know nothing! Wouldn't
laugh if she knew. No! No! Don't knowl Can go!

His brain flew open as though a light were swung into it--

--Nobody knows! Can go!

Yet his whole being shied in terror when he reached out his hand for the
door knob--

The door that clicked open, clicked shut upon their voices. And--

"David! David, child! Where have you been?"

"Mama! Mama!" But not soon enough could he fling himself into her bosom,
not deep enough nest his eyes there before he saw in a blur of vision
the bearded figure before the table.

"Mama! Mama! Mama!"

Only the sheltering valley between her breasts muffled his scream of
fear to her heart. Convulsive, unerring hands flew up to her neck, sought
and clasped the one upright pillar of this ruin.

"Hush! Hush! Hush child! Have no fear!" Her body rocked him.

And at his back, his father's voice, morose, sardonic, "Yes, hush him!
Comfort him! Comfort him!"

"Poor frightened one!" Her words came to him from her bosom and lips.
"His heart is beating like a thiefs. Where have you been, life? I'm dead
with anxiety! Why didn't you come home?"

"Lost!" he moaned. "I was lost on Avenue A."

"Ach!" She clasped him to her again. "Because you told a strange tale?"

"I was just making believe! I was just making believe!"

"Were you?"

Behind him his father's cryptic voice. "Were you indeed!"

He could feel his mother start. The heart beneath his ear begun to pound
heavily.

"Hi! Yi! Yi! Yi! Yi!" From another corner of the room, the rabbi's
dolorous groan broke up into a train of sighs. "I see I have wrought badly
coming here. No?" He paused, but none answered his question. Instead,

"Stop your whining, you!" his father snapped.

"But what was I to do?" The rabbi launched himself again. His voice,
so uncommonly unctuous and placating, sounded strange to David's ears
despite his misery. "Had he been a dullard, a plaster golem, such as only
the King of the Universe with his holy and bounteous hand knows how to
bestow on me, would I have believed him? Psh! I would have said--Bah!
Ox-brained idiot, away with this drool! And then and there would I have
fetched him such a cuff on the jowls, his children's children would have
cried aloud! Hear me, friend Schearl, he would have flown from me like a
toe-nail from a shear! But no!" His voice heightened, deepened, grew rich
with huskiness. "In my cheder he was as a crown in among rubbish, as a
seraph among Esau's goyim! How could I help but believe him? A yarn so
incredible had to be true. No? His father a goy, an organ-grinder--an organ
player in a church! His mother dead! She met him among the com--"

"What!" Both voices, but with what different tones!

"I said among the corn. You, Mrs. Schearl, his aunt! What! The like will
not be heard again till the Messiah is a bride-groom. Speak! No?"

Again that silence and then as though the silence were creaking with its
own strain, the ominous grating sound of a stretched cable, his father's
grinding teeth. Under his ear, the heavy beat of the heart tripped, fluttered,
hammered raggedly. The stricken catch of the quick breath in her throat was
like the audible sublimate of his own terror.

"But uh--uh--now it's a jest, no? Uh--ah, what! A jest!" His hurried
nails could be heard harrying his beard. "Not-eh-ah-poo! Not a doubt!"
Stumbling at first, his speech began to tumble, growing more flustered as it
grew heartier. "It's your child now. No! It's your child! Always! What's
there to be disturbed about? Ha? A jest! A tale of a--of a hunter and a wild
bear! Understand? Something to laugh at! Ha! Ha--hey, scamp, there! You
won't gull me again! What these imps can't invent! Ha! Ha! A jest, no?"

"Yes! Yes!" Her alarmed voice.

"Hmph!" Savagely from her husband. "You agree readily! Where did he
get this story? Let him speak! Where did he? Was it Bertha, that red cow?
Who?" David moaned, grasped his mother closer.

"Let him alone, Albert!"

"You say so, do you? We'll find out!"

"But uh--you won't hold it against me--uh--I mean that I told you.

May God requite me if I came here trying to meddle, to stir up rancor. Yes!
May I wither where I sit! Hear me! Not a jot did I care to pry! Let the feet
grow where they list, I cared not! Not I! But I thought here am I his rabbi,
and I thought it's my duty to tell you--at least that you might know that he
knew--and in what way he was made aware."

"It's all right!" She unclasped one arm. "I beg you don't be disturbed."

"Well then, good! Good! Ha! I must go! The Synagogue! It grows late."

The creak of his chair and scrape of his feet filled the pause as he rose.

"Then you're not angered with me?"

"No! No! Not at all!"

"Good-night then, good-night." Hastily. "May God bestow you an appetite
for supper. I shan't trouble you again. If you wish I'll start him on Chumish
soon--a rare thing for one who has spent so little time in a cheder.
Good-night to you all."

"Good-night!"

"Hi-yi-yi-yi-yi-I Life is a blind cast. A blind caper in the dark. Good
night! Hi-i! Yi! Yi! Evil day!"

The latch ground. The door opened, creaked, closed on his hi-yi-ing
footsteps. And of the silence that followed the beating of her heart
condensed the anguish into intervals. And then his father's voice, vibrant
with contempt--

"The old fool! The blind old nag! But this once he wrought better than
he knew!"

He felt his mother's thighs and shoulders stiffen. "What do you mean?"
she asked.

"I'll tell you in a moment," he answered ominously. "No, on second thought
I won't need to tell you at all. It will tell itself. Answer me this: Where was
my father when I married you?"

"Do you need ask me? You know that yourself--he was dead."

"Yes, I know it," was his significant retort. And his voice tightening
suspiciously. "You saw my mother?" "Of course! What's come over you,
Albert?"

"Of course!" he repeated in slow contempt. "Why do you smirk at me
with that blank, befuddled look? I mean did you see her before I brought
her to you myself?" "What is it you want, Albert?"

"An answer without guile," he snapped. "You know what I'm talking
about! I know you too well. Did she come to you alone? In secret? Well?
I'm waiting!"

As though her body were compelled to follow the waverings of an immense
irresolution, she swayed back and forth, and David with her. And at last
quietly: "If you must know--she did."

"Ha!" The table slid suddenly along the floor. "I knew it! Oh, I know
her nature! And she told you, didn't she? And she warned you! Of me! Of
what I had done?" "There was nothing said of that--!"

"Nothing? Nothing of what? How can you be so simple?"

"Nothing!" she repeated desperately. "Stop tormenting me, Albert!"

"You wouldn't have said nothing." He pursued her relentlessly. "You
would have asked me, what? What I had done? She told you!"

His mother was silent.

"She told you! Is your tongue trapped in silence? Speak!"

"Ach--!" and stopped. Only David heard the wild beating of her heart.
"Not now! Not with him here!" "Now!" he snarled.

"She did." Her voice was wrung from her. "And she told me I ought not
to marry you. But what difference--" "She did! And the rest? The others?
Who else!" "Why are you so eager to hear?"

"Who else?"

"Father and mother. Bertha." Her voice had become labored. "The others
know. I never told you because I--" "They knew!" he interrupted her
with bitter triumph. 'They knew all the time! Then why did they let you
marry me? Why did you marry me?"

"Why? Because no one believed her. Who could?" "Oh!" sarcastically.
"Is that it? That was quickly thought of! It was easy to shut your minds. But
she swore it was true, didn't she? She must have, hating me afterwards as
she did. Didn't she tell you that my father and I had quarreled that morning,
that he struck me, and I vowed I would repay him? There was a peasant
watching us from afar. Didn't she tell you that? He said I could have
prevented it. I could have seized the stick when the bull wrenched it from
my father's hand. When he lay on the ground in the pen. But I never lifted a
finger! I let him be gored! Didn't she tell you that?"

"Yes! But, Albert, Albert! She was like a woman gone mad! I didn't believe
it then and I don't believe it now! Let's stop now, please! Can't we talk
about it later?" "Now that it's all become clear to me you want to stop,
is that it?"

"And why is it suddenly so clear?" her tone held a sharp insistence.
"What is so clear to you? What are you trying to prove?"

"You ask me?" ominously. "You dare ask me?"

"I do! What do you mean?"

"Oh, the gall of your kind! How long do you think you'll hide it! Will I
be lulled and gulled forever? Must I tell you? Must I blurt it out! My sin
balances another? Is that enough for you?"

"Albert!" her stunned outcry.

"Don't call to me!" he snarled. "I'll say it again--they had to get rid of
you!"

"Albert!"

"Albert!" He spat back at her. "Whose is he? The one you're holding in
your arms! Ha? How should he be named?"

"You're mad! Dear God! What's happened to you?" "Mad, eh? Mad then,
but not a cheat! Come! What are you waiting for? Unmask yourself! I've
been unmasked to you for years. All these years you said nothing. You
pretended to know nothing. Why? You knew why! I would have asked you
what I've just asked you now! I would have said why did they let you marry
me. There must have been something wrong. I would have known! I would
have told you. But now, speak! Speak out with a great voice! Why fear?
You know who I am! That red cow betrayed you, didn't she? I'll settle with
her too. But don't think there was no stir in this silence. All these years
my blood told me! Whispered to me whenever I looked at him, nudged me, told
me he wasn't mine! From the very moment I saw him in your arms out of
the ship, I guessed. I guessed!"

"And you believe a child's fantasy?" She spoke with a fixed flat voice
of one staggered by the incredible. "The babbling? The wandering of a
child?"

"No! No!" he bit back with a fierce sarcasm. "Not a bit of it. Not a
word. How could I? It's muddled of course. But did you want a comment-
ary. Let him speak again. It might be clearer."

"I've thought you strange, Albert, and even mad, but that was pride and
that made you pitiful. But now I see you're quite, quite mad! Albert!" She
suddenly cried out as if her cry would waken him. "Albert! Do you know
what you're saying!"

"A comedienne to the end." He paused, drew in the sharp breath of one
marveling--"Hmph! How you sustain it! Not a tremor! Not a sign of
betrayal! But answer me this!" His voice thinned to a probe. "Here! Here's
a chance to show me my madness. Where is his birth certificate? Ha?
Where is it? Why have they never sent it?"

"That? Was it because of that one single thing your blood warned you
so much? Why, dear God, they wrote you--my own father did. They had
looked for it everywhere and never found it--lost! The confusion of
departure! What other reason could there be?"

"Yes! Yes! What else could it be? But we--we know why it stayed lost,
don't we? It was better unfound! After all, was I there to see him born?
Was I even there to see you bearing him? No! I was in America--on their
money, notice! The ticket they bought me. Why were they so eager to get
rid of me? Why such haste, and I not married more than a month?"

"Why? Can't you see for yourself? There were nine in my family.
Servants, others, outsiders began to know. They had hoped I would follow
you soon. There was no money at home. The store was failing. The sons
weren't grown yet. You couldn't send for me--"

"Oh, stop! Stop! I know all that! Who is it they began to know of--you
or me?"

"Do you still persist? Of you, of course! Your mother went around
telling everyone."

"And they were ashamed, eh? I see! But now I'll tell you my version.
Here I am in America sweating for your passport, starving myself. You
see? Thousands of miles away. Alone. Never writing to anyone only to you.
Now! He's born a month or two too soon to be mine--perhaps more. You
wait that time. That month or two, and then, why then exactly on the head
of the hour you write me-- I have a son! A joy! Fortune! I have a son. Ha!
But when you came across, the doctors were too knowing. Fool your
husband, they said. You were frightened. Seventeen months were too few
for one so grown. Twenty-one then! Twenty-one they might believe, and
twenty-one of course I thought he was. There you are! Wasn't that it? I
haven't forgotten. My memory's good. An organist, eh? A goy, God help
you! Ah! It's clear! But my blood! My blood I say warned me!"

"You're mad! There's no other word!"

"So? But good enough for your kind. That's what they reasoned back
home--the old, praying glutton and his wife--Did you know an organist?
Well, why don't you answer?"

"I--oh, Albert, let me alone!" She moved David about frantically under
her arms. "Let me alone in God's name! You've heaped enough shame on
me for nothing. It's more than I can bear. You're distraught! Let's not
talk about it anymore! Later! Tomorrow! I've suffered twice for this now."

"Twice! Ha!" He laughed. "You've a gift for blurting things out! Then
you knew an organist?"

"You claim I did!" Her voice went suddenly stony.

"Did you? Say it."

"I did then. But that was--"

"You did! You did!" His words rang out again. "It fits! It matches! Why
look! Look up there! Look! The green corn--taller than a man! It struck
your fancy, didn't it? Why, of course it would! The dense corn high above
your heads, eh? The summer trysts! But I--I married in November! Ha!
Ha!--Sh! Don't speak! Not a word! You'll be ludicrous, you're so
confounded!"

"And you believe? And you believe? This that you're saying! Can you
believe it?"

"Anhr! Do I believe the sun? Why I've sensed it for years I tell you! I've
stubbed my feet against it at every turn and tread. It's been in my way,
tangled me! And do you know how? Haven't you ever seen it? Then why
do weeks and weeks go by and I'm no man at all? No man as other men
are? You know of what I speak! You ought to, having known others! I've
been poisoned by a guess! Corruption has haunted me. I've sensed it! I've
known it! Do you understand? And it's been true!" She rose. And David
still in her arms, still clasping her neck, dared not breathe nor whimper in
his terror, dared not lift his eyes from the shelter of her breast. And his
father's voice, nearer now, broke like a rod of stiff, metallic words across
his back.

"Hold him tightly! He's yours!"

She answered, a kind of cold deliberate pity in her voice. "And now,
now that you know what you think you know, the corruption's drained. Is
that how you are? The fog is split. Why didn't you tell me sooner what
clouded you? I would have freed you sooner."

"And now like any discovered cheat you'll mock me, eh?"

"I'm not mocking you, Albert. I'm just asking you to tell me exactly
what it is you want."

"I want," his teeth ground into his words. "Never to see that brat again."
She sucked in her breath as if making a last attempt. "You're driving me
mad, Albert! He's your son. Your son! Oh, God! He's yours. What if I knew
another man long before I met you--! It was long ago, I swear to you! Can
he, must he be his? He's yours!"

"I'll never believe you! Never! Never!"

"Why then I'll go!"

"Go. I'll caper! I'll dance on the roofs! I'll be rid of it! Be rid of it, I tell
you! The nights in the milk wagon! The thoughts! The torment! The stables
--hitching the horse. The other men! The torment! I'll be rid of it! His--"

But as though answering his suppressed scream of exultation, noises in
the hallway, wrangling, angry, confused, battered like turbulent waves
against the door. He stopped as though stuck. About David's legs the clasp
of his mother's arms tightened protectingly. Again the cries threatening,
reproachful and a stamp and shuffling of feet. A sharp crack at the door--
flung open, it banged against a chair.

"Now let me go! I'm here! I'm going to speak!"

He knew the voice! One wild glance he threw over his shoulder--Aunt
Bertha grappling with her husband seemed less strange to him now that the
light of the kitchen had grown so grey. With a whimper of despair, he
clutched at his mother's neck, buried his face frenziedly into the crook of
her throat. And she, bewildered--

"Nathan! You? Bertha! What is it? You look so frantic!"

"I--I am angry!" Uncle Nathan gasped tormentedly. "I have much--!"

"It's nothing!" Aunt Bertha beat his words down. "My man is a fool!
Look at him! He's gone crazy!"

"Let me speak! Will you let me speak!"

"Be strangled first!" She flew at him venomously. "He wants--do you
know what he wants? Can't you guess? What does a Jew want? Money.
He's come to borrow money! And why does he want money? To make a
bigger store. Nothing else! He's out of his head! I'll tell you what happened
to him. He dreamt last night the police came and stripped off his boots, the
way they did his bankrupt grandfather in Vilna. It's gone to his head. He's
frightened. His wits are in a foam. Ask him where he is now. He couldn't
answer you. I'm sure he couldn't And how are you, Albert! It's a fair brace
of months since I have seen you! You ought to visit us sometimes, see our
little store, and vast variety of bon-bons. Cheh! Cheh! Und heva suddeh
wawdeh!"

David's father made no answer.

And lightly as though she expected none. "And why are you holding
him in your arms, Genya?"

"Just to--just to feel his weight," his mother replied unsteadily. "And he
is heavy!" She bent over to put him, down.

"No, Mama!" he whispered, clinging to her. "No, Mama!" "Only a
moment, beloved! I can't hold you in my arms so long. You're too heavy!"
She set him on his feet. "There! Once he gets up, he won't come down."
And still keeping her trembling hand on his shoulder, she turned to Nathan.
"Money? Why--?" She laughed confusedly. "I think the world's gone mad!
What makes you come to us of all people? Are you in your right senses,
Nathan?"

Fixing his glowering, harassed eyes on David, Nathan opened his mouth
to speak--

"Of course!" Aunt Bertha outstripped him. "Of course, you haven't any
money." She dug her elbow viciously into her husband's ribs. "That's what
I told him. To the very words! Didn't I?"

Almost giddy with terror and guilt, David had dodged behind his mother.
At her side stood his father, arms folded across his chest, aloof, nos-
trils still slowly flaring in the ebb and flow of passion. In the greying
light, his face looked like stone, only the nostrils and the crooked vein
on his brow alive. Then he uncrossed his arms. His dense, smoldering eyes
traveled from face to face, brushed David's who jerked his head away in
panic, traveled on and returned, cleaving there. Without turning to look,
David knew himself regarded, so palpable was that gaze, so like a pressure.
Enveloping him, it seemed to sap him from without He grew dizzy, reached
out numb hands for his mother's dress, hung there faintly. His father shifted
his gaze. And as though he had been struggling under water until this
moment, David gulped down breath, heard sounds again, voices.

"And you won't sit down?" His mother was asking solicitously. "You're
tired, both of you. I can see it. Why, supper for two more would take no
longer. Please stay!" "No! No! Thanks, sister!" Aunt Bertha was positive.

"But if he would go hunting for rusty horseshoes before he's had his supper,
why he can wait a little longer-- I'm as tired as he is. And I warned him!"

"I'm sorry we can't help you, Nathan. You know we would if we had it!
Oh! It's all so mixed! I'm confused! Why!" She laughed ruefully. "If it
weren't so absurd, Nathan, it would be flattering that you should think we
had any money."

Biting his lips, Uncle Nathan stared at the floor, swayed as if he might
fall. "I have nothing to say." he answered dully. "She's said it all."
"You see?" There was a note of triumph in Aunt Bertha's voice. "He's
ashamed of himself now. But now I like him!" She began nudging him
toward the door. "Now he's my man and as good a man as ever ate prunes
with his meat. Come, good heart! Mrs. Zimmerman is waiting-- My
customers will think I'm burying you." "You've a cunning way!" He
answered, shaking her off sullenly. "You've clogged my chimney well! But
you wait! You'll laugh in convulsion yet!"

"Come! Come!" She gave him a push toward the door. "Hoist up your
nose! That venture you want money for can wait!"

Uncle Nathan wrested his arm away, shook a desperate, baffled finger at
his wife. "A curse on you and your money and your whole story! I'll stay!
I'll speak!"

Aunt Bertha ignored him, opened the door. "Good night, sister! Forgive
him! He's always been a good husband, but to-night-- You know how men
are! When they're a little unstrung, they revel in it. Come, you!"

Cowering behind his mother, David watched Aunt Bertha drag her
stubborn husband toward the door. Their going would be no deliverance--
one doom postponed, another waiting. There could be no less terror if they
stayed, or if they went. Whatever way the mind turned it faced only fear.
This he had escaped. Aunt Bertha had saved him. But his father! His father
again! Their going abandoned him to that fury! But--

"Wait!"

For the first time since they had come, his father spoke. And now he
uncrossed his arms and stalked suddenly to the door.

"Wait!" He gripped Uncle Nathan's shoulder, towered above him.

"Come back!"

"What do you want of my man!" Aunt Bertha snapped in angry surprise.
"You let him alone. He's distraught enough without you troubling
him. Come, Nathan!" She redoubled her tugging at the other shoulder.

"It's you who should let him alone!" her brother-in-law growled
dangerously. "You and your cursed deceitl Come in, Nathan!"

Staring amazed from face to face, Uncle Nathan could muster no more
than a bewildered grunt.

"I say let him go!" Aunt Bertha shrieked furiously. "Wild beast, take
your paws off!"

"When I'm done!"

"Albert! Albert!" his mother's frightened voice. "What are you doing!
Let him alone!"

"No! No! Not till he's spoken!"

For a moment, half in the thickening light of the kitchen, half in the
gloom of the corridor, they wrestled for him, Uncle Nathan's pale, alarmed
face, bobbing back and forth between them, and all three struggling figures,
shadowy, unreal as nightmare. A moment longer, and with one vicious
yank, David's father pulled them back into the room, and with such force,
the other man pitched forward, his hat flying to the floor. He slammed the
door.

"Listen to me, Nathan!" He drummed his stiff hand against the other
man's chest. "You came here to say something, now say it. Stifle that she
ass and her guile! Say it! It isn't money!"

"N-nothing! Nothing! So help me, G-God!" Before the thrust of the
other's hand, Uncle Nathan fell back against his wife. "Bertha told you
everything! May evil befall me if she didn't! A store! I wanted! I saw! That
was all! No, Bertha?"

"You fool!" She spat at her husband. "Didn't I warn you not to come
here! Didn't I tell you you'd groan and remember? I've a good mind to--
What do you want of him?" She wheeled furiously on her brother-in-law.
"You let him alone, ungovernable beastl Do you hear? He's come for
money and nothing else! How many times do you want to be told? I don't
have to endure any more of your rages! Remember that!"

"Hold your tongue!" His father was beginning to quiver. "You
treacherous cow! I know you of old. I know what you've already done.
Speak, Nathan!" He smashed his fist down on the wash tub. "Don't let her
trick you! Speak! Whatever it is! Have no fear of me! Only the truth! I
have reasons! It may do me good to hear!"

"What's he saying?" Aunt Bertha's eyes bulged. "What new insanity
gripes him!"

"Albert, I beg of you!" his mother had seized her husband's arm. "If
you've any quarrel, it's with me. Let the man alone. He's told you all."

"Has he? So you think! Or pretend, maybe! But I know better! I have
eyes! I have seen! Will you speak?" Wrath stretched him to his full height.
Teeth bared, he advanced, dwarfing the other man who cowered.

"I-I've already s-said everything," his lips trembling, Uncle Nathan
reached behind him for the door. "I must leave! Bertha! Come!"

But David's father had rammed his palm against the door.

"You'll wait! You hear me? You'll wait till you answer me one thing!
And you'll answer it!"

"W-what do you want?"

"Why, when you opened your mouth to speak--Before that she-ass
brayed you out of words and will--Why did you stare at him?" He
hammered the air in David's direction. "Why that look? What was it you
were trying to say about him?"

"I--I have nothing to say. I didn't look at him. Let me alone in God's
will. Genya! Bertha! Don't let him quarrel with me."

"Albert! Albert! Stop torturing the man!"

"A curse on you! You fiend!" Aunt Bertha tried to squeeze in between
them "You madman! Let him alone!" He flung her viciously aside. "And
you, will you tell me what he did? Or do you want my fury to burst--!"

"Oh! Oh! Woe me! Woe me!" Aunt Bertha filled the room with a loud
gasping and lament. "Woe me! Did you see what he did? He threw me?
And me with a child in my belly. Monster! Mad dog! It's not drawers
you've ripped this time. It's a child you've destroyed! On your head my
miscarriage. Oh you'll pay for this! May they hang you. May you--"

"Not if you had twins would it trouble me. Your breed is well destroyed.
But I will find out what he did. That brat there! I'm waiting!" His voice
became strangled. "I tell you I'm at the end of my patience!"

Uncle Nathan began to sag as though about to faint. "He--uh--uh--
oy! oy! He--!"

"Not a word!" Aunt Bertha screamed. "Open that door or I'll shriek for
help! Let us out!"

They faced each other in a silence so awful it seemed as if the very
room would burst with the tension of it.

Blind with terror, unnoticed by any, David had already reeled toward the
stove. (--It's there! It's there!) A tortured, anguished voice babbled within
him. (--It's there! She put it there! It's there!) Groping, tottering hands
reached into the dark niche between the stove and the wall--

"Speak!" In the shrunken, shadowy room, his father had become all
voice, and his voice struck with the brunt of thunder.

"Bertha!" Uncle Nathan wailed. "Save me! Save me, Bertha! He's
going to strike! Bertha! Bertha!"

"Help!" she screamed. "Let go the door! Help! Help! Call! Genya,
throw up the window! Help!"

"Albert! Albert! Have mercy!"

"Speak!" Above their screaming, the horrible gritting of his teeth.
"I-- I-- uh--he-- it was he-- uh. Oh, Bertha! Noth--" "Anh!" That
insensate snarl. The shadowy arm drew back. "You--!"

"Papa!"

The bent arm hung in air, hung motionless. The writhing face above it
turned.

"Papa!" In the swirling, crumbling, darkened mind, that one compulsion
rallied the body and the brain like a standard. A dream? No, not a dream.
Not a dream nor the memory of a dream. An act, ordained, foreseen,
inevitable as this very moment, a channel of expertness, imbued for
ages, reiterated for ages, familiar as breath. He approached. The rest stood
spellbound.

"I-- It was me, papa--"

"David! Child!" His mother sprang toward him. "What have you got in
your hand!"

But before she could reach him, he had lifted the broken whip into his
father's curling fingers.

"David!" She seized him, drew him out of danger. "A whip! Near him!
What are you doing!"

"This?" The lids dropped over his father's consuming eyes. "Why do
you--? Why is this given? You know what happened to this? Is it your fate
you're begging for?"

"I-- I-- Please, papa!"

"You shan't touch him! You hear me, Albert! I won't endure it!" All
entreaty, all timidity had vanished, in its stead a fierce resolve. She bowed
over David like a ledge of rock. "Whatever he's done or anyone thinks he's
done, you shan't touch him!"

"Band against the alien, the stranger!" His father's voice was hollow
and perilous, "But let me hear him!" "Say nothing, child!" Aunt Bertha's
warning cry.

But he was already speaking. And the words he spoke were like
staggering burdens he bore up a great steep where his own sighs battered
him, where he floundered in his own tears.

"I was--I was on--the roof. Papa! I was on the roof! And there was a
b-boy. A big one--and--and he had a kite--k-kite, they called it. Kite--
goes h-higher than r-roofs--it goes--"

"What are you talking about!" His father ground. "Stop your candle
gutter! Hurry!"

"I'm--I'm--" He gasped for breath.

"God's fool!" Aunt Bertha rasped under her breath. "My man! My man!
May earth gape for you this very hour! You see what you've wrought!"

"Me?" Uncle Nathan groaned. "My fault? How did I--"

"So--s-somebody--wanted to take it. The k-kite. And I called. And I
said--look out! Look out! So I--I was his friend. Leo. He had skates and
then--Ow! Papa! Papa! And we went to Aunt Bertha's. And we got Esther
on the other side--in the yard. He got her--And he gave her the skates.
And then, ow! Ow! He took her in--in the cellar. And he--he--"

"He what!" The implacable voice was like a goad.

"I don't know! Ow! He p-played--he played--bad!" "Anh!"

"Don't you come near him!" his mother screamed. "Don't you dare!
That's enough, child! Hush! That's enough!" "H-he did! Not me, Papa!
Papa, not me! I didn't! Ow! Papa! Papa!" He clung frenziedly to his mother.

'That's hers! Her spawn! Mark me! Hers!" He seemed to be stifling in a
wild insane joy. "Not mine! Not a jot of me! Bertha, cow! Not mine! You,
Nathan! Rouse your sheep-wits! Your mate's betrayed my wife! Do you
know it? Blabbed her secret! Told him whose he was. An organist
somewhere. How I harbored a goy's get! A rake! A rogue's! His and hers!
But not mine! I knew it! I knew it all the time! And now I'm driving her
out! Her and him, the brat! Let him beat her in time to come. But I'm free!
He's no part of me! I'm free!"

"He's mad!" The other two whispered hoarsely and shrank away.

"Hear me!" He was slavering at the mouth. "I nurtured him! Three years
I throttled surmise, I was the beast of burden! Good fortune I never met!
Happiness never! Joy never! And--and that was right! Why should I meet
anything but misfortune! That was right! I was tainted. I was bridled with
another's sin. But for that--for all that suffering I have one privilege! Who
will deny me? Who? One privilege! To wreak! To quench! Once!"

And before anyone could move, he had lunged forward at David's mother.

"Ow! Papa! Papa! Don't!"

Those steel fingers closed like a crunching trap on David's shoulders--
yanked him out of her hands. And the whip! The whip in air! And--
"Owl Ow! Papa! Ow!"

Bit like a brand across his back. Again! Again! And he fell howling to
the floor.

His mother screamed. He felt himself grabbed, pulled to his feet,
dragged away. And now his aunt was screaming, Uncle Nathan's hoarse
outcry swelling the tumult. In the shadows, figures swayed, grappled--
And suddenly his father's voice, exultant, possessed, hypnotic--

"What's that? That! Look! Look at the floor! There! Who disbelieves
me now? Look what's lying there! There where he felll A sign! A sign I
tell you! Who doubts? A sign!"

"Unh!" Uncle Nathan grunted as though in sudden pain.

"Woe me!" Aunt Bertha gasped in horror. "It's--! What! No!"

Terror impinging on terror, David squirmed about in his mother's arms
--looked down--

There, stretched from the green square to the white square of the
checkered linoleum lay the black beads-- the gold cross framed in the
glimmering, wan glaze. Horror magnified the figure on it. He screamed.

"Papa! Papa! Leo--he gave them! That boy! It fell out! Papa!" His
words were lost in the uproar.

"God's own hand! A sign! A witness!" his father was raving, whirling
the whip in his flying arms. "A proof of my word! The truth! Another's! A
goy's! A cross! A sign of filth! Let me strangle him! Let me rid the world of
a sin!"

"Put him out! Genya! Put him out! David! David! Him! Hurry! Let him
run!" Aunt Bertha and Uncle Nathan were grappling with his father.

"Hurry! Out!"

"No! No!" his mother's frenzied cry.

"Hurry! I say! Hurry! Help! We can't hold him!" Uncle Nathan had
been shaken off. With knees bent, Aunt Bertha was hanging like a dead
weight from his father's whip-hand. "He'll slay him," she shrieked. "He'll
trample on him as he let his father be trampled on. Hurry, Genya!"

Screaming, his mother sprang toward the door--threw it open-- "Run! Run
down! Run! Run!"

She thrust him from her, slammed the door after him. He could hear the
thud her body flung against it. With a wild shriek he plunged toward the
stairs--

On the whole floor and even on the one below it, doors had been
opened. Spears of gas-lamps crisscrossed in the unlit hallway. Gaping,
craning faces peered out, listening, exclaiming, reporting to others behind
them--

"Hey, boychick! Vus is? A fight! Hey vot's de maddeh? Hooz hollerin'?
Leibeleh! Dun' go op! You hea' vot I say. Dun go op! Oy! Cull a cop! Tek
keh! Quick! Vehzee runnin'? Hey, boychick!"

A reeling smear of words, twitching gestures, fractured lights, features,
a flickering gauntlet of tumult and dismay. He never answered, but plunged
down. None stopped him. Only a miracle saved him from crashing down
the dark steps. And now the voices were above him, and he heard feet
trampling on the stairs, and now all noises merged to a flurried humming
and now almost unheard--his down-drumming feet had reached the hallway--
Blue light in the door-frame.

Arms up and gasping like a runner to the tape--

The street.

The street. He dared to breathe. And stumbled to the sidewalk and stood
there, stood there.



XX



DUSK. Storelight and lamplight condensed--too early for assertion.
The casual, canceled stir and snarling of distance. And on the sidewalks,
men and women striding with too certain a gait, and in the gutter, children
crossing, calling, not yet conceding the dark's dominion. The world dim
featured in mouldering light, floating, faceted and without dimension. For a
moment the wild threshing of voices, bodies, the screams, the fury in the
pent and shrunken kitchen split their bands in the brain, flew out to the
darkened east, the flagging west beyond the elevated, the steep immensity
of twilight that dyed the air above the housetops. For a moment, the rare
coolness of a July evening dissolved all agony in a wind as light as with the
passing of a wand. And suddenly there was space even between the hedges
of stone and suddenly there was quiet even in the fret of cities. And there
was time, inviolable even to terror, time to watch the smudged and cluttered
russet in the west beckon to the night to cover it. A moment, but a moment
only, then he whimpered and ran.

--Can't! Ow! Can't! Can't run! Can't! Hurts! Hurts! Owl Mama! Legs!
Mama!

He had no more than reached the corner when every racked fibre in his
body screamed out in exhaustion. Each time his foot fell was like a plunger
through his skull. On buckling legs, he crossed Avenue D, stopped, wobbling
with faintness, rubbed his thighs.

--Can't go! Can't! Hurt! Ow! Mama! Mama!

Fearfully, he peered over his shoulder, eyes traveling upward. From the
first to the third floor of his house, the lighted kitchens behind bedrooms
cast their dull stain on the windows--one dusky brass, one fawn, one
murky grey. A column of drab yet reassuring light--except his own on the
fourth floor, still sullen, aloof and dark. He caught his breath in a new
onslaught of terror. Waves of fear serried his breast and back--

--Ain't not yet! Ow! Fighting yet! Him! What's he doing! Mama!
Mama! He's hitting! Ow! Can't run! Some place! Stay here! Find! Watch!
Wait till-- Wait! Wait! Scared! Hide! Some place ... Where?

A short distance to his left, the closed dairy store between Ninth and
Tenth was unlit. He stumbled toward it. Behind the barricade of milk cans
chained to the cellar-railing, he crouched down on the store-step, fixed
lifted, imploring eyes to his windows. Dark, still dark. Baleful, unrelenting,
they hid yet betrayed the fury and disaster behind them. He moaned, bit his
fingers in agony, stared about him with a wild, tortured gaze.

Across the street the bar of green light in the photography shop blazed
out. People passed, leisurely, self-absorbed, and as they entered the radius
of the light, it fixed them momentarily in caustic, carrion-green. None
marked him there, but drifted by with too buoyant and too aimless a gait for
his own misery, drifted by with bloated corroded faces, as if heaved in the
swell of a weedy glare, as if lolling undersea. Too sick to endure it, he
looked away, looked up.

--Dark yet up. Dark . . . First, second, third is light. Mine Dark. Dark
mine only. Papa stop. Stop! Stop, papa. Light it now. Ain't mad no more.
Light it, mama. Now! One, two, three, now! One, two, three, now! Now!
Aaa! Ain't! Ain't! Ow! Run away, mama! Don't let him! Run away! Here!
Here I am! Runl Mama! Mama! Mama!

He whimpered.

A man, paunched, slow-footed, his bulky body rolling on baggy unbending
knees drew near. Opposite David, he turned a slow head toward the light,
palmed a strange, corrupt-purple splotch on his jowls, pinched his
under lip and lumbered on.

--With the whip. The busted one. Here he hit too. Him like from
wagon. And I gave it. Won't bust no more. If he--Don't let him! Don't let
him! Run in! Bedroom! Hold door. Tight! Don't let go! Aunt Bertha!
Uncle! You too! Hold it! Fast! Don't let him hit her! Hold it! Ow!
Mama! Stop! Stop, papa! Please! Ow! Look! Is--dark-- dark yet. Dark.
Beside him on the ground floor of the same house where he sat con-
cealed, a window squawked, whirred open. And a man's voice in sing
song harangue:

"Aaa, dawn be a wise-guy! Hooz tuckin' f'om vinnin'! A dollar 'n'
sexty fife gestem! A thuler 'n' sompt'n' --ova hadee cends--Sonday! An'
Monday night in back fom Hymen's taileh-shop, rummy, tuh sevendy. Oy,
yuh sh'd die. An' I sez if yuh ken give a good dill, Abe, yuh sheoll dill in
jail auraddy! An' if I Iuz again, a fire sol dich bald urtreffen!" The voice
retreated.

--If it lights, so what? What'll I do? He'll ask me. What'll I do? What?
What? Papa, nothing. I wanted . . . I wanted. What? The--The---on the
floor. Beads. Fell out--pocket. What for you--? Ow! Papa, I don't know
What? Why? He'll look. He'll say. Ball. Ball I wanted Ball? He'll say--
ball? Yes. Ball. In my head. Ow! I can't tell. Must! In my head seen. Was.
In the corner. By milk-stink baby carriages. White. Wasn't scared. What?
What? What? Yes. Wasn't scared. How I seen one once, when--When?
Sword in the fire. Tenth Street. Ask the rabbi. Sword. In the crack light and
he laughed. When I read that he--Fire. Light. When I read. Always scared
till then--and they made me. Goyim by river. And They-- So had. So lost.
Wanted back, Papa! Papa! Wanted back. And he said yes. Leo. Like inside
outside guts burning. And he said would. Come out of box. Said God on--
Wait, Papa! Papa! Don't hit! Don't! Ow! Didn't want a big one, only
twentier. Littler even. Only nickel-big. Down under fished--like when--
Ow! That's why, Papa! That's why! Didn't--Ow! Ain't! Ain't! Ain't lit yet!
What'll I do? Ain't lit yet!

They had gathered across the street before the house beside the barber
shop on the corner, boys, nimble, nervous and shrill. And one stood
threateningly on the stoop while the rest crouched tensely on the curb--
"Wolf, are yuh ready?"

'Tin geddin' ouda bed!"

"Wolf, are yuh ready?"

"I'm goin* t* de sink!"

"Wolf, are yuh ready?"

"I'm washin' op mine face--"

With precious, mincing gait, two women approached, scanning with
dead caressing flutter the dead faces of the men who passed them. Their
cheeks in the vitriolic glare of the photography-shop window were flinty yet
sagging; green light glazed the velvet powder, scummed the hectic rouge,
livid over lurid. One, the nearest, swelling her bosom to the figment strand
she lifted from it, sent a glancing beam at David from casual polished,
putrescent eyes. They sauntered on trailing a languid wake of flesh and
perfume, redolent for all the ten foot gap between them, emphasizing by
denying their corruption.

--Milk--stink here too. Where? Cans, because. Milk --stink big cans.
What's that--there by--cellar? What? Sword it--No! Don't care! Don't
care! Mama! Mama! "Wolf are yuh ready?"

"I'm putt'n' on my shoes--"

--If she runs, runs away. Don't look for me. Can't see. If she--like she
said. Never see her again. Take me, mama! Don't run away! Mama! Here I
am, Mama! By cans I'm hiding! By store! Dark yet--is dark. Dark always!
She went already. Didn't look! Don't want to find me! Never! Never! She
went! She went! Ow! Look someplace else! Look! Look someplace! Sword
by cans! No, ain't Forgot! He forgot. Store-spoon, milk-spoon. Why! Ow!
Mama! Mama! Ain't light! Never! Never! "Wolf, are yuh ready?"

"I'm pudd'n on my drawz--"

"No fair! Hey, yuh pud on de drawz a.'reddy!"

"Awri'! So I'm pudd'n* on my shoit!"

"Wolf, are--"

The clatter of a horse-car drowned them out. And from the window
beside him loud and sudden laughter--

"A bluff, ha? Nisht by Mudjkih! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ven 'Erry says a full
house is a full--"

--If it was--! If it was a sword. So what? You're scared. Ain't not!
You're scared! I ain't! I ain't! I ain't! Yes, you know because it ain't.
Double dare me? Double dare me? You know it ain't? Could! Even if it
ain't a sword, could go in the crack. Where it splashes, hold cup like where
you held sword. You're scared. Triple dare me? Somebody'll see. Let 'em!
Don't care! Can't get it out. Anyway. Cans too heavy--Can too. Empty. I
triple dare you? Wait! Aaaa, knew you was scared. Wait! Three waits! No
more! No more! Only three waits. No more! (He was muttering aloud now)
"Yuh gonna lighd winder? Winder! Winder! Yuh gonna lighd winder?"
"Wolf, are yuh ready?"

"I'm tieingk op mine shoe-laces!"

--Winder, secon' chance! Yuh gonna lighd winder? I'll go! I'll go!
Winder! Mama! Mama! I'll go!

He had risen to his feet. Once more his anguished eyes beseeched the
window, and then a fit of horrible rage convulsed him and he writhed and
beat the wall beside him. Seconds passed. The fit left him and he tasted the
salt blood on his bitten lip and peered with a new, strange feeling of
craftiness up and down the greenish street.

Humanity. On feet, on crutches, in carts and cars. The ice-vendor. The
waffle-wagon. Human voices, motion, seething, throbbing, bawling,
honking horns and whistling. Troubling the far clusters of street lamps,
setting store-lights guttering with their passing bodies like a wind. He
shuddered, looked near at hand. Across the street, the wolf was crouching,
ready to spring; the boys that baited him, twitched warily, giggled nervously
at each cry. In the photography-shop, the enlarged pictures of age gazed out
at him, mummified and horrible. From wall and sidewalk, lamplight and
mercury vapor had crowded the gloaming into night; above the streets the
hollow cobalt air dissolved heaven's difference with the roof tops. No one
was watching him.

In hatred this time, in challenge, his eyes stabbed the window. Dark. He
defied it.

Stealthily, he sidled to the nearest milk-can, took hold of the cover and
handle. Under his palms, the metal was cold, the heavy can unwieldy, a
shifting steely glimmer under his eyes. He leaned against it--harder. It
budged, sounded hollow. Again he braced himself, thrust-- Clank!
Wedged between the shoulder of the can and the cellar grill, the long,
grey, milk-dipper clattered to the ground. He stooped to pick it up--
"Tadam, padam, pam! Thew! Thew! He had to get under, get out and
get under--" With a jaunty, swaggering stride and nasal hum and toothy
whistle, a tall, squareshouldered man drew abreast. "To fix up his little
machine!" Between cap and black shirt, frosty green-blue eyes winked down
at David, turned away, and passing, left their chill fire lingering in the
air. "Pam! Pam! Prra! To fix up his little machine!"

The coast was clear now. Across the street, the children were shrieking
with excitement. David picked up the dipper, crept out of the store entrance,
and with the scoop of the dipper under his armpit, long, flat handle in his
hand, he slunk quickly toward Tenth Street--

"Wolf are yuh ready!" their voices pursued him. "I'm co-o-o--o
omin'--down--duh--st-o-o-op!"

--Goin'! I'm goin', winder! Winder! Winder! I'm goin'! Uphill, the faint
slope, steep to aching legs, he ran, avoiding the careless glance of the
few who noticed. Tenth Street. A street car crossed the Avenue, going west.
The river wind blew straight and salt between a flume of houses. He swung
sharply into it, entered the river-block, dimlit, vacant. Ahead of him, like
a barrier, the one beer-saloon, swinging door clamped in a vise of light, the
mottled stained-glass window bulging with a shoddy glow.

--Somebody'll see.

He skulked in the shadows against the rough wall of the iron-works,
crept forward. In the ebb of river-wind, the faint bitter flat beer spread
round him. Gone in the quick neaping of wind--A man knuckles to
mustache, flung back the swing-door--whirred reiteration of bar and
mirror, bottles, figures, aprons--David slunk past him into deeper shadow.
And now the old wagon-yard, the lifted thicket of tongues; the empty
stables, splintered runways, chalked doors, the broken windows holding
still their glass like fangs in the sash, exhaling manure-damp, rank. The last
street lamp droning in a cyst of light. The gloomy, massive warehouse, and
beyond it, the strewn chaos of the dump heap stretching to the river. He
stopped. And where a shadowy cove sank between warehouse wall and
dump heap, retreated.

--Yuh dared me . . . Yuh double-dared me . . . Now I gotta.

The tracks lay before him--not in double rows now but in a single
yoke. For where he stood was just beyond the fork of the switch, and the
last glitter on the tines lapsed into rust and rust into cobbles and cobbles
merged with the shadowy dock and the river.

--Scared! Scared! Scared! Don't look!

He plucked his gaze away, tossed frenzied eyes about him. To the left,
the chipped brick wall of the warehouse shut off the west and humanity, to
the right and behind him, the ledge of the dump heap rose; before him
land's end and the glitter on the rails.

--Yuh dared me . . . Yuh double-dared me . . . Now I gotta. I gotta make
it come out.

The small sputter of words in his brain seemed no longer his own, no
longer cramped by skull, but detached from him, the core of his
surroundings. And he heard them again as though all space had compelled
them and were shattered in the framing, and they boomed in his ears, vast,
delayed and alien.

--Double-dared me! Now I gotta! Double-dared me! Now I gotta make
it come out.



XXI



INSIDE the Royal Warehouse, located on the East River and Tenth Street,
Bill Whitney, an old man with a massive body, short-wind and stiff, rhe-
umatic legs, toiled up the stairway to the first floor. In his left hand, he
held a lantern, which in his absent-mindedness, he jogged from time to time
to hear the gurgle of its fuel. In his right hand, clacking on the bannister
at each upward reach of his arm, he held a key--the key he turned the clocks
with on every floor of the building--the proof of his watch and wakeful-
ness. As he climbed the swart stairs, stained with every upward step by
shallow, rocking lantern-light, he muttered, and this he did not so much
to populate the silence with ephemeral, figment selves, but to follow the
links of his own slow thinking, which when he failed to hear, he lost:
"And wut? Haw! Ye looked down--and--sss! By Gawd if there waren't the
dirt-rud under ye. And. Ha! Ha! Haw! No wheels. Them pedals were there--
now'waren't they? Saw 'em as clear--as clear--but the wheels gone
--nowhere. By Gawd, thinks I-- Now by Gawst, ain't it queer? Old Ruf
Gilman a'standin' there, a'standin' and a'gappin'. Jest a'standin' and
a'gappin' as plain-- And the whiskers he growed afore the winter ... By the
well with the white housing. A'savin' his terbaccer juice till he had nigh
a cupful . . . Whawmmmmm! Went plumb through the snaw in the winter . . ."

Resounded, surged and resounded, like ever swelling breakers:

--Double! Double! Double dared me!

Where there's light in the crack, yuh dared me. Now I gotta.

In the blue, smoky light of Callahan's beer-saloon, Callahan, the pale
fattish bar-keep jammed the dripping beer-tap closed and leaned over the
bar and snickered. Husky O'Toole--he, the broad-shouldered one with the
sky-blue eyes--dominated those before the bar (among them, a hunchback
on crutches with a surly crimp to his mouth, and a weazened coal-heaver
with a sooty face and bright eye-balls) and dwarfed them. While he spoke
they had listened, grinning avidly. Now he threw down the last finger of
whiskey, nodded to the bar-tender, thinned his thin lips and looked about.

"Priddy wise mug!" Callahan prompted filling his glass. "Well." OToole
puffed out his chest. "He comes up fer air, see? He's troo. Now, I says, now
I'll tell yuh sompt'n about cunt-- He's still stannin' be de fawge, see, wit'
his wrench in his han'. An I says, yuh like udder t'ings, dontcha? Waddayuh
mean, he says. Well, I says, yuh got religion, aintcha? Yea, he says. An' I
says, yuh play de ponies, dontcha? Yea, he says. An' yuh like yer booze,
dontcha? Sure, he says. Well I says, none o' dem fer me! Waddayuh mean,
he says. Well, I says, yuh c'n keep yer religion, I says. Shit on de pope, I
says-- I wuz jis' makin' it hot--an' t'hell witcher ponies I says-- I bets on
a good one sometimes, but I wuzn' tellin' him--an' w'en it comes t' booze
I says, shove it up yer ass! Cunt fer me, ev'ytime I says. See, ev'ytime!"
They guffawed. "Yer a card!" said the coal heaver. "Yer a good lad!--"
As though he had struck the enormous bell of the very heart of silence,
he stared round in horror. .

"Gaw blimy, mate!" Jim Haig, oiler on the British tramp Eastern
Greyhound, (now opposite the Cherry Street pier) leaned over the port rail
to spit. "I ain't 'ed any fish 'n* chips since the day I left 'ome. W'y ain't
a critter thought of openin' a 'omely place in New York--Coney Island fer
instance. Loads o' prawfit. Taik a big cod now--"

Now! Now I gotta. In the crack, remember. In the crack be born.

"Harrh! There's nights I'd take my bible-oath, these stairs uz higher."
On the first floor, Bill Whitney stopped, gazed out of the window that faced
the East River. "Stinkin' heap out there!" And lifting eyes above the stove
in enameled pots, cracked washtubs, urinals that glimmered in the black snarl,
stared at the dark river striped by the gliding lights of a boat, shifted
his gaze to the farther shore where scattered, lighted windows in factories,
mills were caught like sparks in blocks of soot, and moved his eyes again to
the south-east, to the beaded bridge. Over momentary, purple blossoms,
down the soft incline, the far train slid like a trickle of gold. Behind and
before, sparse auto headlights, belated or heralding dew on the bough of the
night. "And George a'gappin' and me a'hollerin' and a'techin the ground
with the toe of my boot and no wheels under me. Ha! Ha! Mmm! Wut cain't a
man dream of in his sleep ... A wheel ... A bike . . ." He turned away seek-
ing the clock. "And I ain't been on one . . . not sence . . . more'n
thirty-five . . . forty years. Not since I uz a little shaver . . ."

Clammy fingers traced the sharp edge of the dipper's scoop. Before his
eyes the glitter on the car tracks whisked... reversed . . . whisked . . .

"Say, listen O'Toole dere's a couple o' coozies in de back." The bar
keep pointed with the beer knife. "Jist yer speed!"

"Balls!" Terse O'Toole retorted. "Wudjah tink I jist took de bull-durham
sack off me pecker fer--nuttin'? I twisted all de pipes I wanna w'en I'm
pissin'!"

"No splinters in dese boxes, dough. Honest, O'Toole! Real clean--"

"Let 'im finish, will ye!" the hunchback interrupted sourly. "O'Toole
don' have to buy his gash."

"Well, he says, yea. An' I says yea. An' all de time dere wuz Steve an'
Kelly unner de goiders belly-achin'--Hey trow us a rivet. An' I sez--"
--Nobody's commin'l

Klang! Klang! Klang! Klang! Klang!

The flat buniony foot of Dan MacIntyre the motorman pounded the bell.
Directly in front of the clamorous car and in the tracks, the vendor of
halvah, candied-peanuts, leechee nuts, jellied fruits, dawdled, pushing his
pushcart leisurely. Dan MacIntyre was enraged. Wasn't he blocks and
blocks behind his leader? Hadn't his conductor been slow as shit on the
bell? Wouldn't he get a hell of a bawling out from Jerry, the starter on
Avenue A? And here was this lousy dago blocking traffic. He'd like to
smack the piss out of him, he would. He pounded the bell instead.
Leisurely, leisurely, the Armenian pedlar steered his cart out of the way.
But before he cleared the tracks, he lifted up his clenched fist, high and
pleasantly. In the tight crotch of his forefingers, a dirty thumb peeped
out. A fig for you, O MacIntyre.

"God damn yuh!" He roared as he passed. "God blast yuh!"

--So go! So go! So go!

But he stood as still and rigid as if frozen to the wall, frozen fingers
clutching the dipper.

"An' hawnest t'Gawd, Mimi, darlin'." The Family Entrance to Callahan's
lay through a wide alley way lit by a red lamp in the rear. Within,
under the branching, ten-driled chandelier of alum-bronze, alone
before a table beside a pink wall with roach-brown mouldings, Mary, the
crockery-cheeked, humid-eyed swayed and spoke, her voice being maudlin,
soused and reedy. Mimi, the crockery-cheeked, crockery-eyed, a smudged
blonde with straw-colored hair like a subway seat, slumped and listened.
"I was that young an' innercent, an' hawnest t' Gawd, that straight, I
brought it t' the cashier, I did. And, Eeee! she screams and ducks under
the register, Eeee! Throw it away, yuh boob! But what wuz I t'know--I wuz
on'y fifteen w'en I wuz a bus-goil. They left it on a plate-- waa, the
mugs there is in de woild--an' I thought it wuz one o' them things yuh
put on yer finger w'en ye git a cut--"

"A cut, didja say, Mary, dea'?" The crockery cheeks cracked into lines.
"Yea a cut-- a cu-- Weel Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Mimi, darlin' you're
comical! Wee! Hee! Hee! He! But I wuz that young an' innercent till he
come along. Weel Heel Hee! Hawnes' t' Gawd I wuz. I could piss troo a
beer-bottle then--"

Out of the shadows now, out on the dimlit, vacant street, he stepped
down from the broken curb-stone to the cobbles. For all his peering,
listening, starting, he was blind as a sleep-walker, he was deaf. Only the
steely glitter on the tracks was in his eyes, fixed there like a brand,
drawing him with cables as tough as steel. A few steps more and he was there,
standing between the tracks, straddling the sunken rail. He braced his legs
to spring, held his breath. And now the wavering point of the dipper's
handle found the long, dark, grinning lips, scraped, and like a sword in
a scabbard--

"Oy, Schmaihe, goy! Vot luck! Vot luck! You should only croak!"

"Cha! Cha! Cha! Dot's how I play mit cods!"

"Bitt him vit a flush! Ai, yi, yi!"

"I bet he vuz mit a niggerteh last night!"

"He rode a dock t' luzno maw jock--jeck I shidda said. Cha! Cha!"

"He's a poet, dis guy!"

"A putz!"

"Vus dere a hura mezda, Morr's?"

"Sharrop, bummer! Mine Clara is insite!"

Plunged! And he was running! Running!

"Nutt'n'? No, I says, nutt'n'. But every time I sees a pretty cunt come
walkin' up de street, I says, wit' a mean shaft an' a sweet pair o' knockers,
Jesus, OToole, I says, dere's a mare I'd radder lay den lay on. See wot I
mean? Git a bed under den a bet on. Git me?"

"Haw! Haw! Haw! Bejeeziz!"

"Ya! Ha! He tella him, you know? He lika de fica stretta!"

They looked down at the lime-streaked, overalled wop condescendingly,
and--

"Aw, bulloney," he says, "Yeah, I says. An' booze, I says, my booze is
wut I c'n suck out of a nice tit, I says. Lallal'mmm, I says. An' w'en it
comes t' prayin', I says, c'n yuh tell me anyt'ing bedder t' pray over den
over dat one!" O'Toole hastily topped the laugh with a wave of his hand.
"Yer an at'eist, yuh fuck, he hollers. A fuckin' at'eist I says-- An' all de
time dere wuz Steve and Kelly unner de goiders hollerin', hey trow us a riv
--"

Running! But no light overtook him, no blaze of intolerable flame. Only
in his ears, the hollow click of iron lingered. Hollow, vain. Almost within
the saloon-light, he slowed down, sobbed aloud, looked behind him--

"But who'd a thunk it?" Bill Whitney mounted the stairs again. "By
Gawd, who'd a thunk it? The weeks I'd held that spike for 'im . . .
Weeks . . .

And he druv and never a miss . . . Drunk? Naw, he warn't drunk that
momin'. Sober as a parson. Sober. A'swingin' of the twelve pound like a
clock. Mebbe it was me that nudged it, mebbe it war me ... By Gawd, I
knowed it. A feelin' I had seein' that black sledge in the air. Afore it
come down, I knowed it. A hull damned country-side it might of slid into.
And it had to be me . . . Wut? It wuz to be? That cast around my leg? A
pig's tit! It wuz to--"

Like a dipped metal flag or a grotesque armored head scrutinizing the
cobbles, the dull-gleaming dipper's scoop stuck out from between the rail,
leaning sideways.

--Didn't. Didn't go in. Ain't lit. Go back.

He turned--slowly.

--No--body's--look--

"Bawl? Say, did I bawl? Wot else'd a kid've done w'en her mont'ly
don' show up--Say! But I'll get even with you, I said, I'll make a prick
out of you too, like you done t' me. You wait! You can't get away with that.
G'wan, he said, ye little free-hole, he called me. Wott're ye after? Some
dough? Well, I ain't got it. That's all! Now quit hangin' aroun' me or
I'll ssmack ye one! He said."

"Where d'ja get it?"

"I borreed it--it wuzn't much. She called herself a m-mid-wife. I went
by m-meself. My old-huhu--my old l-lady n-never--O Jesus!" Tears rilled
the glaze.

"Say--toin off de tap, Mary, f Gawd's sake!"

"Awl Sh-hu-hu-shut up! Can't I b-bawl if I--I--uh-hu-uh--G-go p
peddle yer h-hump, h-he says--"

"But not hea', Mary, fr the lova Pete. We all gets knocked up sometimes
--"

--Horry op! Horry op back!

"They'll betray us!" Into the Tenth Street Crosstown car, slowing down
at Avenue A, the voice of the pale, gilt-spectacled, fanatic face rang out
above all other sounds: above the oozy and yearning "Open the door to
Jesus" of the Salvation Army singing in the park; above the words of the fat
woman swaying in the car as she said, "So the doctor said cut out all meat if
you don't want gall-stones. So I cut out all meat, but once in a while I fried
a little boloney with eggs--how I love it!" Above the muttering of the old
grey-bearded Jewish pedlar (he rocked his baby carriage on which pretzels
lay stacked like quoits on the upright sticks) "Founder of the universe, why
have you tethered me to this machine? Founder of the universe, will I ever
earn more than water for my buckwheat? Founder of the universe!" Above
the even enthusiasm of the kindly faced American woman: "And do you
know, you can go all the way up inside her for twenty-five cents. For only
twenty-five cents, mind you! Every American man, woman and child ought
to go up inside her, it's a thrilling experience. The Statue of Liberty is--"

--He stole up to the dipper warily, on tip--

"Shet up, down 'ere, yuh bull-faced harps, I says, wait'll I'm troo! Cunt,
I says, hot er snotty 'zuh same t' me. Dis gets 'em' hot. Dis gets em hot I
sez. One look at me, I says, an yuh c'n put dat rivet in yer ice-box--t'ings
'll keep! Yuh reams 'em out with dat he says--kinda snotty like. Shit no, I
says I boins 'em out. W'y dontcha trow it t'dem, he ays, dey're yellin' fer a
rivet. Aaa, I don' wanna bust de fuckin' goider I says. Yer pretty good, he
says. Good, I says, didja ever see dat new tawch boinin' troo a goider er a
flange er any fuck'n' hunka iron--de spa'ks wot goes shootin' down--?
Didja? Well dat's de way 'I comes. Dey tol' me so. An' all de time dere
wuz Steve and Kelly unner de goiders havin' a shit-hemorrage an' yellin'
hey, t'row--"

toe, warily, glancing over his shoulders, on tip-toe, over serried
cobbles, cautious--

"Wuz t' be. And by Gawd it might hev gone out when I went to bed a'
suckin' of it. By Gawd it hed no call t' be burnin'. . . . Wuz to be--
Meerschaum, genuwine. Thankee I said. Thankee Miz Taylor. And I stood
on the backstairs with the ice-tongs. Thankee and thank the Doctor ...
Boston, the year I--Haw, by Gawd. And the hull damn sheet afire. And
Kate ascreamin' beside me . .. Gawd damn it! It hadn't ought to 'a' done it .
. . A'lookin' at me still now . . . A'stretchin' of her neck in the white
room . . . in the hospital--"

As though his own tread might shake the slanting handle loose from its
perch beneath the ground. And now, and--

"Why not? She asks me. Pullin' loaded dice on Lefty. The rat! He can't
get away with that y'know. I know, Mag, I said. It'd do my heart good to
see a knife in his lousy guts--only I gotta better idee. What? She asks me.
Spill it. Spill it is right, I says t' her. I know a druggist-felleh, I said, good
friend o' mine. O yea, she looks at me kinda funny. Croak him with a dose
o'--No! I said. No poison. Listen Mag. Throw a racket up at your joint,
will ye? Give him an invite. He'll come. And then let me fix him a drink.
And I winks at her. Dintcha ever hear o' the Spanish Fly--"

over it now, he crouched, stretched out a hand to

"They'll betray us!" Above all these voices, the speaker's voice rose.
"In 1789, in 1848, in 1871, in 1905, he who has anything to save will
enslave us anew! Or if not enslave will desert us when the red cock crows!
Only the laboring poor, only the masses embittered, bewildered, betrayed,
in the day when the red cock crows, can free us!"

lift the dipper free. A sense almost palpable, as of a leashed and imminent a
nd awful force.

"You're de woist fuckin' liar I ever seen he sez an' ducks over de
goiders."

focused on his hand across the hairbreadth

"Yuh god mor'n a pair o' sem'ns?"

gap between his fingers and the scoop. He drew

"It's the snug ones who'll preach it wuz to be."

back, straightened. Carefully bal--

"So I dropped it in when he was dancin'--O hee! Hee! Mimi! A healthy
dose I--"

anced on his left, advance--

"Yeah. I sez, take your pants off."

ed his right foot--

Crritlkt!

--What?

He stared at the river, sprang away from the rail and dove into the
shadows.

"Didja hear 'im, Mack? De goggle-eyed yid an' his red cock?"

The river? That sound! That sound had come from there. All his senses
stretched toward the dock, grappled with the hush and the shadow. Empty . .?

"Swell it out well with batter. Mate, it's a bloomin' goldmine! It's a
cert! Christ knows how many chaps can be fed off of one bloody cod--"

Yes . . . empty. Only his hollow nostrils sifted out the stir in the quiet;
The wandering river-wind seamed with thin scent of salt

"An' he near went crazy! Mimi I tell ye, we near bust, watchin--"

decay, flecked with clinging coal-tar--

Crrritlkt!

"Can't, he sez, I got a tin-belly."

--It's-- Oh-- It's--if si Papa. Nearly like. It's--nearly like his teeth.
Nothing ... A barge on a slack hawser or a gunwale against the dock
chirping because a 'Til raise it."

boat was passing.

--Papa like nearly.

Or a door tittering to and fro in the wind.

"Heaz a can-opener fer ye I sez."

Nothing. He crept back.

"Hemm. These last dum stairs."

And was there, over the rail. The splendor shrouded in the earth, the
titan, dormant in his lair, disdainful. And his eyes

"Runnin' hee! hee! hee! Across the lots hee! hee! jerkin' off."

lifted

"An' I picks up a rivet in de tongs an' I sez--"

and there was the last crossing of Tenth Street, the last cross--

"Heazuh flowuh fer yea, yeller-belly, shove it up yer ass!"

ing, and beyond., beyond the elevateds,

"How many times'll your red cock crow, Pete, befaw y' gives up?
Tree?"

as in the pit of the west, the last

"Yee! hee! Mary, joikin'--"

smudge of rose, staining the stem of

"Nawthin't' do but climb--"

the trembling, jagged

"Show culluh if yuh god beddeh!"

chalice of the night-taut stone with

"An' I t'rows de fuck'n' rivet."

the lees of day. And his toe crooked into the dipper as into a stirrup. It
grated, stirred, slid, and--

"Dere's a star fer yeh! Watch it! T'ree Kings I god. Dey came on
huzzbeck! Yee! Hee Hee! Mary! Nawthin' to do but wait fer day light
and go home. To a red cock crowin'. Over a statue of. A jerkin'. Cod.
Clangl Clangl Oyl Machine! Liberty! Revolt! Redeem!"

Power
Power! Power like a paw, titanic power, ripped through the earth and
slammed against his body and shackled him where he stood. Power!
Incredible, barbaric power! A blast, a siren of light within him, rending,
quaking, fusing his brain and blood to a fountain of flame, vast rockets in
a searing spray!
Power!
The hawk of radiance raking him with talons of fire, battering his skull
with a beak of fire, braying his body with pinions of intolerable light. A nd
he writhed without motion in the clutch of a fatal glory, and his brain
swelled and dilated till it dwarfed the galaxies in a bubble of refulgence--
Recoiled, the last screaming nerve clawing for survival.
He kicked--once. Terrific rams of darkness collided; out of their shock
space toppled into havoc. A thin scream wobbled through the spirals of
oblivion, fell like a brand on water, his-s-s-s-s-ed--

"W'at?

"Wut?

"Va-at?

"Gaw blimey!

"Watsa da ma'?"

The street paused. Eyes, a myriad of eyes, gay or sunken, rheumy,
yellow or clear, slant, blood-shot, hard, boozy or bright swerved from their
tasks, their play, from faces, newspapers, dishes, cards, seidels, valves,
sewing machines, swerved and converged. While at the foot of Tenth Street,
a quaking splendor dissolved the cobbles, the grimy structures, bleary
stables, the dump-heap, river and sky into a single cymbal-clash of light.
Between the livid jaws of the rail, the dipper twisted and bounced,
consumed in roaring radiance, candescent--

"Hey!"

"Jesus!"

"Give a look! Id's rain--

"Shawt soicit, Mack--"

"Mary, w'at's goin'--"

"Schloimee, a blitz like--"

"Hey mate!"

On Avenue D, a long burst of flame spurted from underground, growled
as if the veil of earth were splitting. People were hurrying now, children
scooting past them, screeching. On Avenue C, the lights of the trolley-
car waned and wavered. The motorman cursed, feeling the power drain. In
the Royal Warehouse, the blinking watchman tugged at the jammed and
stubborn window. The shriveled coal-heaver leaned unsteadily from
between the swinging door--blinked, squinted in pain, and--

"Holy Mother O' God! Look! Will yiz!"

"Wot?"

"There's a guy layin* there! Burrhnin'!"

"Naw! Where!"

"Gawd damn the winder!"

"It's on Tent' Street! Lookl"

"O'Toole!"

The street was filled with running men, faces carved and ghostly in the
fierce light. They shouted hoarsely. The trolley-car crawled forward. Up
above a window slammed open.

"Christ, it's a kid!"

"Yea!"

"Don't touch 'im!"

"Who's got a stick!"

"A stickl"

"A stick, fer Jesus sake!"

"Mike! The shovel! Where's yer fuck'n' shov--" "Back in Call--"

"Oy sis a kind--"

"Get Pete's crutch! Hey Pete!"

"Aaa! Who touched yer hump, yuh gimpty fu--"

"Do sompt'n! Meester! Meester!"

"Yuh crummy bastard, I saw yuh sneakin'--" The hunchback whirl-
ed, swung away on his crutches. "Fuck yiz!"

"Oy! Oy vai! Oy vai! Oy vai!"

"Git a cop!"

"An embillance--go cull-oy!" "Don't touch 'im!"

"Bambino! Madre mia!"

"Mary. It's jus' a kid!"

"Helftz! Helftz! Helftz Yeedin! Rotivit!"

A throng ever thickening had gathered, confused, paralyzed, babbling.
They squinted at the light, at the outstretched figure in the heart of the light,
tossed their arms, pointed, clawed at their cheeks, shoved, shouted, moaned
-- "

Hi! Hi down there! Hi!" A voice bawled down from the height. "Look out be-
low! Look out!"

The crowd shrank back from the warehouse.

W-w-whack!

"It's a--"

"You take it!"

Grab it!"

"Gimme dat fuck'n' broom!"

"Watch yerself, O'Toole!"

"Oy, a good men! Got should--"

"Oooo! De pore little kid, Mimi!"

"He's gonna do it!"

"Look oud!

"Dunt touch!"

The man in the black shirt, tip-toed guardedly to the rails. His eyes, screwed
tight against the awful glare, he squinted over his raised shoulder.

"Shove 'im away!"

"Go easy!"

"Look odda!"

"Atta boy!"

"Oy Gottinyoo!"

The worn, blackened broom straws wedged between the child's shoulder and the
cobbles. A twist of the handle. The child rolled over on his face.

"Give 'im anudder shove!"

"At's it! Git 'im awayl"

"Quick! Quick!"

Once more the broom straws rammed the outstretched figure. He slid
along the cobbles, cleared the tracks. Someone on the other side grabbed his
arm, lifted him, carried him to the curb. The crowd swirled about in a
dense, tight eddy.

"Oy! Givalt!"

"Gib'm air!"

"Is 'e boined?"

"Bennee stay by me!"

"Is 'e boinedl Look at his shoe!"

"Oy, de pooh mama! De pooh mama!"

"Who's kid?"

"Don' know, Mack!"

"Huz pushin'?"

"Jesus! Take 'im to a drug-store."

"Naa, woik on 'im right here. I woiked in a power house!"

"Do sompt'n! Do sompt'n!"

The writhing dipper was now almost consumed. Before the flaring light,
the weird white-lipped, staring faces of the milling throng wheeled from
chalk to soot and soot to chalk again--like masks of flame that charred and
were rekindled; and all their frantic, gnarling bodies cut a darting splay of
huge, impinging shadow, on dump-heap, warehouse, river and street--

Klang! The trolley drew up.

"Oyeee! Ers toit! Ers to-i-t! Oye-e-e-e!" A woman screamed, gagged,
fainted.

"Hey! Ketch 'er!"

"Schleps aveck!"

"Wat d' hell'd she do dat fer--"

"Vawdeh!"

They dragged her away on scufflng heels to one side. "Shit!" The
motorman had jumped down from the car and seized the broom--

"Fan 'er vid de het!"

"Git off me feet, you!"

"At's it! Lean on 'im O'Toole! Push 'im down! At's it! At's it! I woiked
in a power house--"

And with the broom straws the motorman flipped the mangled metal
from the rail. A quake! As if leviathan leaped for the hook and fell back
threshing. And darkness.

Darkness!

They grunted, the masses, stood suddenly mute a moment, for a moment
silent, stricken, huddled, crushed by the pounce of ten-fold night. And
a voice spoke, strained, shrunken, groping--

"Ey, paizon! She 'sa whita yet--lika you looka da slacka lime alia time! You
know?"

Someone shrieked. The fainting woman moaned. The crowd muttered,
whispered, seething uneasily in the dark, welcomed the loud newcorners
who pierced the dense periphery--

"One side! One side!" Croaking with authority, the stone-grim
uniformed one shouldered his way through. "One side!"

"De cops!"

"Dun't step on 'im!"

"Back up youz! Back up! Didja hea' me, Moses? Back up! Beat it! G'wan!"
They fell back before the perilous arc of the club. "G'wan before I fan
yiz! Back up! Let's see sompt'n' in hea'! Move! Move, I say!"Artificial ire
flung the spittle on his lips. "Hey George!" He flung at a burly one. "Give
us a hand hea, will yiz!"

"Sure! Git back you! Pete! Git that other side!"

The policeman wheeled round, squatted down beside the black-shirted
one. "Don' look boined."

"Jist his shoe."

"How long wuz he on?"

"Christ! I don't know. I came ouda Callahan's an' de foist t'ing I know
somebody lams a broom out of a winder, an' I grabs it an' shoves 'im off de
fuck'n t'ing--"

"Sh! Must a done it himself-- Naa! Dat ain't de way! Lemme have 'im." He
pushed the other aside, turned the child over on his face. "Foist aid
yuh gits 'em hea." His bulky hands all but encompassed the narrow waist.
"Like drownin', see?" He squeezed,

Khir-r-r-r-f! S-s-s-s-.

"I hoid 'im!"

"Yeah!"

"He's meckin' him t' breed!"

"See? Gits de air in 'im."

Khir-r-r-r-f! S-s-s-s.

"Looks like he's gone, do. Were de hell's dat am-billance?"

"Vee culled id a'reddy, Ufficeh!"

"Arh!"

"Rap 'im on de feet arficer, I woiked in a power--"

Khir-r-r-r-f! S-s-s-s

"Anybody know 'im? Any o' youz know dis kid?" The inner and the
craning semi-circle muttered blankly. The policeman rested his ear against
the child's back.

"Looks like he's done fer, butchuh can't tell--"

Khir-r-r-rf! S-s-s-s.

"He sez he's dead, Mary."

"Dead!"

"Oy! Toit!"

"Gott sei donk, id's nod mine Elix--"

Khir-r-r-r-f. S-s-s-s.

"Sit im helfin vie a toitin bankis." The squat shirtsleeved Jew whose
tight belt cut his round belly into the letter B turned to the lime-streaked
wop--squinted, saw that communication had failed. "It'll help him like
cups on a cawps," he translated--and tapped his chest with an ace of
spades.

Khi-r-r-r-f. S-s-s-s.

(E-e-e-e. E-e-e-e-.

One ember fanned ... dulling ... uncertain)

"Here's the damned thing he threw in, Cap." The motor-man shook off
the crowd, held up the thinned and twisted metal.

"Yea! Wot is it?"

"Be damned if I know. Hot! Jesus!"

Khir-r-r-f. S-s-s.

(E-e-e-e-e.

Like the red pupil of the eye of darkness, the ember dilated, spun like a
pinwheel, expanding, expanding, till at the very core, a white flaw rent the
scarlet tissue and spread, engulfed the margin like a stain--)

"Five hundred an' fifty volts. What a wallop!"

"He's cooked, yuh t'ink?"

"Yea. Jesus! What else!"

"Unh!" The policeman was grunting now with his efforts.

Kh-i-r-r-r-f! S-s-s-s.

"Hey, Meester, maybe he fell on id-- De iron--"

"Sure, dot's righd!"

"Id's fom de compeny de fault!"

"Ass, how could he fall on it, fer the love O JesusI" The motor-man
turned on them savagely.

"He could! Id's easy!"

"Id vuz stink--stick--sticken oud!"

"He'll sue, dun' vorry!"

"Back up, youz!"

Khi-r-r-r-fl S-s-s.

(Eee-e-e-e

And in the white, frosty light within the red iris, a small figure slanted
through a desolate street, crack-paved, rut-guttered, slanted and passed,
and overhead the taut, wintry wires whined on their crosses--

E-e-e-e-e.

They whined, spanning the earth and sky.

--Go-d-d-b! Go-o-o-ob! G-o-o-b! G'bye!...)

"Makin' a case fer a shyster. C'n yuh beat it!"

"Ha-a-ha! Hunh!"

"I'm late. Dere it is." The motorman dropped the gnarled and blackened
dipper beside the curb.

"An Irisher chuchim!"

"Ain't it a dirty shame--"

"Noo vud den!"

"Wat's happened, chief?"

"Dere give a look!"

"Let's git troo dere!"

"Unh!"

Kh-i-r-r-r-f! S-s-s-s.

(--G'by-e-e. Mis-s-s-l-e. M-s-ter. Hi-i-i-i. Wo-o-o-d. And a man in a
tugboat, hair under arm-pits, hung from a pole among the wires, his white
undershirt glittering.

He grinned and whistled and with every note yellow birds flew to the
roof.)

"T'ink a shot o' sompt'n' 'll do 'im any good?"

"Nuh! Choke 'im if he's alive."

"Yeh! If hiz alife!"

"W'ea's 'e boined?"

"Dey say id's de feet wid de hen's wid eveytingk."

"Unh!"

Khi-r-r-r-f! S-s-s-s.

(We-e-e-e- The man in the wires stirred. The Wires twanged brightly.
The blithe and golden cloud of birds filled the sky.)

"Unh!"

(Klang! The milk tray jangled. Leaping he neared. From roof-top to roof-
top, over streets, over alley ways, over areas and lots, his father soared
with a feathery ease. He set the trays down, stooped as if searching, paused
--)

"Unh!"

(A hammer! A hammer! He snarled, brandished it, it snapped like a
whip. The birds vanished. Horror thickened the air.)

"Unh!"

"He's woikin' hard!"

"Oy! Soll im Gott helfin!"

"He no waka."

(Around him now, the cobbles stretched away. Stretched away in the
swirling dark like the faces of a multitude aghast and frozen)

"Unh!"

(W-e-e-e-e-e-p! Weep! Overhead the brandished hammer whirred and
whistled. The doors of a hallway slowly opened. Buoyed up by the dark, a
coffin drifted out, floated down the stoop, and while confetti rained upon
it, bulged and billowed--)

"Unh!"

Khi-r-r-r-rf! S-s-s-s-

(--Zwank! Zwank! Zwank! The man in the wires writhed and groaned, his slimy,
purple chicken-guts slipped through his fingers. David touched his lips.
The soot came off on his hand. Unclean. Screaming, he turned to flee,
seized a wagon wheel to climb upon it. There were no spokes--only cogs
like a clock-wheel. He screamed again, beat the yellow disk with his fists.)

"Unh!"

Kh-i-r-r-rf! S-s-s-s.

"Didja see it?"

"See it? Way up on twelft'!"

"I could ivin see id in de houz--on de cods."

"Me? I vas stand in basement--fok t'ing mack blind!" "Five hundred
an' fifty volts."

(As if on hinges, blank, enormous mirrors arose, swung slowly upward
face to face. Within the facing glass, vast panels deployed, lifted a steady
wink of opaque pages until an endless corridor dwindled into night.)

"Unh! Looks Jewish t' me."

"Yeah, map o' Jerusalem, all right."

"Poor bastard! Unh!"

"Couldn't see him at foist!"

"Unh!"

Kh-ir-r-rf! S-s-s-s.

("You!" Above the whine of the whirling hammer, his father's voice thundered.
"You!" David wept, approached the glass, peered in. Not himself was there, not
even in the last and least of the infinite mirrors, but the cheder wall, the
cheder)

"Junheezis!"

Kh-i-r-r-rf! S-s-s-s.

(Wall sunlit, white-washed. "Chadgodyat" moaned the man in the wires.
"One kid one only kid." And the wall dwindled and was a square of pavement
with a footprint in it--half green, half black, "I too have trodden there."
And shrank within the mirror, and the cake of ice melted in the panel
beyond. "Eternal years," the voice wailed, "Not even he.")

"Unh!"

"Gittin' winded? Want me to try it?"

"Nunh!"

"Look at 'im sweat!"

"Vy not? Soch a coat he's god on!"

"Wot happened, brother?"

"Cheh! He esks yet!"

"Back up, you!"

"Unh!"

Kh-i-r-r-r-f! S-s-s-s.

(And faded, revealing a shoe box full of calendar leaves, "the red day
must come.")

"Unh! Did he move or sumpt'n?"

"Couldn't see."

(which lapsed into a wooden box with a sliding cover like the chalk
boxes in school, whereon a fiery figure sat astride a fish. "G-e-e-e o-o-o d
e-e-e-!" The voice spelled out. And shrank and was a cube of sugar gripped
be-)

"Unh!"

Kh-i-r-r-r-f! S-s-s-s.

"Shah! Y'hea id?"

"W'a?"

"Yea! It's commin!"

"Id's commin'!"

"I sees it!"

"Meester Politsman de--"

"Back up, youz!"

A faint jangle seeped through the roar of the crowd. "Unh!"

(tween the softly glowing tongs. "So wide we stretch no further--" But
when he sought to peer beyond, suddenly the mirrors shifted, and-- "Go
down!" his father's voice thundered, "Go down!" The mirrors lay beneath
him now; what were the groins now jutted out in stairs, concentric ogives,
bottomless steps. "Go downI Go down!" The inexorable voice beat like a
hand upon his back. He screamed, de--)

Jaoglet Angle! Angle! Angle!

"Dere! It's cornin'!"

"Look! Look hod dere!"

"Orficerl"

Angle! Jang!

"Christ's about time!"

The crowd split like water before a prow, reformed in the wake, surged
round the ambulance, babbling, squall--

(scended. Down! Down into darkness, darkness that tunneled the heart
of darkness, darkness fathomless. Each step he took, he shrank, grew
smaller with the unseen panels, the graduate vise descending, passed from
stage to dwindling stage, dwindling. At each step shed the husks of being,
and himself tapering always downward in the funnel of the night. And now
a chip--a step-a flake-a step-a shred, A mote. A pinpoint. And now the seed
of nothing, and nebulous nothing, and nothing, And he was not. . . .)

ing, stabbing the dark with hands. "Ppprrr!" Lips flickered audibly as
the blue-coat rose. With one motion, palm wiped brow, dug under sweat
stained collar. Sofdy bald, the bareheaded, white garbed interne hopped
spryly from the ambulance step, black bag swinging in hand, wedged
whitely through the milling crowd. Conch-like the mob surrounded,
contracted, trailed him within the circle, umbiliform--

"Lectric shot; Doc!"

"De hospital!"

"Knocked him cold!"

"Shock?"

"'Zee dead?"

"Yea, foolin' aroun' wid de--"

"Shawt soicited it, Doc!"

"Yea, boined!"

"Vee sin id Docteh!"

"Git back, youz!" The officer crouched, snarled, but never sprang. "I'll
spit right in yer puss!"

"Mmm!" The interne pinched the crease of his trousers, pulled them up,
and kneel--

"Guess yuh better take 'im witchuh, Doc. Couldn't do a goddam t'ing
wit--"

"He's gonna hea' de heart! See?"

(But--)

ing beside the beveled curbstone, applied his ear to the narrow breast.

"Shoe's boined. See it, Doc?"

(the voice still lashed the nothingness that was, denying it oblivion.
"Now find! Now find! Now find!'' And nothingness whimpered being
dislodged from night, and would have hidden again. But out of the
darkness, one ember)

"Take it off, will you, let's have a look at it."

(flowered, one ember in a mirr--)

"Sure!" Blunt, willing fingers ripped the (or, swimming without motion
in the motion of its light.) buttons open,

"Hiz gonna look."

(In a cellar is) dragged the shoes off,

(Coal! In a cellar is) tore the stocking down, re--

(Coal! And it was brighter than the pith of lightning and milder than
pearl,)

vealing a white puffy ring about the ankle, at

(And made the darkness dark because the dark had culled its radiance
for that jewel. Zwank!)

"Is it boined?"

"Can't see, c'n you?"

which the interne glanced while he drew

"Waddayuh say, Doc?"

a squat blue vial from his bag, grimaced, un

(Zwank! Zwank! Nothingness beatified reached out its hands. Not cold the
ember was. Not scorching. But as if all eternity's caress were fused and
granted in one instant. Silence)

corked it, expertly tilted it before

(struck that terrible voice upon the height, stilled the whirling hammer. Horror
and the night fell away. Exalted, he lifted his head and screamed to him among
the wires-- "Whistle, mister! Whistle!)

the quiet nostrils. The crowd fell silent, tensely watching.

"Amonya."

"Smells strong!"

"Stinks like in de shool on Yom Kippur."

(Mister! Whistle! Whistle! Whistle! Whistle, Mister! Yellow birds!)

On the dark and broken sidewalk, the limp body gasped, quivered. The
interne lifted him, said sharply to the officer. "Hold his arms! He'll
fight!"

"Hey look! Hey look!" "He's kickin'!"

(Whistle, mister! WHISTLE!")

"Wat's he sayin'?"

"There! Hold him now!"

(A spiked star of pain of consciousness burst within him)

"Mimi! He's awright! He's awright!"

"Yeh?"

"Yea!"

"No kiddin'! No kiddin'!"

"Yeh!"

'Yuh!"

"Yeh!"

"Oi, Gott sei dank!"



XXII



"THERE you are, sonny! There you are!" The interne's reassuring
drawl, reached him through a swirl of broken images. "You're not hurt.
There's nothing to be scared about."

"Sure!" the policeman was saying beside him,

David opened his eyes. Behind, between them and around them, like a
solid wall, the ever-encroaching bodies, voices, faces at all heights,
gestures at all heights, all converging upon him, craning, peering, har-
anguing, pointing him out, discussing him. A nightmare! Deliverance was
in the thought. He shut his eyes trying to remember how to wake.

"How does that foot feel, sonny?" The routine, solicitous voice again
inquired. "Not bad, eh?"

He was aware for the first time of the cool air on his naked leg, and
below it a vague throbbing at the ankle. And once aware, he couldn't shake
off the reality of it. Then it wasn't a dream. Where had he been? What
done? The light. No light in the windows upstairs . . . His father. His
mother. The quarrel. The whip. Aunt Bertha, Nathan, the rabbi, the cellar,
Leo, the beads--all swooped upon him, warred for preeminence in his
brain. No. It wasn't a dream. He opened his eyes again, hoping reality
would refute conviction. No it wasn't a dream. The same two faces leaned
over him, the same hedge of humanity focused eyes on his face.

"Looks like he's still too weak," said the interne.

"Yuh goin' t'take him wid ye?"

"No!" Grimacing emphatically, the interne shut the black bag. "Why, he'll
be able to walk in less than five minutes. Just as soon as he gets his
breath. Where does he live?"

"I don' know. None o' dese guys know-- Say, w'ere d'yuh live? Huh?
Yuh wanna go home, dontchuh?"

"N-nint' street." He quavered. "S-sebm fawdynine."

"Nint' Street." The crowd reechoed. "Say ufficeh," a coatless man came
forward. "Det's on de cunner Even-yuh D."

"I know! I know!" The policeman waved him back with surly hand.

"Say, Doc, will ye give us a lift."

"Sure. Just pick him up."

"Yea, ooops! Dere ye go!" Burly arms went under his knees and back,
lifted him easily, carried him through the gaping crowd to the ambulance.
His head swam again with the motion. He lay slack on a long leather cot
between greenish walls, aware of faces whisking by the open doorway,
peering in. The interne seated himself at the back, called to the driver. The
bell clanged, and as the wagon jolted forward, the policeman mounted the
low step in the rear. Behind the ambulance, rolling on rubber-tired wheels
on the cobbles, he could hear the voices calling the way. "Nint' Street!
Nint' Street!" The throb in his ankle was growing in depth, in dullness of
pain, permeating upward like an aching tide within the marrow. What had
he done? What had he done? What would they say when they brought him
upstairs. His father, what--? He moaned.

"That doesn't hurt you that much, does it?" asked the interne cheerily.
"You'll be running around to-morrow."

"Yer better off den I tawt ye'd be, said the policeman behind him.
"Cheezis, Doc, I sure figgered he wuz cooked."

"No. The shock went through the lower part. That's what saved him. I
don't see why he was out so long anyway. Weak, I guess."

Behind beating hooves and jangling bell, he felt the ambulance round
the corner at Avenue D. The policeman turned to look behind him and
then squinted sideways at David's foot.

"His shoes wuz boined in front. An' he's got it up on de ankle."

"Narrowest part."

"I see. Dat'll loin yuh a lesson, kid." He disengaged one hand
the ambulance wall to wave a severe finger at David. "Next
time I'll lock yiz up. Wot flaw d'yuh live on?"

"T-top flaw."

"Would have t'be," he growled disgustedly. "Next time I will lock
yiz up--making me woik, an' takin' de Doc away from a nice pinocle
game. Wot dese goddam kids can't t'ink of. Geez!"

The ambulance had rounded the second corner and came to a stop.
Grinning, the interne leaped down. Stooping over and grunting as he
stooped, the policeman lifted him in his arms again and bore him quick-
ly through the new throng that came streaming around the corner. On the
stoop, several children recognized him and bawled excitedly, "It's Davy!
It's Davy!" A woman in the gaslit corridor cradled cheek in palm in terror
and backed away. They mounted the stairs, the interne behind them and
behind him remnants of the crowd, children of the house, following eager-
ly at a wary distance, jabbering, calling to him, "Watsa maddeh? Watsa
maddeh, Davy?" Doors opened on the landings. Familiar heads poked out.
Familiar voices shrilled at others across the hallway. "It's him! F'om
opstehs. Veh de fighd voz!" As they neared the top the policeman had
begun breathing heavily, shedding thick hot breath on David's cheek,
grunting, the lines on his scowling, tough, red face deep with exertion.

The top floor. David's eyes flashed to the transom. It was lit. They were
in. What would they say? He moaned again in terror.

"Where is it?" the red face before him puffed.

"Over--over dere!" he quavered weakly.

The door. The arm under his knees slid forward. Beefy knuckles rapped,
sought the knob. Before an answer came, the door, nudged forward by his
own thighs, swung open.

Before him stood his mother, looking tense and startled, her hand rest-
ing on his father's shoulders, and below, seated, his father, cheek on fist,
eyes lifted, sourly glowering, affronted, questioning with taut and whiplike
stare. The others were gone. It seemed to David that whole ages passed in
the instant they regarded each other frozen in their attitudes. And then just
as the policeman began to speak, his mother's hand flew to her breast, she
gasped in horror, her face went agonizingly white, contorted, and she
screamed. His father threw his chair back, sprang to his feet. His eyes
bulged, his jaw dropped, he blanched.

For the briefest moment David felt a shrill, wild surge of triumph whip
within him, triumph that his father stood slack-mouthed, finger-clawing,
stooped, and then the room suddenly darkened and revolved. He crumpled
inertly against the cradling arms.

"David! David!" His mother's screams pierced the reeling blur. "David!
David! Beloved! What is it? What's happened?"

"Take it easy, missiz! Take it easy!" He could feel the policeman's el-
bow thrust out warding her off. "Give us a chanst, will yuh! He ain't hoit!
He ain't a bit hoit! Hey Doc!"

The interne had stepped between them and David, staring weakly through
the sickening murk before his eyes, saw him pushing her resolutely
away. "Now! Now! Don't get him excited, lady! It's bad! It's bad for him!
You're frightening him! Understand? Nicht ver--Schlect! Verstehen sie?"

"David! My child!" Unhearing, she still moaned, frantically, hysteric-
ally, one hand reached out to him, the other clutching her hair.

"Your foot! What is it, child! What is it darling?"

"Put him down on the bed!" The interne motioned impatiently to the
bed-room. "And listen, Mister, will you ask her to stop screaming. There's
nothing to worry aboutl The child is in no danger! Just weak!"

"Genya!" his father started as if he were jarred. "Genya!" He exclaimed
in Yiddish. "Stop it! Stop it! He says nothing's wrong. Stop it!"

From outside the door, the bolder ones in the crowd of neighbors that
jammed the hallway had overflowed into the kitchen and were stationing
themselves silently or volubly along the walls. Some as they jabbered
pointed accusingly at David's father and wagged their heads significantly.
And as David was borne into the bedroom, he heard one whisper in
Yiddish, "A quarrel! They were quarreling to death!" In the utterly
welcome half-darkness of the bed-room he was stretched out on the bed.
His mother, still moaning, had followed, and behind her his restraining hand
upon her shoulder came the interne. Behind them the upright, squirming
bodies, pale, contorted faces of neighbors clogged the doorway. A gust of
fury made him clench his hands convulsively. Why didn't they go away?
All of them! Why didn't they stop pointing at him?

"I was just this minute going down!" his mother was wringing her hands
and weeping, "Just this minute I was going down to find you! What is it
darling? Does it hurt you? Tell me--"

"Aw, Missiz!" the policeman flapped his hands in disgust. "He's all
right. Be reasonable, will yiz! Just a liddle boined, dat's all. Just
a liddle boined. Cantchuh see dere's nutt'n' wrong wid 'im!"

She stared at him uncomprehendingly.

"Schreckts ach nisht! Schreckts ach nisht!" The chorus of women in the
doorway translated raggedly. "Sis im goor nisht geshehen! S' goor nisht
geferlich!"

"Dat's it, you tell her!" The policeman shouldered his way through the
door.

The interne had undressed him, pulled the covers down and tucked him
in. The smooth sheets felt cool on his throbbing foot.

"Now!" He straightened, turned decisively to David's mother. "You
can't help him by crying, lady. If you want to help him go make him some
tea. A lot of it."

"Kein gefahr?" she asked dully, disbelievingly.

"Yes! Yes! That's right!" he answered impatiently. "Kein gefahr! Now
make him some tea."

"Teh, Mrs. Schearl," a woman in the doorway came forward. "Geh
macht eem teh!"

'Teh?"

"Yes! Teh!" the interne repeated. "Quick! Schnell! Yes?" She turned
numbly. The woman offered to help her. They went out.

"Well, how's the kid?" the interne grinned down at him. "Feel good?"

"Y-yeh."

"That's the boy! You'll be all right in a little while." He turned to leave.

A fattish, bare-armed woman stood at his shoulder. David recognized her.
She lived on the same floor.

"Ducktuh!" she whispered hurriedly. "Yuh shoulda seen vod a fighd
dere vus heyuh!" She contracted, rocked. "Oy-yoy! Yoy-u-yoy! Him, dat
man, his faddeh, he vus hittin' eem! Terrible! A terrhible men! En' dere
vus heyuh his cozzins--oder huh cozzins--I don' know! En' dey vus fighdingk.
Oy-yoy-yoy! Vid scrimms! Vid holleringk! Pwwweeyoy! En' den dey chessed
de boy all oud f om de house. En den dey chessed de odder two pipples!
En' vee vus listeningk, en' dis man vos crying. Ah'm khrezzy! Ah'm khrezzy!
I dun know vod I do! I dun' know vod I said! He ses. Ah'm khrezzy! En' he
vus cryingk! Oy!"

"Is that so?" the interne said indifferently.

"Id vus terrhible! Terrhible! En' Ducktuh," she patted his arm. "Maybe
you could tell me fah vy my liddle Elix dun eat? I give him eggks vid milk
vid kulleh gedillehs. En he don't vonna eat nottingk. Vod sh'd I do?"

"I don't know." He brushed by her. "You'd better see a doctor."

"Oy bist du a chuchim!" she spat after him in Yiddish. "Does the breath
of your mouth cost you something?"

His mother returned. Her hair was disheveled. Tears still stained her
cheek though she had stopped crying. "You'll have some tea in a minute,
darling." A tremulous gasp of after-weeping shook her. "Does your foot
hurt very much?"

"N-no," he lied.

"They told me you were at the car-tracks," she shuddered. "How did
you come there? You might have been-- Oh! God forbid! What made you
go? What made you do it?"

"I don't--I don't know," he answered. And the answer was true. He
couldn't tell now why he had gone, except that something had forced him,
something that was clear then and inevitable, but that every passing minute
made more inarticulate. "I don't know, mama."

She groaned softly, sat down on the bed. The fat woman with the bare
arms touched her shoulders and leaned over her.

"Poor Mrs. Schearl!" she said with grating, provocative pity. "Poor Mrs.
Schearl! Why ask him? Don't you know? Our bleeding, faithful mother's
heart they think nothing of wringing. Nothing! Woe you! Woe me! Before
we see them grown, how many tears we shed! Oy-yoy-yoy! Measureless.
So our children bring us suffering. So our men. Alas, our bitter lot! No?"
Her see-saw sigh heaved gustily, pitched audibly. She folded her hands on
her loose flabby belly and rocked sorrowfully.

His mother made no answer, but gazed fixedly into his eyes.

In the kitchen, he could hear the policeman interrogating his father, and
his father answering in a dazed, unsteady voice. That sense of triumph that
David had felt on first being brought in, welled up within him again as he
listened to him falter and knew him shaken.

"Yes. Yes," he was saying. "My sawn. Mine. Yes. Awld eight. Eight en'--en'
vun mawnt'. He vas bawn in--" "Wait a minute!" The policeman's voice inter-
rupted him, "Say, Doc, befaw yuh go, tell us, did I do it good. You know--d
at foist-aid business. Waddayer say? In case dere's a commendation er sompt'n."

"Sure! Fine! Couldn't have done it better myself."

"Tanks, Doc. An' say, gimme de medical repawt, will yuh? Shock? Foolin'
aroun' wit' de car tracks wit--Heh! Heh!--merlicious intent."

"Oh--er--just say, shock . . . caused by . . . short circuiting . . . trolley
power--what d'you call it--rail."

"Yea."

"Then--electrical burn ... on ankle . . . right foot ... second degree. Got
it?"

"Secon' degree, yea."

"Applied artificial respir--"

"Aw Doc, have a heart, will yuh!"

"You want a commendation, don't you?" the interne laughed. "Well anything--
first aid. Child revived-- I've left a slip for you, Mister. On the table.
Carron oil. Smear it around the ankle tonight and tomorrow. The blib ought
to be gone in a day or two."

"Yes."

"And if he doesn't feel well tomorrow, take him to the Holy Name Hospital--
it's on the slip. But he'll be all right. Well, Lieutenant, I'll see you
again."

"Yea. So long, Doc."

The woman who had gone out with David's mother came in balancing a
cup of tea. Silently his mother propped him up on the pillows and began
feeding him out of the spoon. The hot, sugared tea quickened his blood.
He sighed, feeling vitality return, but only enough to know his body's
weariness. There were no more cool places between the sheets for his
throbbing foot. The women in the doorway had turned their backs to him
and were listening to the policeman who was holding forth in the kitchen.

"An' say," his reassuring voice boomed out. "I woiked over 'im, Mister,
an' no foolin'! Yuh hoid wot de Doc sez, didntcha? If it wuzn' fer me, dat
kid wouldn' be hea. Yessir! People don't appreciate a cop aroun dis
neighborhood. But w'en dere in dutch-- Say, I seen 'em boined, Mister!
I'm tellin' yuh. I seen a switchman was so boined --sayl He musta fell on
de rail. An' nobody knew a t'ing about it. Out dere in de car-bams on a
hunner'n fifty-fift' an' Eight' Avenoo. Must a been on dere fer hours. An'
de foist t'ing yuh know, his bones was troo de elevated-- right down t' de
ground--black as zat stove, Misterl Y'had-da gadder 'im up in a sheet.
Yessir! So he wuz gettin' off easy, dat kid o' yours. But even so if it
hadn'ta been fer me-- Say, d'yuh wan' all o' dese people in hea?"

"I--I don'--" His father sounded stunned. "I--I-- you--"

"Sure. C'mon goils. De kid's gotta get some quiet now. Waddayuh say?
All right, gents."

"Vee know dem," voices objected. "Vee liff heyuh." "Not hea',"
indulgently. "Not all o' yiz. C'mon. Come in later--one at a time--"
There was a general shuffling of feet, murmured protests.

"Er fumfit shorn far a bissel geld," sneered the woman with the bare
arms as she went out. "Gitzeem a krenkl" "I god Davy's shoes and stockin',
Mister," a boy's voice piped. "He goes to my cheder."

"Atta boy. Just leave 'em hea. C'mon de rest o' yiz. Dat goes fer you
too, Solomon."

Feet went through the doorway, voices dwindled. The door was shut.

"Well, I got de place quiet for yuh," said the policeman. "Funny all de
trouble dese kids o' ours gives us, huh? You said it. Geeziz I'm a cop an'
I can't keep mine in line, bringin' home repawt co'ds dat'd make yer hair
toin grey. Well, my beat's aroun' hea' in case yuh wanna see me sometime.
Walsh is de name." He loomed up in the doorway. "How're yuh feelin' now,
kid? He'll be all right Sure. He's full o' de devil a'reddy. I'll fan yuh
wit' me stick if I catch yuh foolin' aroun' dem tracks again. See? 'Night."
He flicked an open palm, turned and went out.

He had finished his tea. The sudden, flushing surge of heat that filled
the hollows of his tired body drove stipple of perspiration to his brow
and lips. His underwear clung to him cutting at the crotch. The trough of
the bedding where he lay had become humidly warm and uncomfortable. He
wriggled closer to the cooler edge of the bed where his mother was seated
and lay back limply.

"More?" She asked putting the cup down on the window sill.

"No, mama."

"You've had nothing to eat since the morning, beloved. You're hungry,
aren't you?"

He shook his head. And to ease the throbbing in his right foot, slid it
furtively from under the covers at her back to cool it.

His father stood in the doorway, features dissolved in the dark. Only the
glitter in his eyes was sharply visible, fixed on the puffy grey ankle. His
mother turned at his tread, spied the swollen foot also. Her sucked breath
hissed between pain-puckered lips.

"Poor darling! Poor child!"

His father's hand fell heavily against the door-frame. "He's written
down the name of some medicine for us to get," he said abruptly. "To smear
on his foot."

"Yes?" She half rose. "I'll go get it."

"Sit there!" His peremptory tone lacked force as though he spoke out of
custom, not conviction. "It will be quicker for me to get it. Your neighbors
outside won't delay me with their tongues." But instead of going he stood
where he was. "He said he'd be better in a day or two."

She was silent.

"I said he'd be better in a day or two," he repeated. "Yes. Of course."

"Well?"

"Nothing."

There was a pause. His father cleared his throat. When he spoke his
voice had a peculiar harshness as though he were at the same time
provoking and steeling himself against a blow.

"It-- it's my fault you'd say. Is that it?"

She shook her head wearily. "What use is there to talk about faults, Al-
bert? None foresaw this. No one alone brought it on. And if it's faults we
must talk about it's mine as well. I never told you. I let him listen to me
months and months ago. I even drove him downstairs to-- to--"

'To protect him--from me?"

"Yes."

His teeth clicked. His chest rose. The expulsion of his breath seemed to
rock him slightly. "I'll go get it." He turned heavily out of the doorway.

David listened to his father's dull, unresilient footfall cross the kitchen
floor. The door was opened, closed. A vague, remote pity stirred within his
breast like a wreathing, raveling smoke, tenuously dispersed within his
being, a kind of torpid heart-break he had felt sometimes in winter awake-
ned deep in the night and hearing that dull tread descend the stairs.

"Perhaps you'll be hungry in a little while," his mother said persuasive-
ly. "After you've rested a bit and we've put the medicine on your foot. And
then some milk and a boiled egg. You'd like that?" Her question was suffici-
ently shored by statement to require no answer. "And then you'll go to sleep
and forget it all." She paused. Her dark, unswerving eyes sought his. "Sleepy,
beloved?"

"Yes, Mama."

He might as well call it sleep. It was only toward sleep that every wink
of the eyelids could strike a spark into the cloudy tinder of the dark, kindle
out of shadowy corners of the bedroom such myriad and such vivid jets of
images--of the glint on tilted beards, of the uneven shine on roller skates,
of the dry light on grey stone stoops, of the tapering glitter of rails, of the
oily sheen on the night-smooth rivers, of the glow on thin blonde hair, red
faces, of the glow on the outstretched, open palms of legions upon legions
of hands hurtling toward him. He might as well call it sleep. It was only
toward sleep that ears had power to cull again and reassemble the shrill cry,
the hoarse voice, the scream of fear, the bells, the thick-breathing, the roar
of crowds and all sounds that lay fermenting in the vats of silence and the
past. It was only toward sleep one knew himself still lying on the cobbles,
felt the cobbles under him, and over him and scudding ever toward him like
a black foam, the perpetual blur of shod and running feet, the broken shoes,
new shoes, stubby, pointed, caked, polished, buniony, pavement-beveled,
lumpish, under skirts, under trousers, shoes, over one and through one, and
feel them all and feel, not pain, not terror, but strangest triumph, strang-
est acquiescence. One might as well call it sleep. He shut his eyes.