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lumps of sugar； or a pepper…shaker； or pieces of silverware in
bis pocket。 Singer always paid for what he took and there was
no disturbance。 At home he scolded Antonapoulos； but the big
Greek only looked at him with a bland smile。
The months went on and these habits of Antonapoulos grew
worse。 One day at noon he walked calmly out of the fruit store
of his cousin and urinated in public against the wall of the
First National Bank Building across the street。 At times he
would meet people on the sidewalk whose faces did not please
him； and he would bump into these persons and push at them
with his elbows and stomach。 He walked into a store one day
and hauled out a floor lamp without paying for it； and another
time he tried to take an electric train he had seen in a
showcase。
For Singer this was a time of great distress。 He was
continually marching Antonapoulos down to the courthouse
during lunch hour to settle these infringements of the law。
Singer became very familiar with the procedure of the courts
and he was in a constant state of agitation。 The money he had
saved in the bank was spent for bail and fines。 All of his
efforts and money were used to keep his friend out of jail
because of such charges as theft； committing public
indecencies； and assault and battery。
The Greek cousin for whom Antonapoulos worked did not
enter into these troubles at all。 Charles Parker （for that was the
name this cousin had taken） let Antonapoulos stay on at the
store； but he watched him always with his pale； tight face and
he made no effort to help him。 Singer had a strange feeling
about Charles Parker。 He began to dislike him。
Singer lived in continual turmoil and worry。 But
Antonapoulos was always bland； and no matter what
happened the gentle； flaccid smile was still on his face。 In all6
the years before it had seemed to Singer that there was
something very subtle and wise in this smile of his friend。 He
had never known just how much Antonapoulos understood
and what he was thinking。 Now in the big Greek's expression
Singer thought that he could detect something sly and joking。
He would shake his friend by the shoulders until he was very
tired and explain things over and over with his hands。 But
nothing did any good。
All of Singer's money was gone and he had to borrow from the
jeweler for whom he worked。 On one occasion he was unable
to pay bail for bis friend and Antonapoulos spent the night in
jail。 When Singer came to get him out the next day he was
very sulky。 He did not want to leave。 He had enjoyed his
dinner of sowbelly and cornbread with syrup poured over it。
And the new sleeping arrangements and his cellmates pleased
him。
They had lived so much alone that Singer had no one to help
him in his distress。 Antonapoulos let nothing disturb him or
cure him of his habits。 At home he sometimes cooked the new
dish he had eaten in the jail； and on the streets there was never
any knowing just what he would do。
And then the final trouble came to Singer。
One afternoon he had come to meet Antonapoulos at the fruit
store when Charles Parker handed him a letter。 The letter
explained that Charles Parker had made arrangements for his
cousin to be taken to the state insane asylum two hundred
miles away。 Charles Parker had used his influence in the town
and the details were already settled。 Antonapoulos was to
leave and to be admitted into the asylum the next； week。
Singer read the letter several times； and for a while he could
not think。 Charles Parker was talking to him across the
counter； but he did not even try to read his lips and
understand。 At last Singer wrote on the little pad he always
carried in his pocket：
You cannot do this。 Antonapoulos must stay with me。
Charles Parker shook his head excitedly。 He did not know
much American。 'None of your business；' he kept saying over
and over。
7
Singer knew that everything was finished。 The Greek was
afraid that some day he might be responsible for his cousin。
Charles Parker did not know much about the American
language—but he understood the American dollar very well；
and he had used his money and influence to admit his cousin
to the asylum without delay。
There was nothing Singer could do。
The next week was full of feverish activity。 He talked and
talked。 And although his hands never paused to rest he could
not tell all that he had to say。 He wanted to talk to
Antonapoulos of all the thoughts that had ever been in his
mind and heart； but there was not time。 His gray eyes glittered
and his quick； intelligent face expressed great strain。
Antonapoulos watched him drowsily； and his friend did not
know just what he really understood。
Then came the day when Antonapoulos must leave。 Singer
brought out Ms own suitcase and very carefully packed the
best of their joint possessions。 Antonapoulos made himself a
lunch to eat during the journey。 In the late afternoon they
walked arm in arm down the street for the last time together。 It
was a chilly afternoon in late November； and little huffs of
breath showed in the air before them。
Charles Parker was to travel with his cousin； but he stood
apart from them at the station。 Antonapoulos crowded into the
bus and settled himself with elaborate preparations on one of
the front seats。 Singer watched him from the window and his
hands began desperately to talk for the last time with his
friend。 But Antonapoulos was so busy checking over the
various items in his lunch box that for a while he paid no
attention。 Just before the bus pulled away from the curb he
turned to Singer and his smile was very bland and remote—as
though already they were many miles apart。
The weeks that followed didn't seem real at all。 All day Singer
worked over his bench in the back of the jewelry store； and
then at night he returned to the house alone。 More than
anything he wanted to sleep。 As soon as he came home from
work he would lie on his cot and try to doze awhile。 Dreams
came to him when he lay there half…asleep。 And in all of them
Antonapoulos was there。 His hands would jerk nervously； for
in his dreams he was talk…8
ing to his friend and Antonapoulos was watching him。
Singer tried to think of the time before he had ever known his
friend。 He tried to recount to himself certain things that had
happened when he was young。 But none of these things he
tried to remember seemed real。
There was one particular fact that he remembered； but it was
not at all important to him。 Singer recalled that； although he
had been deaf since he was an infant； he had not always been
a real mute。 He was left an orphan very young and placed in
an institution for the deaf。 He had learned to talk with his
hands and to read。 Before he was nine years old he could talk
with one hand in the American way—and also could employ
both of his hands after the method of Europeans。 He had
learned to follow the movements of people's lips and to
understand what they said。 Then finally he had been taught to
speak。
At the school he was thought very intelligent。 He learned the
lessons before the rest of the pupils。 But he could never
become used to speaking with his lips。 It was not natural to
him； and his tongue felt like a whale in his mouth。 From the
blank expression on people's faces to whom he talked in this
way he felt that his voice must be like the sound of some
animal or that there was something disgusting in his speech。 It
was painful for him to try to talk with his mouth； but his hands
were always ready to shape the words he wished to say。 When
he was twenty…two he had come South to this town from
Chicago and he met Antonapoulos immediately。 Since that
time he had never spoken with his mouth again； because with
his friend there was no need for this。
Nothing seemed real except the ten years with Antonapoulos。
In his half…dreams he saw his friend very vividly； and when he
awakened a great aching loneliness would be in him。
Occasionally he would pack up a box for Antonapoulos； but
he never received any reply。 And so the months passed hi this
empty； dreaming way。
In the spring a change came over Singer。 He could not sleep
and his body was very restless。 At evening he would walk
monotonously around the room； unable to work off a new
feeling of energy。 If he rested at all it was only during a few
hours before dawn—then he would drop bluntly into
9
a sleep that lasted until the morning light struck suddenly
beneath his opening eyelids like a scimitar。
He began spending his evenings walking around the town。 He
could no longer stand the rooms where Antonapoulos had
lived； and he rented a place in a shambling boarding…house not
far from the center of the town。
He ate his meals at a restaurant only two blocks away。 This
restaurant was at the very end of the long main street and the
name of the place was the New York Cafe。 The first day he
glanced over the menu quickly and wrote a short note and
handed it to the proprietor。
Each morning for breakfast I want an egg； toast； and coffee
0。15
For lunc