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His next visit was the last one； for his two weeks' vacation
was almost over。 Antonapoulos had forgotten what
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had happened before。 They sat in their same corner of the
room。 The minutes slipped by quickly。 Singer's hands talked
desperately and his narrow face was very pale。 At last it was
time for him to go。 He held his friend by the arm and looked
into his face in the way that he used to do when they parted
each day before work。 Antonapoulos stared at him drowsily
and did not move。 Singer left the room with his hands stuffed
hard into his pockets。
Soon after Singer returned to his room at the boarding…house；
Mick and Jake Blount and Doctor Copeland began to come
again。 Each one of them wanted to know where he had been
and why he had not let them know about his plans。 But Singer
pretended that he did not understand their questions； and his
smile was inscrutable。
One by one they would come to Singer's room to spend the
evening with him。 The mute was always thoughtful and
composed。 His many…tinted gentle eyes were grave as a
sorcerer's。 Mick Kelly and Jake Blount and Doctor Copeland
would come and talk in the silent room—tor they felt that the
mute would always understand whatever they wanted to say to
him。 And maybe even more than that。Part Two
J。 ms summer was different from any other time Mick could
remember。 Nothing much happened that she could describe to
herself in thoughts or words—but there was a feeling of
change。 AH the time she was excited。 In the morning she
couldn't wait to get out of bed and start going for the day。 And
at night she hated like hell to have to sleep again。
Right after breakfast she took the kids out； and except for
meals they were gone most of the day。 A good deal of the time
they just roamed around the streets—with her pulling Ralph's
wagon and Bubber following along behind。 Always she was
busy with thoughts and plans。 Sometimes she would look up
suddenly and they would be way off in some part of town she
didn't even recognize。 And once or twice they ran into Bill on
the streets and she was so busy thinking he had to grab her by
the arm to make her see him。
Early in the mornings it was a little cool and their shadows
stretched out tall on the sidewalk in front of them。 But in the
middle of the day the sky was always blazing hot。 The glare
was so bright it hurt to keep your eyes open。 A lot of times the
plans about the things that were going to happen to her were
mixed up with ice and snow。 Sometimes it was like she was
out in Switzerland and all the mountains were covered with
snow and she was skating on cold； greenish…colored ice。
Mister Singer would be skating with her。 And maybe Carole
Lombard or Ar…turo Toscanini who played on the radio。 They
would be skating together and then Mister Singer would fall
through
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the ice and she would dive in without regard for peril and
swim under the ice and save his life。 That was one of the plans
always going on in her mind。
Usually after they had walked awhile she would park Bubber
and Ralph in some shady place。 Bubber was a swell kid and
she had trained him pretty good。 If she told him not to go out
of hollering distance from Ralph she wouldn't ever find him
shooting marbles with kids two or three blocks away。 He
played by himself near the wagon； and when she left them she
didn't have to worry much。 She either went to the library and
looked at the National Geographic or else just roamed around
and thought some more。 If she had any money she bought a
dope or a Milky Way at Mister Brannon's。 He gave kids a
reduction。 He sold them nickel things for three cents。
But all the time—no matter what she was doing—there was
music。 Sometimes she hummed to herself as she walked； and
other times she listened quietly to the songs inside her。 There
were all kinds of music in her thoughts。 Some she heard over
radios； and some was in her mind already without her ever
having heard it anywhere。
In the night…time； as soon as the kids were in bed； she was
free。 That was the most important time of all。 A lot of things
happened when she was by herself and it was dark。 Right after
supper she ran out of the house again。 She couldn't tell
anybody about the things she did at night； and when her Mama
asked her questions she would answer with any little tale that
sounded reasonable。 But most of the time if anybody called
her she just ran away like she hadn't heard。 That went for
everybody except her Dad。 There was something about her
Dad's voice she couldn't run away from。 He was one of the
biggest； tallest men in the whole town。 But his voice was so
quiet and kindly that people were surprised when he spoke。
No matter how much of a hurry she was in； she always had to
stop when her Dad called。
This summer she realized something about her Dad she had
never known before。 Up until then she had never thought
about him as being a real separate person。 A lot of times he
would call her。 She would go in the front room where he
worked and stand by him a couple of minutes— but when she
listened to him her mind was never on the84
things he said to her。 Then one night she suddenly realized
about her Dad。 Nothing unusual happened that night and she
didn't know what it was that made her understand。 Afterward
she felt older and as though she knew him as good as she
could know any person。
It was a night in late August and she was in a big rush。 She
had to be at this house by nine o'clock； and no maybe either。
Her Dad called and she went into the front room。 He was
sitting slumped over his workbench。 For some reason it never
did seem natural to see him there。 Until the time of his
accident last year he had been a painter and carpenter。 Before
daylight every morning he would leave the house in his
overalls； to be gone all day。 Then at night sometimes he
fiddled around with clocks as an extra work。 A lot of times he
had tried to get a job in a jewelry store where he could sit by
himself at a desk all day with a clean white shirt on and a tie。
Now when he couldn't carpenter any more he had put a sign at
the front of the house reading 'Clocks and Watches Repaired
Cheap。' But he didn't look like most jewelers—the ones
downtown were quick； dark little Jew men。 Her Dad was too
tall for his workbench； and his big bones seemed joined
together in a loose way。
Her Dad just stared at her。 She could tell he didn't have any
reason for calling。 He only wanted real bad to talk to her。 He
tried to think of some way to begin。 His brown eyes were too
big for his long； thin face； and since he had lost every single
hair the pale； bald top of his head gave him a naked look。 He
stul looked at her without speaking and she was in a hurry。
She had to be at that house by nine sharp and there was no
time to waste。 Her Dad saw she was in a hurry and he cleared
his throat
'I got something for you；' he said。 'Nothing much； but maybe
you can treat yourself with it。'
He didn't have to give her any nickel or dime just because he
was lonesome and wanted to talk。 Out of what he made he
only kept enough to have beer about twice a week。 Two
bottles were on the floor by his chair now； one empty and one
just opened。 And whenever he drank beer he liked to talk to
somebody。 Her Dad fumbled with his belt and she looked
away。 This summer he had gotten like a kid about hiding those
nickels and dimes he kept for
85
himself。 Sometimes he hid them in his shoes； and other times
in a little slit he had cut in his belt。 She only halfway wanted
to take the dime； but when he held it out her hand was just
naturally open and ready。
'I got so much work to do I don't know where to begin；'
he said。
That was just the opposite to the truth； and he knew it good as
she did。 He never had many watches to fix； and when he
finished he would fool around the house doing any little job
that was needed。 Then at night he sat at his bench； cleaning
old springs and wheels and trying to make the work last out
until bedtime。 Ever since he broke his hip and couldn't work
steady he had to be doing something
every minute。
'I been thinking a lot tonight；' her Dad said。 He poured out his
beer and sprinkled a few grains of salt on the back of his hand。
Then he licked up the salt and took a swallow
out of the glass。
She was in such a hurry that it was hard to stand still。 Her Dad
noticed this。 He tried to say something—but he had not called
to tell her anything special。 He only wanted to talk with her
for a little while。 He started to speak and swallowed。 They just
looked at each other。 The quietness grew out longer and
neither of them could say a word。
That was when she realized about her Dad。 It wasn't like she
was learning a new fact—she had understood it all along in
every way except with her brain。 Now she just suddenly knew
that she knew about her Dad。 He was lonesome and he was an
old man。 Because none of the kids went to him for anything
and because he didn't earn much money he felt like he was cut
off from the famil