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back to her。 If ever she heard the symphony again there would
be other parts to add to what was already in her mind。 And
maybe if she could hear it four more times； just four more
times； she would know it all。 Maybe。
Once again she listened to this opening part of the music。
Then the notes grew slower and soft and it was like she was
sinking down slowly into the dark ground。
Mick awoke with a jerk。 The air had turned chilly； and as she
was coming up out of the sleep she dreamed old Etta Kelly
was taking all the cover。 'Gimme some blanket
' she tried to say。 Then she opened her eyes。 The sky
was very black and all the stars were gone。 The grass was wet。
She got up in a hurry because her Dad would be worried。 Then
she remembered the music。 She couldn't tell whether the time
was midnight or three in the morning； so she started beating it
for home in a rush。 The air had a smell in it like autumn。 The
music was loud and quick in her mind； and she ran faster and
faster on the sidewalks leading to the home block。
B
。 Y OCTOBER the days were blue and cool。 Biff Brannon
changed his light seersucker trousers for dark…blue serge ones。
Behind the counter of the cafe he installed a machine that
made hot chocolate。 Mick was very partial to hot chocolate；
and she came in three or four times a week to drink a cup。 He
served it to her for a nickel instead of a dime and he wanted to
give it to her free。 He watched her as she stood behind the
counter and he was troubled and sad。 He wanted to reach out
his hand and touch her sunburned； tousled hair—but not as he
had ever touched
a woman。 In him there was an uneasiness； and when he spoke
to her his voice had a rough； strange sound。
There were many worries on his mind。 For one thing； Alice
was not well。 She worked downstairs as usual from seven in
the morning until ten at night； but she walked very slowly and
brown circles were beneath her eyes。 It was in the business
that she showed this illness most plainly。 One Sunday； when
she wrote out the day's menu on the typewriter； she marked
the special dinner with chicken a la king at twenty cents
instead of fifty； and did not discover the mistake until several
customers had already ordered and were ready to pay。 Another
time she gave back two fives and three ones as change for ten
dollars。 Biff would stand looking at her for a long time；
rubbing his nose thoughtfully and with his eyes half…closed。
They did not speak of this together。 At night he worked
downstairs while she slept； and during the morning she
managed the restaurant alone。 When they worked together he
stayed behind the cash register and looked after the kitchen
and the tables； as was their custom。 They did not talk except
on matters of business； but Biff would stand watching her
with his face puzzled。
Then in the afternoon of the eighth of October there was a
sudden cry of pain from the room where they slept。 Biff
hurried upstairs。 Within an hour they had taken Alice to the
hospital and the doctor had removed from her a tumor almost
the size of a newborn child。 And then within another hour
Alice was dead。
Biff sat by her bed at the hospital in stunned reflection。 He
had been present when she died。 Her eyes had been drugged
and misty from the ether and then they hardened like glass。
The nurse and the doctor withdrew from the room。 He
continued to look into her face。 Except for the bluish pallor
there was little difference。 He noted each detail about her as
though he had net watched her every day for twenty…one years。
Then gradually as he sat there his thoughts turned to a picture
that had long been stored inside him。
The cold green ocean and a hot gold strip of sand。 The little
children playing on the edge of the silky line of foam。 The
sturdy brown baby girl； the thin little naked boys； the half…
grown children running and calling out to each other104
with sweet； shrill voices。 Children were here whom he knew；
Mick and his niece； Baby； and there were also strange young
faces no one had ever seen before。 Biff bowed his head。
After a long while he got up from his chair and stood in the
middle of the room。 He could hear his sister…in…law； Lucile；
walking up and down the hall outside。 A fat bee crawled
across the top of the dresser； and adroitly Biff caught it in his
hand and put it out the open window。 He glanced at the dead
face one more time； and then with widowed sedateness he
opened the door mat led out into the hospital corridor。
Late the next morning he sat sewing in the room upstairs。
Why？ Why was it that in cases of real love the one who is left
does not more often follow the beloved by suicide？ Only
because the living must bury the dead？ Because of the
measured rites that must be fulfilled after a death？ Because it
is as though the one who is left steps for a time upon a stage
and each second swells to an unlimited amount of time and he
is watched by many eyes？ Because there is a function he must
carry out？ Or perhaps； when there is love； the widowed must
stay for the resurrection of the beloved—so that the one who
has gone is not really dead； but grows and is created for a
second time in the soul of the living？ Why？
Biff bent close over his sewing and meditated on many things。
He sewed skillfully； and the calluses on the tips of his fingers
were so hard that he pushed the needle through the cloth
without a thimble。 Already the mourning bands had been sewn
around the arms of two gray suits； and now he was on the last。
The day was bright and hot； and the first dead leaves of the
new autumn scraped on the sidewalks。 He had gone out early。
Each minute was very long。 Before him there was infinite
leisure。 He had locked the door of the restaurant and hung on
the outside a white wreath of lilies。 To the funeral home he
went first and looked carefully at the selection of caskets。 He
touched the materials of the linings and tested the strength of
the frames。
'What is the name of the crepe of this one—Georgette？'
105 The undertaker answered his questions in an oily；
unctuous voice。
'And what is the percentage of cremations in your business？'
Out on the street again Biff walked with measured formality。
From the west there was a warm wind and the sun was very
bright。 His watch had stopped； so he turned down toward the
street where Wilbur Kelly had recently put out his sign as
watchmaker。 Kelly was sitting at his bench in a patched
bathrobe。 His shop was also a bedroom； and the baby Mick
pulled around with her in a wagon sat quietly on a pallet on
the floor。 Each minute was so long that in it there was ample
time for contemplation and enquiry。 He asked Kelly to explain
the exact use of jewels in a watch。 He noted the distorted look
of Kelly's right eye as it appeared through his watchmaker's
loupe。 They talked for a while about Chamberlain and
Munich。 Then as the time was still early he decided to go up
to the mute's room。
Singer was dressing for work。 Last night there had come from
him a letter of condolence。 He was to be a pallbearer at the
funeral。 Biff sat on the bed and they smoked a cigarette
together。 Singer looked at him now and then with his green
observant eyes。 He offered him a drink of coffee。 Biff did not
talk； and once the mute stopped to pat him on the shoulder and
look for a second into his face。 When Singer was dressed they
went out together。
Biff bought the black ribbon at the store and saw the preacher
of Alice's church。 When all was arranged he came back home。
To put things in order—that was the thought in his mind。 He
bundled up Alice's clothes and personal possessions to give to
Lucile。 He thoroughly cleaned and straightened the bureau
drawers。 He even rearranged the shelves of the kitchen
downstairs and removed the gaily colored crSpe streamers
from the electric fans。 Then when this was done he sat in the
tub and bathed himself all over。 And the morning was done。
Biff bit the thread and smoothed the black band on the sleeve
of his coat。 By now Lucile would be waiting for him。 He and
she and Baby would ride in the funeral car together。 He put
away the work basket and fitted the coat106
with the mourning band very carefully on his shoulders。 He
glanced swiftly around the room to see that all was well
before going out again。
An hour later he was in Lucile's kitchenette。 He sat with his
legs crossed； a napkin over his thigh； drinking a cup of tea。
Lucile and Alice had been so different in all ways that it was
not easy to realize they were sisters。 Lucile was thin and dark；
and today she had dressed completely in black。 She was fixing
Baby's hair。 The kid waited patiently on the kitchen table with
her hands folded in her lap while her mother worked on her。
The sunlight was quiet and mellow in the room。
'Bartholomew' said Lucile。
。What？'
〃Don't you ever start thinking backward？'
'I don't；'said Biff。
'You know it's like I got to wear blinders all the time so I won't
think sideways or in the past。 All I can let myself think about
is going to work every da