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The fire shadows lapped against the walls。 The dark； shadowy
waves rose higher and the room took on motion。 The room
rose and fell and all balance was gone。 Alone Jake felt himself
sink downward； slowly in wavelike motions downward into a
shadowed ocean。 In helplessness and terror he strained his
eyes； but he could see nothing except the dark and scarlet
waves that roared hungrily over him。 Then at last he made out
the thing which he sought。 The mute's face was faint and very
far away。 Jake closed his eyes。
The next morning he awoke very late。 Singer had been gone
for hours。 There was bread； cheese； an orange； and a pot of
coffee on the table。 When he had finished his breakfast it was
time for work。 He walked somberly； his head bent； across the
town toward his room。 When he reached the neighborhood
where he lived he passed through a certain narrow street that
was flanked on one side by a smoke…blackened brick
warehouse。 On the wall of this building there was something
that vaguely distracted him。 He started to walk on； and then
his attention was suddenly held。 On the wall a message was
written in bright red chalk； the letters drawn thickly and
curiously formed：
Ye shall eat the flesh of the mighty； and drink the blood of the
princes of the earth。
He read the message twice and looked anxiously up and down
the street。 No one was in sight。 After a few minutes of puzzled
deliberation he took from his pocket a thick red pencil and
wrote carefully beneath the inscription：
Whoever wrote the above meet me here tomorrow at noon；
Wednesday； November 29。 Or the next day。
At twelve o'clock the next day he waited before the wall。
。
Now and then he walked impatiently to the corner to look ： up
and down the streets。 No one came。 After an hour he ■ had to
leave for the show。136
The next day he waited； also。
Then on Friday there was a long； slow winter rain。 The wall
was sodden and the messages streaked so that no word could
be read。 The rain continued； gray and bitter and cold。
ICK；' Bubber said。 'I come to believe we all gonna drown。' It
was true that it like to never quit raining。 Mrs。 Wells rode
them back and forth to school in her car； and every afternoon
they had to stay on the front porch or in the house。 She and
Bubber played Parcheesi and Old Maid and shot marbles on
the living…room rug。 It was nearing along toward Christmas
time and Bubber began to talk about the Little Lord Jesus and
the red bicycle he wanted Santa Claus to bring him。 The rain
was silver on the win…dowpanes and the sky was wet and cold
and gray。 The river rose so high that some of the factory
people had to move out of their houses。 Then when it looked
like the rain would keep on and on forever it suddenly
stopped。 They woke up one morning and the bright sun was
shining。 By afternoon the weather was almost warm as
summer。 Mick came home late from school and Bubber and
Ralph and Spareribs were on the front sidewalk。 The kids
looked hot and sticky and their winter clothes had a sour
smell。 Bubber had his slingshot and a pocketful of rocks。
Ralph sat up in his wagon； his hat crooked on his head； and he
was fretful。 Spareribs had bis new rifle with him。 The sky was
a wonderful blue。
'We waited for you a long time； Mick；' Bubber said。 'Where
you been？'
She jumped up the front steps three at a time and threw her
sweater toward the hat rack。 'Practicing on the piano in the
gym。'
Every afternoon she stayed after school for an hour to play。
The gym was crowded and noisy because the girls' team had
basketball games。 Twice today she was hit on the head with
the ball。 But getting a chance to sit at a piano was worth any
amount of knocks and trouble。 She would arrange bunches of
notes together until the sound came
that she wanted。 It was eaiser than she had thought。 After the
first two or three hours she figured out some sets of chords in
the bass that would fit in with the main tune her right hand
was playing。 She could pick out almost any piece now。 And
she made up new music too。 That was better than just copying
tunes。 When her hands hunted out these beautiful new sounds
it was the best feeling she had ever known。
She wanted to learn how to read music already written down。
Delores Brown had taken music lessons for five years。 She
paid Delores the fifty cents a week she got for lunch money to
give her lessons。 This made her very hungry all through the
day。 Delores played a good many fast； runny pieces—but
Delores did not know how to answer all the questions she
wanted to know。 Delores only taught her about the different
scales； the major and minor chords； the values of the notes；
and such beginning rules as those。
Mick slammed the door of the kitchen stove。 〃This all we got
to eat？'
'Honey； it the best I can do for you；' Portia said。 Just
cornpones and margarine。 As she ate she drank a glass of
water to help wash down the swallows。
'Quit acting so greedy。 Nobody going to snatch it out your
hand。'
The kids still hung around in front of the house。 Bubber had
put his slingshot in his pocket and now he played with the
rifle。 Spareribs was ten years old and his father had died the
month before and this had been his father's gun…All the
smaller kids loved to handle that rifle。 Every few minutes
Bubber would haul the gun up to his shoulder。 He took aim
and made a loud pow sound。
'Don't monkey with the trigger；' said Spareribs。 1 got the gun
loaded。'
Mick finished the cornbread and looked around for something
to do。 Harry Minowitz was sitting on his front porch banisters
with the newspaper。 She was glad to see him。 For a joke she
threw up her arm and hollered to him； 'Heil！'
But Harry didn't take it as a joke。 He went into his front hall
and shut the door。 It was easy to hurt his feelings。 She was
sorry； because lately she and Harry had been right good
friends。 They had always played in the same gang138
when they were kids； but in the last three years he had been at
Vocational while she was still in grammar school。 Also he
worked at part…time jobs。 He grew up very suddenly and quit
hanging around the back and front yards with kids。 Sometimes
she could see him reading the paper in his bedroom or
undressing late at night。 In mathematics and history he was the
smartest boy at Vocational。 Often； now that she was in high
school too； they would meet each other on the way home and
walk together。 They were in the same shop class； and once the
teacher made them partners to assemble a motor。 He read
books and kept up with the newspapers every day。 World
politics were all the time on his mind。 He talked slow； and
sweat stood out on his forehead when he was very serious
about something。 And now she had made him mad with her。
'I wonder has Harry still got his gold piece；' Spareribs said。
'What gold piece？'
'When a Jew boy is born they put a gold piece in the bank for
him。 That's what Jews do。'
'Shucks。 You got it mixed up；' she said。 'It's Catholics you're
thinking about。 Catholics buy a pistol for a baby soon as it's
born。 Some day the Catholics mean to start a war and kill
everybody else。'
'Nuns give me a funny feeling；' Spareribs said。 'It scares me
when I see one on the street。'
She sat down on the steps and laid her head on her knees。 She
went into the inside room。 With her it was like there was two
places—the inside room and the outside room。 School and the
family and the things that happened every day were in the
outside room。 Mister Singer was in both rooms。 Foreign
countries and plans and music were in the inside room。 The
songs she thought about were there。 And the symphony。 When
she was by herself hi this inside room the music she had heard
that night after the party would come back to her。 This
symphony grew slow like a big flower in her mind。 During the
day sometimes； or when she had just waked up in the
morning； a new part of the symphony would suddenly come to
her。 Then she would have to go into the inside room and listen
to it many times and try to join it into the parts of the
symphony she remembered。 The inside room was a very pri
139
vate place。 She could be in the middle of a house full of
people and still feel like she was locked up by herself。
Spareribs stuck his dirty hand up to her eyes because she had
been staring off at space。 She slapped him。
'What is a nun？' Bubber asked。
'A Catholic lady；' Spareribs said。 'A Catholic lady with a big
black dress that comes up over her head。'
She was tired of hanging around with the kids。 She would go
to the library and look at pictures in the National Geographic。
Photographs of all the foreign places in the world。 Paris；
France。 And big ice glaciers。 And the wild jungles in Africa。
'You kids see that Ralph don't get out in the street；' she said。
Bubber rested the big rifle on his shoulder。 'Bring me a
story back with you。'
It was like that kid had been born knowing how to read。 He
was only in the second grade but he loved to read stories by
himself—and he never asked anybody else to read to