按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
The thoughts of his friend were somewhere else。 Singer shut
his eyes and tried to think of the asylum and the room that
Antonapoulos was in tonight。 He remembered the narrow
white beds and the old men playing slapjack in the corner。 He
held his eyes shut tight； but that room would not become clear
in his mind。 The emptiness was very deep inside him； and
after a while he glanced up at the window once more and
started down the dark sidewalk where they had walked
together so many times。
It was Saturday night。 The main street was thick with people。
Shivering Negroes in overalls loitered before the windows of
the ten…cent store。 Families stood in line be
177
fore the ticket box of the movie and young boys and girls
stared at the posters on display outside。 The traffic from the
automobiles was so dangerous that he had to wait a long time
before crossing the street。
He passed the fruit store。 The fruits were beautiful inside the
windows—bananas； oranges； alligator pears； bright little
cumquats； and even a few pineapples。 But Charles Parker
waited on a customer inside。 The face of Charles Parker was
very ugly to him。 Several times when Charles Parker was
away he had entered the store and stood around a long while。
He had even gone to the kitchen in the back where
Antonapoulos made the candies。 But he never went into the
store while Charles Parker was inside。 They had both taken
care to avoid each other since that day when Antonapoulos
left on the bus。 When they met in the street they always turned
away without nodding。 Once when he had wanted to send his
friend a jar of his favorite tupelo honey he had ordered it from
Charles Parker by mail so as not to be obliged to meet him。
Singer stood before the window and watched the cousin of his
friend wait on a group of customers。 Business was always
good on Saturday night。 Antonapoulos sometimes had to work
as late as ten o'clock。 The big automatic popcorn popper was
near the door。 A clerk shoved in a measure of kernels and the
corn whirled inside the case like giant flakes of snow。 The
smell from the store was warm and familiar。 Peanut hulls were
trampled on the floor。
Singer passed on down the street。 He had to weave his way
carefully in the crowds to keep from being jostled。 The streets
were strung with red and green electric lights because of the
holidays。 People stood in laughing groups with their arms
about each other。 Young fathers nursed cold and crying babies
on their shoulders。 A Salvation Army girl in her red…and…blue
bonnet tinkled a bell on the corner； and when she looked at
Singer he felt obliged to drop a coin into the pot beside her。
There were beggars； both Negro and white； who held out caps
or crusty hands。 The neon advertisements cast an orange glow
on the faces of the crowd。
He reached the corner where he and Antonapoulos had once
seen a mad dog on an August afternoon。 Then he passed the
room above the Army and Navy Store where178
Antonapoulos had had his picture taken every pay…day。 He
carried many of the photographs in his pocket now。 He turned
west toward the river。 Once they had taken a picnic lunch and
crossed the bridge and eaten in a field on Hie other side。
Singer walked along the main street for about an hour。 In all
the crowd he seemed the only one alone。 At last he took out
his watch and turned toward the house where he lived。
Perhaps one of the people would come this evening to his
room。 He hoped so。
He mailed Antonapoulos a large box of presents for
Christmas。 Also he presented gifts to each of the four people
and to Mrs。 Kelly。 For all of them together he had bought a
radio and put it on the table by the window。 Doctor Copeland
did not notice the radio。 Biff Brannon noticed it immediately
and raised his eyebrows。 Jake Blount kept it turned on all the
time he was there； at the same station； and as he talked he
seemed to be shouting above the music； for the veins stood out
on his forehead。 Mick Kelly did not understand when she saw
the radio。 Her face was very red and she asked him over and
over if it was really his and whether she could listen。 She
worked with a dial for several minutes before she got it to the
place that suited her。 She sat leaning forward in her chair with
her hands on her knees； her mouth open and a pulse beating
very fast in her temple。 She seemed to listen all over to
whatever it was she heard。 She sat there the whole afternoon；
and when she grinned at him once her eyes were wet and she
rubbed them with her fists。 She asked him if she could come
in and listen sometimes when he was at work and he nodded
yes。 So for the next few days whenever he opened the door he
found her by the radio。 Her hand raked through her short
rumpled hair and there was a look in her face he had never
seen before。
One night soon after Christmas all four of the people chanced
to visit him at the same time。 This had never happened before。
Singer moved about the room with smiles and refreshments
and did his best in the way of politeness to make his guests
comfortable。 But something was wrong。
Doctor Copeland would not sit down。 He stood in the
179
doorway； hat in hand； and only bowed coldly to the others。
They looked at him as though they wondered why he was
there。 Jake Blount opened the beers he had brought with him
and the foam spilled down on his shirtfront。 Mick Kelly
listened to the music from the radio。 Biff Brannon sat on the
bed； his knees crossed； his eyes scanning the group before him
and then becoming narrow and fixed。
Singer was bewildered。 Always each of them had so much to
say。 Yet now that they were together they were silent。 When
they came in he had expected an outburst of some kind。 In a
vague way he had expected this to be the end of something。
But in the room there was only a feeling of strain。 His hands
worked nervously as though they were pulling things unseen
from the air and binding them together。
Jake Blount stood beside Doctor Copeland。 'I know your face。
We run into each other once before—on the steps outside。'
Doctor Copeland moved his tongue precisely as though he
clipped out his words with scissors。 'I was not aware that we
were acquainted；' he said。 Then his stiff body seemed to
shrink。 He stepped back until he was just outside the threshold
of the room。
Biff Brannon smoked his cigarette composedly。 The smoke
lay in thin layers across the room。 He turned to Mick and
when he looked at her a blush reddened his face。 He half…
closed his eyes and in a moment his face was bloodless once
more。 'And how are you getting on with your business now？'
'What business？' Mick asked suspiciously。
'Just the business of living；' he said。 'School—and so forth。'
'O。K。； I reckon；' she said。
Each one of them looked at Singer as though in expectation。
He was puzzled。 He offered refreshments and smiled。
Jake rubbed his lips with the palm of his hand。 He left off
trying to make conversation with Doctor Copeland and sat
down on the bed beside Biff。 'You know who it is that used to
write those bloody warnings in red chalk on the fences and
walls around the mills？'180
181
。No；' Biff said。 'What bloody warnings？'
'Mostly from the Old Testament I been wondering about that for
a long time。'
Each person addressed his words mainly to the mute。 Their
thoughts seemed to converge in him as the spokes of a wheel lead
to the center hub。
The cold has been very unusual；' BifE said finally。 The other day
I was looking through some old records and I found that in the
year 1919 the thermometer got down to ten degrees Fahrenheit。
It was only sixteen degrees this morning； and that's the coldest
since the big freeze that year。'
There were icicles hanging off the roof of the coal house this
morning；' Mick said。
cWe didn't take in enough money last week to meet the payroll；'
Jake said。
They discussed the weather some more。 Each one seemed to be
waiting for the others to go。 Then on an impulse they all rose to
leave at the same time。 Doctor Cope…land went first and the
others followed him immediately。 When they were gone Singer
stood alone in the room； and as he did not understand the
situation he wanted to forget it He decided to write to
Antonapoulos that night
The fact that Antonapoulos could not read did not prevent
Singer from writing to him。 He had always known that his friend
was unable to make out the meaning of words on paper； but as
the months went by he began to imagine that perhaps he had
been mistaken； that perhaps Antonapoulos only kept his
knowledge of letters a secret from everyone。 Also； it was possible
there might be a deaf…mute at the asylum who could read his
letters and then explain them to his friend。 He thought of several
justifications for his letters； for he always felt a great need to
write to his friend when he was bewildered or sad。 Once written；
however； these letters were never mailed。 He cut out the comic
strips from the morning and evening papers and sent them to his
friend each Sunday。 And every month he mailed a