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watch； and his fountain pen。 Then he folded his clothes neatly
over the back of his chair。 His gray…flannel pajamas were
warm and soft。 Almost as soon as he pulled the blankets to his
chin he was asleep。
Out of the blackness of sleep a dream formed。 There were dull
yellow lanterns lighting up a dark flight of stone steps。
Antonapoulos kneeled at the top of these steps。 He was naked
and he fumbled with something that he held above his head
and gazed at it as though in prayer。 He himself knelt halfway
down the steps。 He was naked and cold and he could not take
his eyes from Antonapoulos and the thing he held above him。
Behind him on the ground he felt the one with the mustache
and the girl and the black man and the last one。 They knelt
naked and he felt their eyes on him。 And behind them there
were uncounted crowds of kneeling people in the darkness。
His own hands were huge windmills and he stared fascinated
at the unknown thing that Antonapoulos held。 The yellow
lanterns swayed to and fro in the darkness and all else was
motionless。 Then suddenly there was a ferment。 In the
upheaval the steps collapsed and he felt himself falling
downward。 He awoke with a jerk。 The early light whitened the
window。 He felt afraid。
Such a long time had passed that something might have
happened to his friend。 Because Antonapoulos did not write to
him he would not know。 Perhaps his friend had fallen and hurt
himself。 He felt such an urge to be with him once more that he
would arrange it at any cost—and immediately。
In the post…office that morning he found a notice in his box
that a package had come for him。 It was the gift he had
ordered for Christmas that did not arrive in time。 The gift was
a very fine one。 He had bought it on the install…186
187
ment plan to be paid for over a period of two years。 The gift
was a moving…picture machine for private use； with a half…
dozen of the Mickey Mouse and Popeye comedies that
Antonapoulos enjoyed。
Singer was the last to reach the store that morning。 He handed
the jeweler for whom he worked a formal written request for
leave on Friday and Saturday。 And although there were four
weddings on hand that week； the jeweler nodded that he could
go。
He did not let anyone know of the trip beforehand； but on
leaving he tacked a note to his door saying that he would be
absent for several days because of business。 He traveled at
night； and the train reached the place of his destination just as
the red winter dawn was breaking。
In the afternoon； a little before time for the visiting hour； he
went out to the asylum。 His arms were loaded with the parts of
the moving…picture machine and the basket of fruit he carried
his friend。 He went immediately to the ward where he had
visited Antonapoulos before。
The corridor； the door； the rows of beds were just as he
remembered them。 He stood at the threshold and looked
eagerly for his friend。 But he saw at once that though all the
chairs were occupied； Antonapoulos was not there。
Singer put down his packages and wrote at the bottom of one
of his cards； 'Where is Spiros Antonapoulos？' A nurse came
into the room and he handed her the card。 She did not
understand。 She shook her head and raised her shoulders。 He
went out into the corridor and handed the card to everyone he
met。 Nobody knew。 There was such a panic in him that he
began motioning with his hands。 At last he met an interne in a
white coat。 He plucked at the interne's elbow and gave him the
card。 The interne read it carefully and then guided him
through several halls。 They came to a small room where a
young woman sat at a desk before some papers。 She read the
card and then looked through some files in a drawer。
Tears of nervousness and fear swam in Singer's eyes。 The
young woman began deliberately to write on a pad of paper；
and he could not restrain himself from twisting around to see
immediately what was being written about his friend。
Mr。 Antonapoulos has been transferred to the infirmary。 He is
ill with nephritis。 I will have someone show you the way。
On the way through the corridors he stopped to pick up the
packages he had left at the door of the ward。 The basket of
fruit had been stolen； but the other boxes were intact。 He
followed the interne out of the building and across a plot of
grass to the infirmary。
Antonapoulos！ When they reached the proper ward he saw
him at the first glance。 His bed was placed in the middle of the
room and he was sitting propped with pillows。 He wore a
scarlet dressing…gown and green silk pajamas and a turquoise
ring。 His skin was a pale yellow color； his eyes very dreamy
and dark。 His black hair was touched at the temples with
silver。 He was knitting。 His fat fingers worked with the long
ivory needles very slowly。 At first he did not see his friend。
Then when Singer stood before him he smiled serenely；
without surprise； and held out his jeweled hand。
A feeling of shyness and restraint such as he had never known
before came over Singer。 He sat down by the bed and folded
his hands on the edge of the counterpane。 His eyes did not
leave the face of his friend and he was deathly pale。 The
splendor of his friend's raiment startled him。 On various
occasions he had sent him each article of the outfit； but he had
not imagined how they would look when all combined。
Antonapoulos was more enormous than he had remembered。
The great pulpy folds of his abdomen showed beneath his silk
pajamas。 His head was immense against the white pillow。 The
placid composure of his face was so profound that he seemed
hardly to be aware mat Singer was with him。
Singer raised Ms hands timidly and began to speak。 His
strong； skilled fingers shaped the signs with loving precision。
He spoke of the cold and of the long months alone。 He
mentioned old memories； the cat that had died； the store； the
place where he lived。 At each pause Antonapoulos nodded
graciously。 He spoke of the four people and the long visits to
his room。 The eyes of his friend were moist and dark； and in
them he saw the little rectangled pictures of himself that he
had watched a thousand times。 The188
warm blood flowed back to his face and his hands quickened。
He spoke at length of the black man and the one with the
jerking mustache and the girl。 The designs of his hands shaped
faster and faster。 Antonapoulos nodded with slow gravity。
Eagerly Singer leaned closer and he breathed with long； deep
breaths and in his eyes there were bright tears。
Then suddenly Antonapoulos made a slow circle in the air
with his plump forefinger。 His finger circled toward Singer
and at last he poked his friend in the stomach。 The big Greek's
smile grew very broad and he stuck out his fat； pink tongue。
Singer laughed and his hands shaped the words with wild
speed。 His shoulders shook with laughter and his head hung
backward。 Why he laughed he did not know。 Antonapoulos
rolled his eyes。 Singer continued to laugh riotously until his
breath was gone and his fingers trembled。 He grasped the arm
of his friend and tried to steady himself。 His laughs came slow
and painfully like hiccoughs。
Antonapoulos was the first to compose himself。 His fat little
feet had untucked the cover at the bottom of the bed。 His smile
faded and he kicked contemptuously at the blanket。 Singer
hastened to put things right； but Antonapoulos frowned and
held up his finger regally to a nurse who was passing through
the ward。 When she had straightened the bed to his liking the
big Greek inclined his head so deliberately that the gesture
seemed one of benediction rather than a simple nod of thanks。
Then he turned gravely to his friend again。
As Singer talked he did not realize how the time had passed。
Only when a nurse brought Antonapoulos his supper on a tray
did he realize that it was late。 The lights in the ward were
turned on and outside the windows it was almost dark。 The
other patients had trays of supper before them also。 They had
put down their work （some of them wove baskets； others did
leatherwork or knitted） and they were eating listlessly。
Besides Antonapoulos they all seemed very sick and colorless。
Most of them needed a haircut and they wore seedy gray
nightshirts slit down the back。 They stared at the two mutes
with wonder。
Antonapoulos lifted the cover from his dish and inspected the
food carefully。 There was fish and some vege
189
tables。 He picked up the fish and held it to the light in the
palm of his hand for a thorough examination。 Then he ate with
relish。 During supper he began to point out the various people
in the room。 He pointed to one man in the corner and made
faces of disgust。 The man snarled at him。 He pointed to a
young boy and smiled and nodded and waved his plump hand。
Singer was too happy to feel embarrassment。 He picked up the
packages from the floor and laid them on the bed to distract
his friend。 Antonapoulos took off the wrappings； but the
machine did not interest him at all。 He turned back to his
supper。
Singer handed the nurse a note explai