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'It's this way；' he said。 1 never had even kissed a girl before。
'
'Me neither。 I never kissed any boy。 Out of the family。
*
'That's all I used to think about—was to kiss this certain girl。
I
used to plan about it during school and dream about it at night。
And then once she gave me a date。 And I could tell she meant
for me to kiss her。 And I just looked at her in the dark and
I
couldn't That was all I had thought about—to kiss her—and
when the time came I couldn't。'
She dug a hole in the ground with her finger and buried the
dead ant。
It was all my fault。 Adultery is a terrible sin any way you look
at it。 And you were two years younger than me and just a
kid。'236
237
〃No； I wasn't。 I wasn't any kid。 But now I wish I was； though。'
'listen here。 If you think we ought to we can get married—
secretly or any other way。'
Mick shook her head。 'I didn't like that。 I never will marry with
any boy。'
'I never will marry either。 I know that And I'm not just saying
so—it's true。'
His face scared her。 His nose quivered and his bottom lip was
mottled and bloody where he had bitten it。 His eyes were
bright and wet and scowling。 His face was whiter than any
face she could remember。 She turned her head from him。
Things would be better if only he would just quit talking。 Her
eyes looked slowly around her—at the streaked red…and…white
clay of the ditch； at a broken whiskey bottle； at a pine tree
across from them with a sign advertising for a man for county
sheriff。 She wanted to sit quiet for a long time and not think
and not say a word。
'I'm leaving town。 I'm a good mechanic and I can get a job
some other place。 If I stayed home Mother could read this in
my eyes。'
Tell me。 Can you look at me and see the difference？'
Harry watched her face a long time and nodded that he could。
Then he said：
There's just one more thing。 In a month or two IT1 send you
my address and you write and tell me for sure whether you're
all right。'
。How you mean？' she asked slowly。
He explained to her。 'All you need to write is 〃O。K。〃 and then
TO know。'
They were walking home again； pushing the wheels。 Their
shadows stretched out giant…sized on the road。 Harry was bent
over like an old beggar and kept wiping his nose on his sleeve。
For a minute there was a bright； golden glow over everything
before the sun sank down behind the trees and their shadows
were gone on the road before them。 She felt very old； and it
was like something was heavy inside her。 She was a grown
person now； whether she wanted to be or not。
They had walked the sixteen miles and were in the dark alley
at home。 She could see the yellow light from their kitchen。
Harry's house was dark—his mother had not
come home。 She worked for a tailor in a shop on a side street。
Sometimes even on Sunday。 When you looked through the
window you could see her bending over the machine in the
back or pushing a long needle through the heavy pieces of
goods。 She never looked up while you watched her。 And at
night she cooked these orthodox dishes for Harry and her。
'Listen here' he said。
She waited in the dark； but he did not finish。 They shook
hands with each other and Harry walked up the dark alley
between the houses。 When he reached the sidewalk he turned
and looked back over his shoulder。 A light shone on his face
and it was white and hard。 Then he was gone。
'This here is a riddle；' George said。
'I listening。'
Two Indians was walking on a trail。 The one in front was the
son of the one behind but the one behind was not his father。
What kin was they？'
'Less see。 His stepfather。'
George grinned at Portia with his little square； blue teeth。
'His uncle； then。'
'You can't guess。 It was his mother。 The trick is that you don't
think about a Indian being a lady。'
She stood outside the room and watched them。 The doorway
framed the kitchen like a picture。 Inside it was homey and
clean。 Only the light by the sink was turned on and there were
shadows in the room。 Bill and Hazel played black…jack at the
table with matches for money。 Hazel felt the braids of her hair
with her plump； pink fingers while Bill sucked in his cheeks
and dealt the cards in a very serious way。 At the sink Portia
was drying the dishes with a clean checked towel。 She looked
thin and her skin was golden yellow； her greased black hair
slicked neat。 Ralph sat quietly on the floor and George。was
trying a little harness on him made out of old Christmas tinsel。
This here is another riddle； Portia。 If the hand of a clock
points to half…past two'
She went into the room。 It was like she had expected them to
move back when they saw her and stand around238
239
in a circle and look。 But they just glanced at her。 She sat down
at the table and waited。
'Here you come traipsing in after everbody done finished
supper。 Seem to me like I never will get off from work。'
Nobody noticed her。 She ate a big plateful of cabbage and
salmon and finished off with junket。 It was her Mama she was
thinking about。 The door opened and her Mama came in and
told Portia that Miss Brown had said she found a bedbug in
her room。 To get out the gasoline。
'Quit frowning like that； Mick。 You're coming to the age
where you ought to fix up and try to look the best you can。
And hold on—don't barge out like that when I speak with you
—I mean you to give Ralph a good sponge bath before he goes
to bed。 Clean his nose and ears good。'
Ralph's soft hair was sticky with oatmeal。 She wiped it with a
dishrag and rinched his face and hands at the sink。 Bill and
Hazel finished their game。 Bill's long fingernails scraped on
the table as he took up the matches。 George carried Ralph off
to bed。 She and Portia were alone in the kitchen。
'Listen！ Look at me。 Do you notice anything different？' 'Sure I
notice； Hon。'
Portia put on her red hat and changed her shoes。 Well—？'
'Just you take a little grease and rub it on your face。 Your nose
already done peeled very bad。 They say grease is the best
thing for bad sunburn。'
She stood by herself in the dark back yard； breaking off pieces
of bark from the oak tree with her fingernails。 It was almost
worse this way。 Maybe she would feel better if they could
look at her and tell。 If they knew。
Her Dad called her from the back steps。 〃Mick！ Oh； Mick！'
。Yes； sir。' 'The telephone。〃
George crowded up close and tried to listen in； but she pushed
him away。 Mrs。 Minowitz talked very loud and excited。
'My Harry should be home by now。 You know where he is？
'
*No； ma'am。
'
'He said you two would ride out on bicycles。 Where should he
be now？ You know where he is？' 'No； ma'am；' Mick said
again。
N。
12
ow that the days were hot again the Sunny Dixie Show was
always crowded。 The March wind quieted。 Trees were thick
with their foliage of ocherous green。 The sky was a cloudless
blue and the rays of the sun grew stronger。 The air was sultry。
Jake Blount hated this weather。 He thought dizzily of the long；
burning summer months ahead。 He did not feel well。 Recently
a headache had begun to trouble him constantly。 He had
gained weight so that his stomach developed a little pouch。 He
had to leave the top button of his trousers undone。 He knew
that this was alcoholic fat； but he kept on drinking。 Liquor
helped the ache in his head。 He had only to take one small
glass to make it better。 Nowadays one glass was the same to
him as a quart。 It was not the liquor of the moment that gave
him the kick—but the reaction of the first swallow to all the
alcohol which had saturated his blood during these last
months。 A spoonful of beer would help the throbbing in his
head； but a quart of whiskey could not make him drunk。
He cut out liquor entirely。 For several days he drank only
water and Orange Crush。 The pain was h'ke a crawling worm
in his head。 He worked wearily during the long afternoons and
evenings。 He could not sleep and it was agony to try to read。
The damp； sour stink in his room infuriated him。 He lay
restless in the bed and when at last he fell asleep daylight had
come。
A dream haunted him。 It had first come to him four months
ago。 He would awake with terror—but the strange point was
that never could he remember the contents of this dream。 Only
the feeling remained when his eyes were opened。 Each time
his fears at awakening were so identical that he did not doubt
but what these dreams were the same。 He was used to dreams；
the grotesque nightmares240
of drink that led him down into a madman's region of disorder；
but always the morning light scattered the effects of these wild
dreams and he forgot them。
This blank； stealthy dream was of a different nature。 He
awoke and could remember nothing。 But there was a sense of
menace that lingered in him long after。 Then he awoke one
morning with the old fear but with a faint remembrance of the
darkness behind him。 He had been walking among a crowd of
people and in his arms he carried something。 That was all he
could be sure about。 Had he stolen？ Had he been trying to
save some possession？ Was he