trom across the room to the wash stand. As he poured some water a washthe chipped pitcher into a white enameled basin, he picked up it, rag and dropped it into the water. The thirsty cloth drank half of it softening creases from the few previous washings. Jerry pulled ran water the of Much hands. both with it g wringin from the basin, down his arms and splashed onto the floor. He ignored that pool, too. Jerry rubbed his face and neck with the cloth. It carried the warm smell of stale water and sweat. He glanced around the cell-like room for someone to talk with, just to break the monotony of living. Someone like that girl in the liquor store near the plant would be just right, Jerry thought. “Yeah,” he said softly, remembering how he had finally managed enough courage to speak to her the night before. re remembered her black hair drawn into a bun behind her thin tace, and he remembered the old man who had made her angry when he had come into the store. She hadn’t understood that Jerry just wanted to talk. She had turned away to talk to the old man, leaving Jerry's change on the counter. He had feared to try again, because he was afraid she was angry. Jerry was like that, afraid to have people angry. Splashing the cloth into the basin, he looked at his misty image in the dirty mirror beside the basin, trying to push the girl from his mind. He rested his hand on the splintering stand, moving a small pile of change closer to the edge. Wheeling around, Jerry took three steps back to the bed. He stretched across it and yanked back the curtain, widening the tear. He pushed up the window. It breathed a blast of hot air into his face. The foul breath carried with it the crashing of garbage cans below. A bus horn sounded. Looking down the two stories, Jerry saw the neighborhood kids running from the spilled trash barrel, yelling theats at each other. Brats, he thought, staring at the narrow street lined with crumbling stores. Looking up the street, he saw a dark-haired girl and an old man carrying a suitcase coming toward his building. He felt something familiar about them but couldn’t see well enough to tell what it was. He felt uncomfortable. Drawing back in, he stood up and exhaled audibly. Jerry looked around the room. Even light from the single window didn’t brighten it any. He saw his brown shirt and shoes and socks on a second chair at the end of the bed. Walking over to the chair, he pulled the shirt over his slumped shoulders. He picked up the levis he had dropped and pulled them on. Sitting on the chair, he bent down to put on his socks and tie his brown oxfords. He stood up, took a comb from his pocket, and ran it through his blond hair, rearranging the grease.., Jerry strode back to the washstand and, scooping up the small pile of change, shoved it into his right pocket. He opened the door and slammed it behind him. On the street below, the sun shone brighter, even though some low clouds hung above the tenement roofs. Jerry started down the street, passing people who lounged in the crumbled doorways without speaking. He glanced at the light traffic sending exhaust fumes and 30 noises from the street. Jerry moved under the tattered shop awnings to avoid the direct sun. He watched his reflection in the streaked windows as his heels clicked along the sidewalks. Down the street he saw more shop-owners in their doorways. As Jerry neared the corner bus stop, he saw three people already waiting by the red bus sign. He watched them as his heels clicked closer and a car honked in the street. The first man he hadn’t seen: before, but he recognized the girl and carrying a suitcase, the old man whom he had seen from his window. Jerry stopped before Rubin’s Clock Store, the corner building, without going over to the bus stop. He felt uneasy as he watched the people at the corner, trying to remember why he thought he knew the two people. Glancing into the window, he saw the hands of a gilt clock pointing to twenty-three minutes after eleven. Jerry looked at the people beside the stand again. As the girl spoke to the old man, Jerry recognized her profile. She was the girl from the liquor store. He wanted to walk over to her, but he feared she would turn away again. She glanced in his direction, and he looked quickly away, feeling the color rise in his face. When he looked back, she had turned away. Jerry watched the sun reflect off the clock for a few seconds and thought about speaking to the girl again. Maybe she would listen if he tried now. After all, he thought, last night the old man barged in, and she had to talk to him. Jerry felt feeble courage rise in his stomach as he took a deep breath and walked toward her. Coming beside her, he saw that a black lock had fallen from the severe bun on the back of her head and brushed across the back of her faded yellow blouse. Jerry opened his mouth to begin as sweat beads formed on his upper lip. The girl didn’t seem aware of him. He began to speak. "An ., | listen. ..4 2 About last...” _ Anna,” the old man’s voice interrupted Jerry. ‘““The bus is coming. Jerry stared at the old man, then looked at the girl. She had taken the old man’s arm, not hearing Jerry. He hated the old man. “Can’t we go home now?” the old man asked the girl. “No, Papa,” she said evenly, looking at him. The old green bus lumbered to a stop before them. The sound of air scraping on air escaped from the back of the bus as the door opened. “But, Anna,” the old man pleaded as the girl led him toward the door. “I’m afraid. I don’t want to go back to the house.” The girl sighed but forced him onto the first step and into the bus. She followed him, dropping some coins into the fare box. Jerry grasped the steel guard rail and pulled himself into the bus, watching the girl’s blue shirt move as she walked down “Fare, mister,” a voice said beside the aisle. Jerry. “What?” Jerry said, gancing blankly at the bus driver. He “Your fare,” the driver said. “You gotta have fifteen cents.” “Oh ... yeah,” Jerry said, fumbling in his pocket for the change. pulled out two dimes and shoved them into the fare box, then 31 |