ira gold ALLAN BALLIETT With the October air brisk on his cheeks Ira Gold walked up the sidewalk toward his house. A faint breeze fingered the dyed leaves on an elm as he passed under it, throwing one onto his nearly bald head. Ira looked up at the naked branches then raised a stubby hand and brushed the crisp spear-head shaped leaf from his skin. Then he pushed his fat hands back into his slacks and looked down the sidewalk as it passed under his black shoes. Ira looked up at the grey clouded sky. A drop of rain hit on his forehead. He frowned. He had wanted to spend this Sunday golfing. Two more streaks hit on his head. He hunched up his drooping shoulders under his cardigan sweater. He drove his fat fingers deeper into his slacks pockets. His heart thumped as his square fingertips felt the small rubber ball in the bottom of his pocket. He thought of walking the two blocks back to Mrs. Shane's house and decided to go on home. Sally, his four-year-old daughter would probably not even miss it as she played with Mrs. Shane's little girl. He started up again for his house. As he walked he was sure someone was pointing at him from inside each house. Pointing and laughing at him. He sniffed his large nose and hunched down at the walk again. Rain splattered his pink crown. What a hell of a way to go through life, Ira thought. Afraid to walk down the street. Then his thoughts moved to the war, would it reach nuclear degree in the near future? He tightened up his mouth and kicked a small black rock off the sidewalk. It bounced once on the concrete then flipped over the dead grass of the parkway and stopped with a metallic clink. Ira looked up and saw his neighbor Joe Woolf bent over his '59 Ford that was parked beside the curb. "Hey, watch it, Gold. No self-respecting Jew boy goes around throwing rocks at a good man's car. Watch it. I'd be in my rights to turn your short Hebrew hide inside out!" The voice was deep and obnoxiously belligerent. "I'd do it, too, if I weren't busy on my car!" he added with a snarl. "What are you doing to your car?" Ira's voice trembled in his throat. "I'm overhauling my igni" And then as though realizing he was treating Ira like a man, "You wouldn't know what I'm talking about anyway, Kike. Go play in your bomb shelter, okay?" Then he turned his broad back and stuck his blond head under the hood of the blue car. Ira turned and started up the sidewalk. He pushed his fingers back into his pockets and looked down at the walk. He tightened up his lips and blew air through his teeth into his cheeks. Ira poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table across from his wife. He stared down at the cup as the black whirlpool slowed down. He frowned into it. "What's the matter dear? You haven't said a word since you came in." She stood up from her chair and stepped to the window behind Ira and looked out as the rain dotted the flat roof of the bomb shelter. "It's too bad it rained today." She looked down at Ira who was still staring into his coffee. She twitched a smile, "We could pick up Sally and then go somewhere and eat. We should do something together today." She moved behind Ira and put her slender hands on his chubby shoulders. "We don't do much together anymore." Ira stood up and stormed with disgust to the front room. "Put on some music, honey," she said trying to act nonchalant. Ira opened up the maple radio cabinet and turned the knob to "on." The tubes hummed as they warmed up. He walked to the window. He looked through the narrow crack between the drapes. Joe Woolf was still hunched over the fender of the car. The rain was coming heavier. Ira watched as Joe removed a part from inside of the hood and then walked towards his house with it. Ira turned around with a frown on his broad face and looked at 4 his wife. Ira knotted his bushy brows, "One day" The radio blasted out with the voice of a man. Ira reached into the cabinet and switched the knob off. "News," he said bitterly. "At fifteen to one?" his wife asked looking at her watch. "One day I'm going to get even with him. One day, one day I'll get him on my ground." He walked into the kitchen pushing past his wife who was standing in the doorway. Her long black hair waved in the breeze he had caused. "Don't let him bother you, honey. He just wants to make you" "One day I'll get him. One day!" He slammed his fat fist down on the table top, coffee leaped from both the cups and formed brown splotches on the white cotton tablecloth. He sat down in his chair and cradled his big forehead in his hands. "How can you love me? How can you?" he moaned looking down into his half empty cup. She stepped behind his humped back and put her slender fingers around the back of his thick neck, "I love you. I love you." "Then something must be wrong with you," he retorted, shocking himself. They stayed like that for a long time. Ira stared into his cup and his little wife rubbed his short neck with her fingers while she stared up at the corner of the ceiling with her brown eyes. When the shrill staccato of the alert sirens started, Ira's head jumped upright, knocking his wife's hands down. He stood up, aware only of the piercing code in his ears. "It's an attack," he said in disbelief. Then, as though he were in shock, he said, "Let's get into the shelter." Ira pulled the steel trap door shut behind him and stepped down the last rung of the ladder to the cement floor. His wife stood under the bare light bulb wringing her hands. Tears ran down her cheeks. Ira started toward her, then he stepped back up the ladder and locked the door. When he stepped down, he began to check the supplies. In one corner sat a large square water tank with a spigot on the outside end. On top of it sat three spare batteries to power the bare light that hung from the center of the ceiling. Next to the batteries was a stack of army blankets. Food cans covered the shelves on the south side of the shelter. On the north shelf Ira saw the small Coleman stove and three canisters of gas next to the transistor radio. Ira stepped to the radio and turned it on. The voice came through the small speaker almost immediately. "Go as orderly as possible to the nearest shelter. As orderly as" As the monotone voice droned on, Ira closed his eyes and leaned back on the steel ladder. All he could hear was the radio and his wife's whimpering. Then he heard a thud on the steel door above him. Someone was pounding on the shelter! Ira stepped up the iron rungs in the wall and opened the peep hatch on the two inch thick door. He saw a circular view of the red face of Joe Woolf. Joe quit banging and looked down the little hole. "Let me in," he ordered. Ira's mouth dropped open as he stared up at the hole. "I can see you in there, let me in." Ira looked up in disbelief. Joe's face was contorted with fear. His voice was trembling. Then Ira couldn't control his muscles. He smiled, and then the smile broke into a laugh that echoed around the shelter and out through the small peep hole. "Shut up! Shut up! or or" "Or what, Joey? Will you huff and puff and blow my house down?" "You can't leave me out here." "You can go to the city shelter." "I can't. It's clear across town, and I've got my whole ignition torn apart." A gurgling scream ripped itself from his throat, "You've got to let me in!" "Why don't you pray to your Jesus then? We can't let you in here. There's only enough food for the three of us the three of us." Ira repeated as he dropped his hold on the rung. "The three of us," as he stared at the light bulb. Muffling a scream in her hands, his wife swayed and sat down on the floor, then fell over unconscious. Ira Gold climbed up the cold iron ladder and the cold steel of the door froze to his skin as he pushed it open. "Thank you, God, thank you," Woolf whispered, wriggling like a happy puppy. Ira Gold climbed out of the hole like a man in a trance. He felt the cold rain prick his head and neck. He felt the grass crack beneath his feet. The gray sky seemed black. His ears burned as he heard the voice from the radio say, " minute to zero hour." Ira stepped around the corner of the house and into the driveway. He walked into the front yard. A red car sped down the street with a lone man at the wheel. A woman and her two small children were running up the other side of the street. The sirens were piercing the air, piercing the bricks and asphalt. Ira Gold felt the sirens piercing him. All he heard was Sally whimper. He turned and saw her sitting on the porch crying. He jumped up onto the porch and knelt down on one knee beside her. He ran his hands under her arms, then stood up with her. She looked into his face. Her eyes were glazed with tears, "Mrs. Shane sent me home and the whistles hurt my ears," she cried again. Ira heard the sirens now. He knew that he would see the missiles soon, too. He trotted with her bouncing in his arms to the corner of the house. 5