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He
stood
up
to
shake
hands
and
my
right
hand
was
folded
in
the
warm
,
rubbery
mass
.
He
put
something
in
my
hand
,
something
small
and
heavy
and
cool
,
about
the
size
of
a
key
but
not
a
key
—
a
shape
,
a
metal
thing
that
felt
sharp
-
edged
and
polished
.
I
don
’
t
know
what
it
was
because
I
didn
’
t
look
at
it
,
I
only
felt
it
.
I
leaned
near
and
kissed
him
on
the
mouth
and
with
my
lips
felt
his
dry
lips
all
chapped
and
rough
.
I
awakened
then
,
shaken
and
cold
.
The
dawn
had
come
.
I
could
see
the
lake
but
not
the
cow
standing
in
it
,
and
I
could
still
feel
the
chapped
dry
lips
.
I
got
up
instantly
because
I
didn
’
t
want
to
lie
there
thinking
about
it
.
I
didn
’
t
make
coffee
but
I
went
to
the
elephant
’
s
foot
and
saw
that
the
wicked
club
called
a
cane
was
still
there
.
It
was
the
throbbing
time
of
dawn
,
and
hot
and
humid
,
for
the
morning
wind
had
not
started
to
blow
.
The
street
was
gray
and
silver
and
the
sidewalk
greasy
with
the
deposit
of
humanity
.
The
Foremaster
coffee
shop
wasn
’
t
open
,
but
I
didn
’
t
want
coffee
anyway
.
I
went
through
the
alley
and
opened
my
back
door
—
looked
in
the
front
and
saw
the
leather
hatbox
behind
the
counter
.
I
opened
a
coffee
can
,
poured
the
coffee
in
the
garbage
pail
.
Then
I
punched
two
holes
in
a
can
of
condensed
milk
and
squirted
it
into
the
coffee
can
,
propped
the
back
door
open
,
and
put
the
can
in
the
entrance
.
The
cat
was
in
the
alley
all
right
,
but
he
wouldn
’
t
come
to
the
milk
until
I
went
into
the
front
of
the
store
.
From
there
I
could
see
him
,
gray
cat
in
gray
alley
,
lapping
the
milk
.
When
he
raised
his
head
he
was
mustached
with
milk
.
He
sat
down
and
wiped
his
mouth
and
licked
his
pads
.
I
opened
the
hatbox
and
took
out
the
Saturday
receipts
,
all
listed
and
held
together
with
paper
clips
.
From
the
brown
bank
envelope
I
removed
thirty
one
-
hundred
-
dollar
bills
and
replaced
the
other
twenty
of
them
.
This
three
thousand
dollars
would
be
my
margin
of
safety
until
the
store
’
s
economy
could
balance
.
Mary
’
s
other
two
thousand
would
go
back
to
her
account
and
,
as
soon
as
I
could
do
it
safely
,
I
would
replace
the
three
thousand
.
The
thirty
bills
I
put
in
my
new
wallet
,
which
made
it
very
fat
in
my
hip
pocket
.
Then
I
brought
cases
and
cartons
from
the
storeroom
,
ripped
and
tore
them
open
,
and
began
to
replenish
my
exhausted
shelves
,
while
on
a
strip
of
wrapping
paper
I
listed
the
goods
that
had
to
be
reordered
.
Cartons
and
boxes
I
piled
in
the
alley
for
the
collection
truck
,
and
I
refilled
the
coffeecan
with
milk
but
the
cat
did
not
return
.
Either
he
had
had
enough
or
he
took
pleasure
only
in
what
he
could
steal
.
It
must
be
that
there
are
years
unlike
other
years
,
as
different
in
climate
and
direction
and
mood
as
one
day
can
be
from
another
day
.
This
year
of
1960
was
a
year
of
change
,
a
year
when
secret
fears
come
into
the
open
,
when
discontent
stops
being
dormant
and
changes
gradually
to
anger
.
It
wasn
’
t
only
in
me
or
in
New
Baytown
.
Presidential
nominations
would
be
coming
up
soon
and
in
the
air
the
discontent
was
changing
to
anger
and
the
excitement
anger
brings
.
And
it
wasn
’
t
only
the
nation
;
the
whole
world
stirred
with
restlessness
and
uneasiness
as
discontent
moved
to
anger
and
anger
tried
to
find
an
outlet
in
action
,
any
action
so
long
as
it
was
violent
—
Africa
,
Cuba
,
South
America
,
Europe
,
Asia
,
the
Near
East
,
all
restless
as
horses
at
the
barrier
.
I
knew
that
Tuesday
,
July
fifth
,
was
going
to
be
a
day
larger
than
other
days
.
I
even
think
I
knew
what
things
would
happen
before
they
happened
,
but
since
they
did
I
will
never
be
sure
whether
I
really
knew
.
I
think
I
knew
that
the
seventeen
-
jewel
,
shockproof
Mr
.
Baker
,
who
ticked
the
hours
,
would
come
rattling
at
my
front
door
an
hour
before
the
bank
opening
time
.
He
did
before
I
had
opened
for
business
.
I
let
him
in
and
closed
the
doors
after
him
.
"
What
an
awful
thing
,
"
he
said
.
"
I
was
out
of
touch
.
I
came
back
as
soon
as
I
heard
.
"
"
Which
awful
thing
,
sir
?
"
