按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
was a chilly afternoon in late November； and little huffs of
breath showed in the air before them。
Charles Parker was to travel with his cousin； but he stood
apart from them at the station。 Antonapoulos crowded into the
bus and settled himself with elaborate preparations on one of
the front seats。 Singer watched him from the window and his
hands began desperately to talk for the last time with his
friend。 But Antonapoulos was so busy checking over the
various items in his lunch box that for a while he paid no
attention。 Just before the bus pulled away from the curb he
turned to Singer and his smile was very bland and remote—as
though already they were many miles apart。
The weeks that followed didn't seem real at all。 All day Singer
worked over his bench in the back of the jewelry store； and
then at night he returned to the house alone。 More than
anything he wanted to sleep。 As soon as he came home from
work he would lie on his cot and try to doze awhile。 Dreams
came to him when he lay there half…asleep。 And in all of them
Antonapoulos was there。 His hands would jerk nervously； for
in his dreams he was talk…8
ing to his friend and Antonapoulos was watching him。
Singer tried to think of the time before he had ever known his
friend。 He tried to recount to himself certain things that had
happened when he was young。 But none of these things he
tried to remember seemed real。
There was one particular fact that he remembered； but it was
not at all important to him。 Singer recalled that； although he
had been deaf since he was an infant； he had not always been
a real mute。 He was left an orphan very young and placed in
an institution for the deaf。 He had learned to talk with his
hands and to read。 Before he was nine years old he could talk
with one hand in the American way—and also could employ
both of his hands after the method of Europeans。 He had
learned to follow the movements of people's lips and to
understand what they said。 Then finally he had been taught to
speak。
At the school he was thought very intelligent。 He learned the
lessons before the rest of the pupils。 But he could never
become used to speaking with his lips。 It was not natural to
him； and his tongue felt like a whale in his mouth。 From the
blank expression on people's faces to whom he talked in this
way he felt that his voice must be like the sound of some
animal or that there was something disgusting in his speech。 It
was painful for him to try to talk with his mouth； but his hands
were always ready to shape the words he wished to say。 When
he was twenty…two he had come South to this town from
Chicago and he met Antonapoulos immediately。 Since that
time he had never spoken with his mouth again； because with
his friend there was no need for this。
Nothing seemed real except the ten years with Antonapoulos。
In his half…dreams he saw his friend very vividly； and when he
awakened a great aching loneliness would be in him。
Occasionally he would pack up a box for Antonapoulos； but
he never received any reply。 And so the months passed hi this
empty； dreaming way。
In the spring a change came over Singer。 He could not sleep
and his body was very restless。 At evening he would walk
monotonously around the room； unable to work off a new
feeling of energy。 If he rested at all it was only during a few
hours before dawn—then he would drop bluntly into
9
a sleep that lasted until the morning light struck suddenly
beneath his opening eyelids like a scimitar。
He began spending his evenings walking around the town。 He
could no longer stand the rooms where Antonapoulos had
lived； and he rented a place in a shambling boarding…house not
far from the center of the town。
He ate his meals at a restaurant only two blocks away。 This
restaurant was at the very end of the long main street and the
name of the place was the New York Cafe。 The first day he
glanced over the menu quickly and wrote a short note and
handed it to the proprietor。
Each morning for breakfast I want an egg； toast； and coffee
0。15
For lunch I want soup （any kind）； a meat sandwich； and milk
— 0。25
Please bring me ut dinner three vegetables （any kind but
cabbage）； fish or meat； and a glass of beer—
0。35
Thank you。
The proprietor read the note and gave him an alert； tactful
glance。 He was a hard man of middle height； with a beard so
dark and heavy that the lower part of his face looked as
though it were molded of iron。 He usually stood in the corner
by the cash register； his arms folded over his chest； quietly
observing all that went on around him。 Singer came to know
this man's face very well； for he ate at one of his tables three
times a day。
Each evening the mute walked alone for hours in the street。
Sometimes the nights were cold with the sharp； wet winds of
March and it would be raining heavily。 But to him this did not
matter。 His gait was agitated and he always kept his hands
stuffed tight into the pockets of his trousers。 Then as the
weeks passed the days grew warm and languorous。 His
agitation gave way gradually to exhaustion and there was a
look about him of deep calm。 In his face there came to be a
brooding peace that is seen most often in the faces of the very
sorrowful or the very wise。 But still he wandered through the
streets of the town； always silent and alone。10
_f N A black； sultry night in early summer Biff Brannon
stood behind the cash register of the New York Cafe。 It was
twelve o'clock。 Outside the street lights had already been
turned off； so that the light from the cafe made a sharp； yellow
rectangle on the sidewalk。 The street was deserted； but inside
the cafe there were half a dozen customers drinking beer or
Santa Lucia wine or whiskey。 Biff waited stolidly； his elbow
resting on the counter and his thumb mashing the tip of his
long nose。 His eyes were intent。 He watched especially a
short； squat man in overalls who had become drunk and
boisterous。 Now and then his gaze passed on to the mute who
sat by himself at one of the middle tables； or to others of the
customers before the counter。 But he always turned back to
the drunk in overalls。 The hour grew later and Biff continued
to wait silently behind the counter。 Then at last he gave the
restaurant a final survey and went toward the door at the back
which led upstairs。
Quietly he entered the room at the top of the stairs。 It was dark
inside and he walked with caution。 After he had gone a few
paces his toe struck something hard and he reached down and
felt for the handle of a suitcase on the floor。 He had only been
in the room a few seconds and was about to leave when the
light was turned on。
Alice sat up in the rumpled bed and looked at him。 'What you
doing with that suitcase？' she asked。 'Can't you get rid of that
lunatic without giving him back what he's already drunk up？'
'Wake up and go down yourself。 Call the cop and let him get
soused on the chain gang with cornbread and peas。 Go to it；
Misses Brannon。'
'I will all right if he's down there tomorrow。 But you l