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that when he spoke his language the mute understood。 And as
he claimed this his voice grew warm and he forgot to squabble
with his children and he was full of plans and activity。 One
old man from the country said that the mute had come from
somewhere near his home and that the mute's father had the
finest tobacco crop in all the country。 All these things were
said about him。
Antonapoulos！ Within Singer there was always the memory of
his friend。 At night when he closed his eyes the Greek's face
was there in the darkness—round and oily； with a wise and
gentle smile。 In his dreams they were always together。
It was more than a year now since his friend had gone away。
This year seemed neither long nor short。 Rather it was
removed from the ordinary sense of time—as when one is
drunk or half…asleep。 Behind each hour there was always his
friend。 And this buried life with Antonapoulos changed and
developed as did the happenings around him。 During the first
few months he had thought most of the terrible weeks before
Antonapoulos was taken away—of the
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trouble that followed his Illness； of the summons for arrest；
and the misery in trying to control the whims of his friend。 He
thought of times in the past when he and Antonapoulos had
been unhappy。 There was one recollection； far in the past； that
came back to him several times。
They never had no friends。 Sometimes they would meet other
mutes—there were three of them with whom they became
acquainted during the ten years。 But something always
happened。 One moved to another state the week after they met
him。 Another was married and had six children and did not
talk with his hands。 But it was their relation with the third of
these acquaintances that Singer remembered when his friend
was gone。
The mute's name was Carl。 He was a sallow young man who
worked in one of the mills。 His eyes were pale yellow and his
teeth so brittle and transparent that they seemed pale and
yellow also。 In his blue…overalls that hung limp over his
skinny little body he was like a blue…and…yellow rag doll。
They invited him to dinner and arranged to meet him
beforehand at the store where Antonapoulos worked。 The
Greek was still busy when they arrived。 He was finishing a
batch of caramel fudge in the cooking room at the back of the
store。 The fudge lay golden and glossy over the long marble…
topped table。 The air was warm and rich with sweet smells。
Antonapoulos seemed pleased to have Carl watch him as he
glided the knife down the warm candy and cut it into squares。
He offered their new friend a corner of the fudge on the edge
of his greased knife； and showed him the trick that he always
performed for anyone when he wished to be liked。 He pointed
to a vat of syrup boiling on the stove and fanned his face and
squinted his eyes to show how hot it was。 Then he wet his
hand in a pot of cold water； plunged it into the boiling syrup；
and swiftly put it back into the water again。 His eyes bulged
and he rolled out his tongue as though he were in great agony。
He even wrung his hand and hopped on one foot so that the
building shook。 Then he smiled suddenly and held out his
hand to show that it was a joke and hit Carl on the shoulder。
It was a pale winter evening； and their breath clouded in the
cold air as they walked with their arms interlocked down the
street Singer was in the middle and he left them172
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on the sidewalk twice while he went into stores to shop。 Carl
and Antonapoulos carried the sacks of groceries； and Singer
held to their arms tightly and smiled all the way home。 Their
rooms were cozy and he moved happily about。 making
conversation with Carl。 After the meal the two of them talked
while Antonapoulous watched with a slow smile。 Often the
big Greek would lumber to the closet and pour out drinks of
gin。 Carl sat by the window； only drinking when
Antonapoulos pushed the glass into his face； and then taking
solemn little sips。 Singer could not ever remember his friend
so cordial to a stranger before； and he thought ahead with
pleasure to the time when Carl would visit them often。
Midnight had passed when the thing happened that ruined the
festive party。 Antonapoulos returned from one of his trips to
the closet and his face had a glowering look。 He sat on his bed
and began to stare repeatedly at their new friend with
expressions of offense and great disgust。 Singer tried to make
eager conversation to hide this stranee behavior； but the Greek
was persistent。 Carl huddled in a chair； nursing his bony
knees； fascinated and bewildered by the grimaces of the big
Greek。 His face was flushed and he swallowed timidly。 Singer
could ignore the situation no longer； so at last he asked
Antonapoulos if his stomach pained him or if he perhaps felt
bad and wished to go to sleep。 Antonapoulos shook his head。
He pointed to Carl and began to make all the gestures of
obscenity which he knew。 The disgust on his face was terrible
to see。 Carl was small with fear。 At last the big Greek ground
his teeth and rose from his chair。 Hurriedly Carl picked up his
cap and left the room。 Singer followed him down the stairs。
He did not know how to explain his friend to this stranger。
Carl stood hunched in the doorway downstairs； limp； with his
peaked cap pulled down over his face。 At last they shook
hands and Carl went away。
Antonapoulos let him know that while they were not noticing；
their guest had gone into the closet and drunk up all the gin。
No amount of persuasion could convince Antonapoulos that it
was he himself who had finished the bottle。 The big Greek sat
up in bed and his round face was dismal and reproachful。
Large tears trickled slowly down to the neck of his undershirt
and he could not be comforted。 At last he went to sleep； but Singer was awake in the
dark a long time。 They never saw Carl again。
Then years later there was the time Antonapoulos took the
rent money from the vase on the mantelpiece and spent it all
on the slot machines。 And the summer afternoon
Antonapoulos went downstairs naked to get the paper。 He
suffered so from the summer heat。 They bought an electric
refrigerator on the installment plan； and Antonapoulos would
suck the cubes of ice constantly and even let a few of them
melt in bed with him as he slept。 And the time Antonapoulos
got drunk and threw a bowl of macaroni in his face。
Those ugly memories wove through his thoughts during the
first months like bad threads through a carpet。 And then they
were gone。 All the times that they had been unhappy were
forgotten。 For as the year went on his thoughts of his friend
spiraled deeper until he dwelt only with the Antonapoulos
whom he alone could know。
This was the friend to whom he told all that was in his heart。
This was the Antonapoulos who no one knew was wise but
him。 As the year passed his friend seemed to grow larger in
his mind； and his face looked out in a very grave and subtle
way from the darkness at night。 The memories of his friend
changed in his mind so that he remembered nothing that was
wron