J R

— Please I, I think we should get them together and, oh…! she’d turned the profile of her raised chin and, one finger delicately cocked, her hand risen with a white cracker to her parted lips where Bast abruptly thrust a lighted match.

— Oh I, I’m sorry I, I thought you were smoking, did I…

— No it’s all right… she bit the cracker but her hand came away trembling, like his with the match. — It simply startled me…

— But I’m, I’m really ow!

— Oh here, here put the teabag on it it draws out the heat please could one of you, Mister Bast could you tell the children to get their things together…

— Oh the, yes… he was up, — yes of course…

— And Mister Gibbs I think if, if you can excuse us…

— No no it’s all right haven’t been this entertained since…

— Well would you mind sitting up! simply, simply trying to sit up straight the children have been looking over and they, I’m just afraid they’ll think you’ve been drinking.

— Think I’ve been, listen they don’t know what drinking is I could sit down over there shoot myself through the head they’d think I was dead and expect to see me in school tomorrow Christ they don’t know what, look at them over there look like a God damned settlement house Mister Urquhart creeping around picking up napkin wads like something out of Dickens they…

— Is that any reason you should treat him like…

— What who Urquhart? I’m God damn it I didn’t invent him look at him, think he hasn’t got a skinful to get through the day in a place like this? That almost distinguished profile that authority in his face but it won’t stay still afraid people will notice his teeth don’t fit, afraid he’ll lose them and we’ll all laugh so he’s telling that sloppy busboy to clean up a table he’s almost finished anyhow keep his authority intact just those God damned teeth can’t relax for an instant he’s…

— Please stop it!

— But, but what…

She’d caught her lower lip to one side and she shook her head quickly. — I don’t know I, I don’t know…

— But…

— No please! she caught her hand away, opened the bag in her lap — if you’ll just let me…

— Because Christ if you think I’m, you think I think he’s funny out there trying to hang on…

— You all do, she said in a voice near a whisper over the handkerchief’s faint edge of lavender — all of you that, that poor man this morning standing in a cradle he kept talking about standing in a cradle, we are now standing in the cradle he said trampling those sharp little leather heels of his who, who ever stood in a cradle no please!

But he held her fallen wrist there — listen! you can’t, always somebody standing in your cradle somebody setting fire to your cracker you can’t…

— Well why shouldn’t he! he, even that even lighting my cracker he was trying it’s, I think it was quite dear of him it’s certainly nicer than, than the way you pick on people for trying especially on him when all he wants is to, why you can’t simply, simply act like a grownup…

He’d recovered his hand, busied it now digging a matchbox from a pocket. — Never really expected to… he dug elsewhere, came up with a broken cigarette.

— To what, to grow up? she looked away from his hands, — do you think any of them do?

— Does. Any does.

— Pardon?

— Expect to die too, get to come to school next morning tell all their friends about it Christ, the thought of you herding them out across these filthy streets and the train that train, staring through dirty panes at the waste out there train creaking along the sun gone down leaves blowing and the wind, dead leaves blowing you and these kids along from behind…

— But I don’t think they…

— Indian summer somebody says but I don’t see it just the wind, sun gone down the God damned wind rising dead leaves you and these kids blowing along from behind…

— It’s always a sad time of year but, bilt I don’t think…

— Sad Christ it’s, life draining out of the sky out of the world it’s…

— But it’s quite beautiful too, the fall colors the leaves changing you can’t really say…

— See life draining out of everything in sight call that beautiful? End of the day alone on that train, lights coming on in those little Connecticut towns stop and stare out at an empty street corner dry cheese sandwich charge you a dollar wouldn’t even put butter on it, finally pull into that desolate station scared to get off scared to stay on… he’d slid the matchbox open, picking out matches to arrange all their heads in one direction — school car waiting there like a, black Reo touring car waiting there like a God damned open hearse think anybody expect to grow up…

— But was, this was boarding school? did you…

— Telling you that’s what we did there, got to bring these God damned colored leaves in to class try to copy them with crayons… he squeezed the matchbox closed — I, I watch you sometimes, he looked up abruptly — your lessons I mean, on television when I don’t have a class and, or when I stay out…

— But, but why in the world, my lessons aren’t…

— No with the sound off I, I just watch you…