Mary And The Giant

"The last time what?" Pretending to ignore her, Mary Anne searched through her closet, getting out a dark red suit. From the dresser she took her old purse; the forty dollars was still there, where she had stuffed it. They hadn't found it.

"Your period," Mrs. Reynolds said. "Or can't you remember?"

"No, I don't remember. Last month sometime." Rapidly, nervously, Mary Anne shed her jeans and T-shirt, the clothes she had worn when she appeared at her family's house the night before. As she began getting into a clean slip, Rose Reynolds leaped from the door and ran toward her.

"Let go of me!" Mary Anne screeched, clawing and scratching at her mother. Ed Reynolds appeared in the doorway and fixedly witnessed.

Catching the girl around the waist, Rose Reynolds pulled her underpants down and dug her hand into the girl's hard belly. Mary Anne, shrieking, struggled to tear her mother's hand away. Finally satisfied, Mrs. Reynolds released her and strode back to the doorway.

"Get out of here!" Mary Anne screamed, grabbing up a shoe and hurling it. Her face collapsed in furious tears. "Get out!" She ran, shoved her mother and father out of the room, and slammed the door.

Sobbing, fumbling with her clothing, she managed to dress. She could hear them outside the closed door, conferring about her. "Shut up!" she wailed, wiping at her face with the back of her hand; and, as she hurried, planning out what she was going to do.

At nine o'clock she put in her appearance at the Lazy Wren. Taft Eaton, somber in his dirty apron and work trousers, was sweeping the sidewalk. When he saw her he pretended first to ignore her. "What do you want?" he demanded finally. "You always mean trouble."

"You can do me a favor," Mary Anne said.

"What kind of favor?"

"I want to rent a room."

"I'm not in the rooming business."

"You know all the property around here. Where's a vacant place? Just a room-something cheap."

"This is colored around here."

"I know. It's cheaper." And, in her state of mind, she needed the comforting presence of Negroes.

"What's the matter with what you got?"

"None of your business. Come on-I don't have all day. I'm not going to tramp around looking; I don't have time."

Eaton considered. "No kitchen. And you know it's colored. Yeah, that's right; you like to hang around with colored. What for? What sort of kicks do you get out of it?"

Mary Anne sighed. "Do we have to go into that?"

"On account of you, Carleton's in trouble with the law."

"It's not my fault."

"You're his girl. Anyhow, you were, once. Now it's that big blonde. What'd he do, get the taste?"

Patiently, Mary Anne waited.

Eaton picked up his broom and began tugging bits of fluff from it. "There're a lot of rooming houses around here. I know one place; it's not so hot, though. One of the fry cooks lives there."

"Fine. Give me the address."

"Go ask him; he's inside. No," Eaton said, changing his mind as the girl started toward the door. "I'd be just as happy if you kept out of my place." He wrote a note, tore it from the imitation-leather pad, and presented it to her. "It's a dump; you won't stay there. Full of drunks and sewer rats. You ever seen those big sewer rats? They swim in from the bay." He indicated with his hands. "As big as dogs."

"Thanks," Mary Anne said, pocketing the note.

"What's the matter?" Eaton said as the girl started off. "Don't you have somebody to pay your bills? A nice girl like you?"

He shook his head and resumed sweeping.

The building, she discovered, was as Eaton had described. Narrow and tall, it was wedged between two stores: a surgical supply house and a television repair shop. A flight of unpainted steps led up to the front porch. There she found a chair and an overturned wine bottle.

She rang the bell and waited.

A tiny, dried-up old colored woman with sharp black eyes and a long, beaked nose opened the door and inspected her. "Yes," she shrilled, "what did you want?"

"A room," Mary Anne said. "Taft Eaton said maybe you had one."

The name meant nothing to the old woman. "A room? No, we don't have any room."

"Isn't this a rooming house?"

"Yes," the old woman said, nodding and barring the door with her skinny arm. She wore a gray, shapeless dress and bobby socks. Behind her was the dim interior of a hallway: a dank and gloomy cavity that contained a table and mirror, a potted plant, the origin of a staircase. "But they're all full."

"Great," Mary Anne said. "What do I do now?"

The old woman started to close the door, then stopped, reflected, and said: "How soon did you have to have it?"

"Right away. Today."

"Usually we rent only to colored."

"That makes no difference to me."

"You don't have many boyfriends, do you? This is a quiet house; I try to keep it decent."

"No boyfriends," Mary Anne said.

"Do you drink?"

"No."

"Are you positive?"

"I'm positive," Mary Anne said, tapping her heel against the porch and gazing over the woman's head. "And I read the Bible every night before I go to bed."

"What church do you belong to?"

"The First Presbyterian." She picked it at random.