The Heart is a Lonely Hunter - Carson McCullers [122]
They had walked the sixteen miles and were in the dark alley at home. She could see the yellow light from their kitchen.
Harry’s house was dark--his mother had not come home. She worked for a tailor in a shop on a side street.
Sometimes even on Sunday. When you looked through the window you could see her bending over the machine in the back or pushing a long needle through the heavy pieces of goods. She never looked up while you watched her. And at night she cooked these orthodox dishes for Harry and her.
‘Listen here--’ he said.
She waited in the dark, but he did not finish. They shook hands with each other and Harry walked up the dark alley between the houses. When he reached the sidewalk he turned and looked back over his shoulder. A light shone on his face and it was white and hard. Then he was gone.
‘This here is a riddle,’ George said.
‘I listening.’
Two Indians was walking on a trail. The one in front was the son of the one behind but the one behind was not his father.
What kin was they?’
‘Less see. His stepfather.’
George grinned at Portia with his little square, blue teeth.
‘His uncle, then.’
‘You can’t guess. It was his mother. The trick is that you don’t think about a Indian being a lady.’
She stood outside the room and watched them. The doorway framed the kitchen like a picture. Inside it was homey and clean. Only the light by the sink was turned on and there were shadows in the room. Bill and Hazel played black-jack at the table with matches for money. Hazel felt the braids of her hair with her plump, pink fingers while Bill sucked in his cheeks and dealt the cards in a very serious way. At the sink Portia was drying the dishes with a clean checked towel. She looked thin and her skin was golden yellow, her greased black hair slicked neat. Ralph sat quietly on the floor and George was trying a little harness on him made out of old Christmas tinsel.
This here is another riddle, Portia. If the hand of a clock points to half-past two--’ She went into the room. It was like she had expected them to move back when they saw her and stand around in a circle and look. But they just glanced at her. She sat down at the table and waited.
‘Here you come traipsing in after everbody done finished supper. Seem to me like I never will get off from work.’
Nobody noticed her. She ate a big plateful of cabbage and salmon and finished off with junket. It was her Mama she was thinking about. The door opened and her Mama came in and told Portia that Miss Brown had said she found a bedbug in her room. To get out the gasoline.
‘Quit frowning like that, Mick. You’re coming to the age where you ought to fix up and try to look the best you can.
And hold on--don’t barge out like that when I speak with you--I mean you to give Ralph a good sponge bath before he goes to bed. Clean his nose and ears good.’
Ralph’s soft hair was sticky with oatmeal. She wiped it with a dishrag and rinsed his face and hands at the sink. Bill and Hazel finished their game. Bill’s long fingernails scraped on the table as he took up the matches. George carried Ralph off to bed. She and Portia were alone in the kitchen.
‘Listen! Look at me. Do you notice anything different?’
‘Sure I notice, Hon.’
Portia put on her red hat and changed her shoes. Well--?’
‘Just you take a little grease and rub it on your face. Your nose already done peeled very bad. They say grease is the best thing for bad sunburn.’
She stood by herself in the dark back yard, breaking off pieces of bark from the oak tree with her fingernails. It was almost worse this way. Maybe she would feel better if they could look at her and tell. If they knew.
Her Dad called her from the back steps. ‘Mick! Oh, Mick!’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The telephone.’ George crowded up close and tried to listen in, but she pushed him away. Mrs. Minowitz talked very loud and excited. ‘My Harry should be home by now. You know where he is? ’
‘No, ma’am.’