The first I saw of the fight was a surge of the crowd towards the steps of the speakers’ stand. Then I heard some people hollering: “Fight! Fight!” Gerro got up from his chair and looked over the railing. I moved over to where I could see better what was going on, and I saw a few men fighting. I looked up at Gerro and saw he had started down the platform steps into the crowd. From the other side I saw a cop come riding into the crowd, the people melting away before his horse.
Things happened quickly after that. Gerro leaped in between two of the fighters and was trying to hold them apart. The cop came riding up, swinging his club at the fighters. He was shouting at them, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying because of the noise the crowd was making. I saw Gerro jump up and try to grab the cop’s club arm. I knew he was trying to stop the cop from hitting anyone, just trying to hold the club arm. The cop wheeled his horse viciously and broke his arm loose from Gerro’s grip. Then he brought his club down twice, once on each side of Gerro’s head. I saw Gerro slip crazily along the side of the horse, trying to keep himself up by holding on to it. He was near its rump when the cop turned the horse towards the crowd. The horse, in turning, kicked Gerro in the chest. Gerro fell behind the horse, and the crowd pressed towards the cop. The horse backed up. I could see its rear hoofs step on Gerro, who was writhing there on the ground.
The cop didn’t seem to know Gerro was under the horse’s feet. He was swinging his club around at anyone trying to get near him. I picked up my hands in helpless rage and suddenly realized I still held the bottle in my hand. The next thing I knew I had thrown the bottle. It spun crazily over and over in the air and hit the cop on the side of the face. He swayed dizzily in the saddle a moment. Suddenly blood poured from his nose and mouth, and he slipped out of his seat and fell to the ground. I could hear the whistles of the other cops tooting shrilly as they came riding towards the scene.
I looked around wildly a moment before I realized I had better get out of there quickly. My gaze fell on Terry. She was looking at me through fear-widened eyes, her hand to her mouth. I turned and plunged back into the crowd. If the cops ever picked me up and found out I was the guy who had thrown the bottle, I’d get the beating of my life.
I got to the subway entrance breathing hard, and turned to look back. The crowd was still milling around. I couldn’t do any more for Gerro by hanging around, so I decided to go back to the store until I heard from him.
It was a few minutes before three o’clock when I walked into the store. I had taken a few minutes to go into a bar and get a drink before I went back. Then I had some black coffee, and I could feel my nerves ease off. I went in calmly, put on my apron, and went to work. I felt glad that Harry was too busy to ask any questions about the speech.
The next two hours dragged by. I was waiting for the phone to ring. I don’t know why I expected to hear from Gerro, but I thought he would call if he was able to. About six o’clock it rang. Harry answered it and called me over.
“Hello,” I said.
“Frankie,” I heard her voice crackle excitedly, “this is Terry. You’d better beat it. The cops are after you.”
“Wait a minute,” I cut in, “how do they know? You were the only one down there that saw me.”
“There were others, Frankie,” her voice came back nervously. “There were some people from the club, and they saw you. The cops were questioning everybody, and any minute now they might find out who you are. That cop’s in the hospital and he might die. If he does …” Her voice trailed off.
I didn’t want to think about that either. “Do you—do you know how Gerro is?” I stammered.
“Didn’t you know?” she asked. She began to cry. “He’s dead. The horse crushed him.”
I stood there a minute. The store seemed to whirl around. I got hold of myself. “Are you still there?” I heard her ask wildly.
I forced myself to answer: “Yes, I’m here.”
“You better hurry,” she said. “There isn’t much time.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks.” I hung up the phone and stood there.
I don’t know how long I stood there before I could rouse myself to go over to Harry and say: “I’m quitting.”
He was slicing some cheese on the machine, and was so surprised he almost cut off his finger. “Why?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m in a jam,” I said simply. “There was a fight down there at the meeting. And I gotta beat it.”
“Oh!” he said. “That bad, hunh? I told you to stay away from those swine, that they’d get you in trouble.”
“That don’t do any good now,” I said. “And besides, it wasn’t their fault.”
He finished slicing the cheese and wrapped it up and gave it to the customer who was standing in the front of the store and couldn’t hear me. Then he came back to me.
“I’m sorry, Harry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to quit like that and leave you stuck, but I can’t help it. You’ve been very decent to me, and I want you to know I appreciate it. Will you tell Mr. Rayzeus that for me too?”
He nodded, and I went in the back room and took off my apron. I hung it on a nail on the wall and came back into the store. I went over to him and held out my hand. “Thanks for everything, Harry.”
He shook hands with me. “I’m sorry to have you leave, kid. You were a good boy, and I liked you.”
“I’m sorry too,” I said, turning towards the door. “Wait a minute,” he said. “You forgot something.”
I turned towards him. He held out his hand. “Your pay,” he said simply. “But,” I said, “this is only Monday.”
“Take it,” he said. “You earned an extra week’s pay many times over.”
I took the money and shoved it in my pocket. “Thanks,” I said, “I can use it.” I could. I had only a little over a hundred bucks saved up in the box in my room at the hotel. You couldn’t save any dough on the money I made.
“It’s O.K., kid,” he said, coming over to the door with me. “I hope everything turns out all right.”
I held up crossed fingers to him. He grinned and held up his hand to me. He crossed his fingers too. I stepped out into the street. I looked up and down the avenue; it was quiet as usual. I hopped into the subway and went down to the hotel. There I packed everything I had into the small secondhand valise I bought some time ago and checked out. I was about to go over to the railroad station when a thought struck me.
Marianne! Who would tell her? I hoped not a stranger, someone who didn’t know of their feeling towards each other. I hoped she wouldn’t read it in the newspapers, printed there coldly for the information of anyone who was mildly interested. With each step I took, I began to realize that I would have to tell her. But I didn’t know I would until I stood in her doorway, valise in hand, ringing her bell.
I hoped she was at home. She was. I could hear her quick footsteps coming to the door. She opened it and saw me. She looked puzzled for a moment when she saw my suit-case. I stepped in without waiting for her to ask me.
She closed the door and looked at me. “Going away, Frank?”
“Yes,” I said, “but first I have something to tell you.” My face was serious.
She couldn’t know what I was talking about, so she misunderstood what I was going to
say. She came up close to me, and her face had a soft look on it. With surprise I saw that her eyes were grey, not brown as I thought, but a dark, smoky grey. “What do you have to tell me?” she asked softly. “What is it that you couldn’t go away without telling me?”
I put the valise down and gripped her by the shoulders. Savagely, I thought she would understand quick enough.
“Frank, you’re hurting me,” she said.
I loosened my grip. The savageness I felt disappeared. “You’d better sit down,” I said more gently.
“No, I won’t,” she said, her eyes beginning to widen in fear “What is it?” “Gerro is dead,” I said bluntly.
For a moment she looked at me uncomprehendingly, then her face went pale and her eyes rolled up. I caught her as she slumped towards me. I picked her up and carried her into the bedroom and placed her on the bed. I went into the other room and got a glass of water and came back with it. She was beginning to stir. I held the water to her lips. A few drops trickled down her throat. I loosened her blouse and sat there waiting for her to come to.
Her eyes fluttered open. “I didn’t want you to find out from someone else,” I said gently. “I thought it would be better if I told you, but I’m afraid I messed it up.”
She shook her head weakly. “How—how did it happen?”
“There was a fight down there at the square. A cop hit him and he fell under the cop’s horse. I threw a coke bottle at the cop and the cop’s in hospital and I have to beat it.”
“But Gerro——,” she said faintly, “was there—any pain?”
“No,” I said as gently as I could. “It all happened too quickly. He couldn’t have felt anything.” I didn’t know whether he had or not, but it didn’t make any difference to him now and it was better for her if she thought that was the way.
She sat up in bed. “I’m glad it happened that way,” she whispered, “quick—if it had to happen. He couldn’t stand any pain.” She covered her face with her hands and began to cry.
I let her cry for a few minutes. Then I got up. The longer I stood here, the more dangerous it became for me. I couldn’t stay around much longer. She stopped crying and looked up at me.
“You were his friend,” she said. “He was so proud that you had fought for him. He told me so many times. And you fought for him even at the last.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. You just couldn’t say nonchalantly: “It was nothing. I was glad to do it.” A thing like that just happened, and no matter what you did, you couldn’t stop it.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You don’t know how sorry. He was a swell guy.” “There will never be another like him,” she said.
We were silent a minute, then I went into the other room. “If you think you are all right,” I said, “I’ll be going.”
“I’m all right, I can manage,” she said dully. “Good-bye,” I said from the bedroom door. “Good-bye,” she answered.
I turned and started for the apartment door. I heard footsteps run behind me. I turned.
Marianne ran into my arms.
I held her close to me, her cheek to mine, her tears against my face. I ran my fingers through her hair. “Marianne.”
Her lips were close to my ear. “Be careful, please. And come back. I’ll need you now that…”
I didn’t let her finish what she was about to say. “I’ll come back,” I whispered huskily. “When the summer’s gone and this thing is forgotten, I’ll come back.”
“Promise?” she said like a little child.
“Promise!” I answered, looking into her eyes. They were wet with tears—and were violet, not grey as I thought. “Stay here and wait. I’ll be back.” I let her go without kissing her.
“Be careful, darling,” she said as I closed the door behind me.
It was dark in the street, and I thought it would be too dangerous to go to the railroad station. If the cops had found out who threw that bottle, they would be looking for me there. My best bet would be a hitch across the ferry to New Jersey.
She had called me darling! For a moment I felt a twinge of conscience as I thought of Gerro. Then I realized he was gone and that these things didn’t matter to him now. And besides, I had done my best. I had never gone near her while he was around. Darling!
I got a ride across the ferry easily. A truckman going to Newark gave me a lift. At the Newark station I bought a ticket to Atlantic City. It was a summer resort and the best spot to get a job, if there were any.
I looked wryly around the station while I was waiting for my train to come in. I was on the same old merry-go-round again. I wondered if I would ever catch the brass ring. Then I chuckled to myself.
“Darling,” she had said. For the first time in my life I was really in love.
I
GOT
a job two hours after I reached Atlantic City. Jobs were still plentiful: it was the beginning of the season. I got a job at a soda fountain on the boardwalk. I was to work nights, coming in at three in the afternoon, leaving at one in the morning. The salary was twenty bucks a week and meals, seven days a week and would last only until September. That was all right with me; I had some place to go when the summer was over.
After I got the job I took a room at a cheap hotel for eight dollars a week. The hotel was only a few blocks from work. After a few days of breaking in at the fountain I was all right; the work I had done at Otto’s had paid off. I was a fair soda clerk. After a while I became a good one because I learned to move with a certain economy of motion that made for quicker service and faster sales and was less tiring for me.
I generally would spend my days on the beach until it was almost time to go to work. Then I would go back to the hotel and dress and go to work. I ate lunch at the fountain, worked until closing time, and then went to the hotel to sleep.
The summer went by slowly. I worked hard but felt good. The days at the beach had turned me a dark brown, and I put on a little weight. I didn’t bother very much with friends, either men or women. I didn’t feel any need for them. For the while I was very content just to be alone. There were plenty of girls I could have gone out with—girls that I met on the beach or at the fountain—but I didn’t bother.
I would get the New York papers, morning and afternoon, but beyond the original mention of the fracas and the fact that the cop was in the hospital, there was never another word about it that I could find. I wasn’t taking any chances, however. I didn’t write or call Marianne for fear the cops would be watching her for some clue as to Gerro’s background. I just bided my time and waited for the season to pass.
I did a lot of thinking that summer too. I thought about myself, my aunt and uncle, Marianne. I wondered what there was between Marianne and me that made us the way we were. What was there inside each of us that would allow so quick a change-over in our feelings, almost as soon as Gerro had left the scene? The only explanation I could find was one for myself—that I was a realist; that what had happened was done, and nothing I could do would change the fact; that I was an opportunist; that I saw what I wanted and, when the chance came, I took it, regardless of my previous sentiment about the matter; that I wanted Marianne—that she had an attraction no other woman had ever had for me, something that vaguely eluded me, something I wanted to pin down and secure for myself; that I was in love with her—which seemed like a vague, silly and futile explanation to me, one which I accepted only in part and rejected in the light of reason.