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overalls he wears to work。 He will shake his fist and say ugly
drunken words that I would not wish you to know about。 He
thinks he and I have a secret together but I do not know what
it is。 And let me write you something hard to believe。 He can
drink three pints of Happy Days whiskey and still talk and
walk on his feet and not wish for the bed。 You will not believe
this but it is true。
I rent my room from the girl's mother for 16 per month。 The
girl used to dress in short trousers like a boy but now she
wears a blue skirt and a blouse。 She is not yet a young lady。 I
like her to come and see me。 She comes all the time now that I
have a radio for them。 She likes music。 I wish I knew what it
is she hears。 She knows I am deaf but she thinks I know about
music。
The black man is sick with consumption but there is not a
good hospital for him to go to here because he is black。 He is a
doctor and he works more than anyone I have ever seen。 He
does not talk like a black man at all。 Other Negroes I find it
hard to understand because their tongues do not move enough
for the words。 This black man frightens me sometimes。 His
eyes are hot and bright。 He asked me to a party and I went。 He
has many books。 However； he does not own any mystery
books。 He does not drink or eat meat or attend the movies。
Yah Freedom and pirates。 Yah Capital and Democrats； says
the ugly one with the mustache。 Then he contradicts himself
and says； Freedom is the greatest of all ideals。 I just got to get
a chance to write this music in me and be a musician。 I got to
have a chance says the girl。 We are not allowed to serve； says
the184
black Doctor。 That is the Godlike need for my people。 Aha；
says the owner of the New York Cafe〃。 He is a thoughtful one。
That is the way they talk when they come to my room。 Those
words in their heart do not let them rest； so they are always
very busy。 Then you would think when they are together they
would be like those of the Society who meet at the convention
in Macon this week。 But that is not so。 They all came to my
room at the same time today。 They sat like they were from
different cities。 They were even rude； and you know how I
have always said that to be rude and not attend to the feelings
of others is wrong。 So it was like that。 I do not understand； so I
write it to you because I think you will understand。 I have
queer feelings。 But I have written of this matter enough and I
know you axe weary of it。 I am also。
It has been five months and twenty…one days now。 All of that
time I have been alone without you。 The only thing I can
imagine is when I will be with you again。 If I cannot come to
you soon I do not know what
Singer put his head down on the bench and rested。 The smell
and the feel of the slick wood against his cheek reminded him
of his schooldays。 His eyes closed and he felt sick。 There was
only the face of Antonapoulos in his mind； and his longing for
his friend was so sharp that he held his breath。 After some
time Singer sat up and reached for his pen。
The gift I ordered for you did not come in time for the
Christmas box。 I expect it shortly。 I believe you will like it and
be amused。 I think of us always and remember everything。 I
long for the food you used to make。 At the New York Cafe it
is much worse than it used to be。 I found a cooked fly in my
soup not long ago。 It was mixed with the vegetables and the
noodles like letters。 But that is nothing。 The way I need you is
a loneliness I cannot bear。 Soon I will come again。 My
vacation is not due for six months more but I think I can
arrange it before then。
185
I think I will have to。 I am not meant to be alone and without
you who understand。
Always；
JOHN SINGER
It was two o'clock in the morning before he was home again。
The big； crowded house was in darkness； but he felt his way
carefully up three flights of stairs and did not stumble。 He
took from his pockets the cards he carried about with him； his
watch； and his fountain pen。 Then he folded his clothes neatly
over the back of his chair。 His gray…flannel pajamas were
warm and soft。 Almost as soon as he pulled the blankets to his
chin he was asleep。
Out of the blackness of sleep a dream formed。 There were dull
yellow lanterns lighting up a dark flight of stone steps。
Antonapoulos kneeled at the top of these steps。 He was naked
and he fumbled with something that he held above his head
and gazed at it as though in prayer。 He himself knelt halfway
down the steps。 He was naked and cold and he could not take
his eyes from Antonapoulos and the thing he held above him。
Behind him on the ground he felt the one with the mustache
and the girl and the black man and the last one。 They knelt
naked and he felt their eyes on him。 And behind them there
were uncounted crowds of kneeling people in the darkness。
His own hands were huge windmills and he stared fascinated
at the unknown thing that Antonapoulos held。 The yellow
lanterns swayed to and fro in the darkness and all else was
motionless。 Then suddenly there was a ferment。 In the
upheaval the steps collapsed and he felt himself falling
downward。 He awoke with a jerk。 The early light whitened the
window。 He felt afraid。
Such a long time had passed that something might have
happened to his friend。 Because Antonapoulos did not write to
him he would not know。 Perhaps his friend had fallen and hurt
himself。 He felt such an urge to be with him once more that he
would arrange it at any cost—and immediately。
In the post…office that morning he found a notice in his box
that a package had come for him。 It was the gift he had
ordered for Christmas that did not arrive in time。 The gift was
a very fine one。 He had bought it on the install…186
187
ment plan to be paid for over a period of two years。 The gift
was a moving…picture machine for private use； with a half…
dozen of the Mickey Mouse and Popeye comedies that
Antonapoulos enjoyed。
Singer was the last to reach the store that morning。 He handed
the jeweler for whom he worked a formal written request for
leave on Friday and Saturday。 And although there were four
weddings on hand that week； the jeweler nodded that he could
go。
He did not let anyone know of the trip beforehand； but on
leaving he tacked a note to his door saying that he would be
absent for several days because of business。 He traveled at
night； and the train reached the place of his destination just as
the red winter dawn was breaking。
In the afternoon； a little before time for the visiting hour； he
went out to the asylum。 His arms were loaded with the parts of
the moving…picture machine and the basket of fruit he carried
his friend。 He went immediately to the ward where he had
visited Antonapoulos before。
The corridor； the door； the rows of beds were just as he
remembered them。 He stood at the threshold and looked
eagerly for his friend。 But he saw at once that though all the
chairs were occupied； Antonapoulos was not there。
Singer put down his packages and wrote at the bottom of one
of his cards； 'Where is