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lemon rinse Alice had always used for her hair。 One day he
tried it on himself。 The lemon made his dark； white…streaked
hair seem fluffy and thick。 He liked it。 He discarded the oil he
had used to guard against baldness and rinsed with the lemon
preparation regularly。 Certain
193
whims that he had ridiculed in Alice were now his own。 Why？
Every morning Louis； the colored boy downstairs； brought
him a cup of coffee to drink in bed。 Often he sat propped on
the pillows for an hour before he got up and dressed。 He
smoked a cigar and watched the patterns the sunlight made on
the wall。 Deep hi meditation he ran his forefinger between his
long； crooked toes。 He remembered。
Then from noon until five in the morning he worked
downstairs。 And all day Sunday。 The business was losing
money。 There were many slack hours。 Still at meal…times the
place was usually full and he saw hundreds of acquaintances
every day as he stood guard behind the cash register。
'What do you stand and think about all the time？' Jake Blount
asked him。 'You look like a Jew in Germany。'
'I am an eighth part Jew；' Biff said。 'My Mother's grandfather
was a Jew from Amsterdam。 But all the rest of my folks that I
know about were Scotch…Irish。'
It was Sunday morning。 Customers lolled at the tables and
there were the smell of tobacco and the rustle of newspaper。
Some men in a corner booth shot dice； but the game was a
quiet one。
'Where's Singer？' Biff asked。 'Won't you be going up to his
place this morning？'
Blount's face turned dark and sullen。 He jerked his head
forward。 Had they quarreled—but how could a dummy
quarrel？ No； for this had happened before。 Blount hung
around sometimes and acted as though he were having an
argument with himself。 But pretty soon he would go—he
always did—and the two of them would come in together；
Blount talking。
'You live a fine life。 Just standing behind a cash register。 Just
standing with your hand open。'
Biff did not take offense。 He leaned his weight on his elbows
and narrowed his eyes。 'Let's me and you have a serious talk。
What is it you want anyway？'
Blount smacked his hands down on the counter。 They were
warm and meaty and rough。 'Beer。 And one of them kittle
packages of cheese crackers with peanut butter in the
inside。'194
'That's not what I meant；' Biff said。 'But well come around to it
later。'
The man was a puzzle。 He was always changing。 He still
drank like a crazy fish； but liquor did not drag him down as it
did some men。 The rims of his eyes were often red； and he had
a nervous trick of looking back startled over his shoulder。 His
head was heavy and huge on his thin neck。 He was the sort of
fellow that kids laughed at and dogs wanted to bite。 Yet when
he was laughed at it cut him to the quick—he got rough and
loud like a sort of clown。 And he was always suspecting that
somebody was laughing。
Biff shook his head thoughtfully。 'Come；' he said。 〃What
makes you stick with that show？ You can find something
better than that。 I could give you a part…time job here。
'
'Christamighty！ I wouldn't park myself behind that cash box if
you was to give me the whole damn place； lock； stock； and
barrel。
'
There he was。 It was irritating。 He could never have friends or
even get along with people。
Talk sense；' Biff said。 'Be serious。
'
A customer had come up with his check and he made change。
The place was still quiet。 Blount was restless。 Biff felt him
drawing away。 He wanted to hold him。 He reached for two A…
l
cigars on the shelf behind the counter and offered Blount
a
smoke。 Warily his mind dismissed one question after another；
and then finally he asked：
'If you could choose the time in history you could have lived；
what era would you choose？
'
Blount licked his mustache with his broad； wet tongue。 'If you
had to choose between being a stiff and never asking another
question； which would you take？
'
'Sure enough；' Biff insisted。 'Think it over。
'
He cocked his head to one side and peered down over his long
nose。 This was a matter he liked to hear others talk about。
Ancient Greece was his。 Walking in sandals on the edge of the
blue Aegean。 The loose robes girdled at the waist。 Children。
The marble baths and the contemplations in the temples。
'Maybe with the Incas。 In Peru。
'
Biff's eyes scanned over him； stripping him naked。 He
saw Blount burned a rich； red brown by the sun； his face
smooth and hairless； with a bracelet of gold and precious
stones on his forearm。 When he closed his eyes the man was
a
good Inca。 But when he looked at him again the picture fell
away。 It was the nervous mustache that did not belong to his
face； the way he jerked his shoulder； the Adam's apple on his
thin neck； the bagginess of his trousers。 And it was more than
that。
'Or maybe around 1775。
'
〃That was a good time to be living；' Biff agreed。
Blount shuffled his feet self…consciously。 His face was rough
and unhappy。 He was ready to leave。 Biff was alert to detain
him。 'Tell me—why did you ever come to this town anyway？
'
He knew immediately that the question had not been a politic
one and he was disappointed with himself。 Yet it was queer
how the man could land up in a place like this。
'It's the God's truth I don't know。
'
They stood quietly for a moment； both leaning on the counter。
The game of dice in the corner was finished。 The first dinner
order； a Long Island duck special； had been served to the
fellow who managed the A。 and P。 store。 The radio was turned
halfway between a church sermon and a swing band。
Blount leaned over suddenly and smelled Biff's face。
'Perfume？
'
'Shaving lotion；' Biff said composedly。
He could not keep Blount longer。 The fellow was ready to go。
He would come in with Singer later。 It was always like this。
He wanted to draw Blount out completely so that he could
understand certain questions concerning him。 But Blount
would never really talk—only to the mute。 It was a most
peculiar thing。
〃Thanks for the cigar；' Blount said。 'See you later。
'
'So long。
'
Biff watched Blount walk to the door with his rolling； sailor…
like gait。 Then he took up the duties before him。 He looked
over the display in the window。 The day's menu had been
pasted on the glass and a special dinner with all the trimmings
was laid out to attract customers。 It looked bad。 Right nasty。
The gravy from the duck had run into the cranberry sauce and
a fly； was stuck in the dessert。196
'Hey； Louis！' he called。 'Take this stuff out of the window。
And bring me that red pottery bowl and some fruit。
'
He arranged the fruits with an eye for color and design。 At last
the decoration pleased him。 He visited the kitchen and had
a
talk with the cook。 He lifted the lids of the pots and sniffed the
food inside； but without heart for the matter。 Alice always had
done this part。 He disliked it。 His nose sharpened when he saw
the greasy sink with its scum of food bits at the bottom。 He
wrote down the menus and the orders for the next day。 He was
glad to leave the kitchen and take his stand by the cash
register again。
Lucile and Baby came for Sunda