that was, denying it oblivion. “Now find!
Now find! Now find!” And nothingness
whimpered being dislodged from night,
and would have hidden again. But out
of the darkness, one ember)
“Take it off, will you, let’s have a look at it.”
(flowered, one ember in a mirr—)
“Sure!” Blunt, willing fingers ripped the
(or, swimming without motion in the
motion of its light.)
buttons open,
“Hiz gonna look.”
(In a cellar is)
dragged the shoes off,
(Coal! In a cellar is)
tore the stocking down, re—
(Coal! And it was brighter than the
pith of lightning and milder than pearl,)
vealing a white puffy ring about the ankle, at
(And made the darkness dark because
the dark had culled its radiance for
that jewel. Zwank!)
“Is it boined?”
“Can’t see, c’n you?”
which the interne glanced while he drew
“Waddayuh say, Doc?”
a squat blue vial from his bag, grimaced, un-
(Zwank! Zwank! Nothingness beati-
fied reached out its hands. Not cold
the ember was. Not scorching. But as
if all eternity’s caress were fused and
granted in one instant. Silence)
corked it, expertly tilted it before
(struck that terrible voice upon the
height, stilled the whirling hammer.
Horror and the night fell away. Ex-
alted, he lifted his head and screamed
to him among the wires— “Whistle,
mister! Whistle!)
the quiet nostrils. The crowd fell silent, tensely watching.
“Amonya.”
“Smells strong!”
“Stinks like in de shool on Yom Kippur.”
(Mister! Whistle! Whistle! Whistle!
Whistle, Mister! Yellow birds!)
On the dark and broken sidewalk, the limp body gasped, quivered. The interne lifted him, said sharply to the officer. “Hold his arms! He’ll fight!”
“Hey look! Hey look!”
“He’s kickin’!”
(Whistle, mister! WHISTLE!”)
“W’at’s he sayin’?”
“There! Hold him now!”
(A spiked star of pain of consciousness burst within him)
“Mimi! He’s awright! He’s awright!”
“Yeh?”
“Yea!”
“No kiddin’! No kiddin’!”
“Yeh!”
“Yuh!”
“Yeh!”
“Oi, Gott sei dank!”
XXII
“THERE you are, sonny! There you are!” The interne’s reassuring drawl, reached him through a swirl of broken images. “You’re not hurt. There’s nothing to be scared about.”
“Sure!” the policeman was saying beside him.
David opened his eyes. Behind, between them and around them, like a solid wall, the ever-encroaching bodies, voices, faces at all heights, gestures at all heights, all converging upon him, craning, peering, haranguing, pointing him out, discussing him. A nightmare! Deliverance was in the thought. He shut his eyes trying to remember how to wake.
“How does that foot feel, sonny?” The routine, solicitous voice again inquired. “Not bad, eh?”
He was aware for the first time of the cool air on his naked leg, and below it a vague throbbing at the ankle. And once aware, he couldn’t shake off the reality of it. Then it wasn’t a dream. Where had he been? What done? The light. No light in the windows upstairs … His father. His mother. The quarrel. The whip. Aunt Bertha, Nathan, the rabbi, the cellar, Leo, the beads — all swooped upon him, warred for preeminence in his brain. No. It wasn’t a dream. He opened his eyes again, hoping reality would refute conviction. No it wasn’t a dream. The same two faces leaned over him, the same hedge of humanity focused eyes on his face.
“Looks like he’s still too weak,” said the interne.
“Yuh goin’ t’take him wid ye?”
“No!” Grimacing emphatically, the interne shut the black bag. “Why, he’ll be able to walk in less than five minutes. Just as soon as he gets his breath. Where does he live?”
“I don’ know. None o’ dese guys know— Say, w’ere d’yuh live? Huh? Yuh wanna go home, dontchuh?”
“N-nint’ street.” He quavered. “S-sebm fawdynine.”
“Nint’ Street.” The crowd reechoed. “Say ufficeh,” a coatless man came forward. “Det’s on de cunner Evenyuh D.”
“I know! I know!” The policeman waved him back with surly hand. “Say, Doc, will ye give us a lift.”
“Sure. Just pick him up.”
“Yea, ooops! Dere ye go!” Burly arms went under his knees and back, lifted him easily, carried him through the gaping crowd to the ambulance. His head swam again with the motion. He lay slack on a long leather cot between greenish walls, aware of faces whisking by the open doorway, peering in. The interne seated himself at the back, called to the driver. The bell clanged, and as the wagon jolted forward, the policeman mounted the low step in the rear. Behind the ambulance, rolling on rubber-tired wheels on the cobbles, he could hear the voices calling the way. “Nint’ Street! Nint’ Street!” The throb in his ankle was growing in depth, in dullness of pain, permeating upward like an aching tide within the marrow. What had he done? What had he done? What would they say when they brought him upstairs. His father, what—? He moaned.
“That doesn’t hurt you that much, does it?” asked the interne cheerily. “You’ll be running around to-morrow.”
“Yer better off den I tawt ye’d be, said the policeman behind him. “Cheezis, Doc, I sure figgered he wuz cooked.”
“No. The shock went through the lower part. That’s what saved him. I don’t see why he was out so long anyway. Weak, I guess.”
Behind beating hooves and jangling bell, he felt the ambulance round the corner at Avenue D. The policeman turned to look behind him and then squinted sideways at David’s foot.
“His shoes wuz boined in front. An’ he’s got it up on de ankle.”
“Narrowest part.”
“I see. Dat’ll loin yuh a lesson, kid.” He disengaged one hand from the ambulance wall to wave a severe finger at David. “Next time I’ll lock yiz up. Wot flaw d’yuh live on?”
“T-top flaw.”
“Would have t’be,” he growled disgustedly. “Next time I will lock yiz up — making me woik, an’ takin’ de Doc away from a nice pinocle game. Wot dese goddam kids can’t t’ink of. Geez!”
The ambulance had rounded the second corner and came to a stop. Grinning, the interne leaped down. Stooping over and grunting as he stooped, the policeman lifted him in his arms again and bore him quickly through the new throng that came streaming around the corner. On the stoop, several children recognized him and bawled excitedly, “It’s Davy! It’s Davy!” A woman in the gaslit corridor cradled cheek in palm in terror and backed away. They mounted the stairs, the interne behind them and behind him remnants of the crowd, children of the house, following eagerly at a wary distance, jabbering, calling to him, “Watsa maddeh? Watsa maddeh, Davy?” Doors opened on the landings. Familiar heads poked out. Familiar voices shrilled at others across the hallway. “It’s him! F’om opstehs. Veh de fighd voz!” As they neared the top the policeman had begun breathing heavily, shedding thick hot breath on David’s cheek, grunting, the lines on his scowling, tough, red face deep with exertion.