If he saw Annie there, what would he do? Look away. Walk by—
Must cross. Before him at the corner, children were crossing a beaten path in the snow. Beside him, the untrodden white of the gutter. He stopped. Here was a place to cross. Not a single footprint, only a wagon rut. Better not. The ridge of snow near the curb was almost as tall as himself. But none had crossed before. It would be his own, all his own path. Yes. He took a running jump, only partly cleared the first ridge, landed in snow almost as high as his knees. Behind him several voices called out, jeering, but he plunged forward, plunged forward to the lower level. Shouldn’t have done it! He would be all covered with it now, wet. But how miraculously clean it was, all about him, whiter than anything he knew, whiter than anything, whiter. The second ridge was packed harder than the first; he climbed up, almost sank, jumped for safety to the other side, hastily brushed himself off. Sidewalk snow, riddled with salt, tramped down by the feet of children, reddened with ashes, growing dirtier as it neared the school.
At the sound of laughter, he looked up. In front of him, straddled two boys, vying with each other, each squirting urine as far ahead as he could. The water sank in a ragged channel, steaming in the snow, yellowing at the margins.
Sidewalk snow never stayed white. The school door. He entered.
Walk by if he saw her, hurry by.…
IX
THE three o’clock bell sounded at last. Dismissed, he hurried through the milling crowd of noisy children. He had seen neither Yussie nor Annie, and now, as at lunch time, he darted ahead of the other children for fear of being overtaken by either.
It had stopped snowing, and although clouds still dulled the light, the air was warmer than it had been in the morning. Beside the curb, snow-forts squatted, half built during the lunch recess, waiting completion. A long sliding-pond stretched like a black ribbon in the gutter. Where the snow had been swept from the sidewalks, treacherous grey patches of ice tenaciously clung.
* * *
He went as swiftly as he could, picking his way. From time to time, he glanced hastily over his shoulder. No, they weren’t there. He had outstripped them. He turned a corner, stopped in midstride, staring at the strange sight before him; cautiously he drew near.
A line of black carriages listed away from the snow-banked curb. He had seen such carriages before. But what was that in front of the house, that curious one, square and black with windows in its sides? Black plumes on the horses. Why those small groups of people beside the doorway whispering so quietly and craning their necks to look inside the hallway? Above the street, in all the nearby houses, windows were open, men and women were leaning out. In one of these a woman gesticulated to some one behind her. A man came forward, furtively grinning, patted her jutting hips and wedged into the space beside her. What were they all staring at? What was coming out of that house? Suddenly he remembered. The flowers had been there! Yes he knew the doorway. White, flattened pillars. Flowers! What? He looked about for someone to ask, but he could see no one his own age. Near one of the carriages, stood a small group of men, all dressed alike in long black coats and tall hats. The drivers. They alone seemed unperturbed, yet even they spoke quietly. Perhaps he could hear what they said. He sidled over, straining his ears.
“An’ wattayuh t’ink he had de crust to tell me?” A man with a raw, weathered face was speaking, smoke from his cigarette unwreathing his words. “He siz, wadjuh stop fer? Now wouldn’t dat give yuh de shits?”
He stared at the others for affirmation. They nodded agreement with their eyes.
Vindicated, the man continued, but more slowly and with greater emphasis. “His pole smacks into my hack, and he squawks wadjuh stop fer? I coulda spit in his mug, de donkey!”
“At’s twiset now, ain’ it?” asked another.
“Twiset, my pudd’n,” retorted the first in wrathful contempt. “It’s de toid time. Wuzn’t Jeff de foist one he rammed, an’ wuzn’t Toiner de secon’? An’ yestiddy me!”
“Hey!” Another man nudged his neighbor abruptly. “Dere goes de row-boat!”
Hastily throwing their cigarettes away, they scattered, and each one swung himself up to his box on the carriage.
More confused now than before, David drew near the doorway. A man in a tall black hat had just come out and was standing on the step looking solicitously into the hallway. A hush fell on the crowd; they huddled together as if for protection. Terror seemed to emanate from the hallway. At a sign from the man in the tall hat, the doors in back of the strange carriage were thrown open. Inside the gloomy interior metal glimmered, tasseled curtains shut out the light. Suddenly out of the hallway a scraping sound and slow shuffling of feet. A soft moan came from the crowd.
“He’s coming!” someone whispered, craning her neck.
A sense of desolation. A fear.
Two men came out, laboring under the front-end of a huge black box, then two more at the other end. Red-faced, they trod carefully down the steps, advanced toward the carriage, rested one end of the box on the carriage floor.
That was—! Yes! That was! He suddenly understood. Mama said — Inside! Yes! Man! Inside! His flesh went cold with terror.
“Easy,” cautioned the man in the black hat.
They shoved the box in, lunging after it. It squealed softly, sliding in without effort as if on ways or wheels. The man who had opened the doors, shot a large silvered pin into a hole behind the box, then in one skilful motion shut the doors. At a nod from the man in the black hat, the carriage rolled on a little distance, then stopped. Another carriage drew up before the house.
Supported by a man on either side of her, a woman in black, all bowed and veiled, came sobbing out of the house. The crowd murmured, a woman whimpered. David had never seen a handkerchief with a black border. Hers seemed white as snow.
Voices of children. He looked around.
Annie and Yussie were there, staring at the woman as she entered the carriage. He shuddered, contracting, crept behind the crowd and broke into a run.
At the doorway of his house he stopped, peered in, stepped back. What was he going to do now? At lunch time, as he neared the house, he had seen Mrs. Nerrick, the landlady, climb up the stoop. By running frantically, he had caught up to her, had raced past the cellar, before she shut her door. But now there was no one in sight. At any moment Annie and Yussie might come round the corner. He must — before they saw — but the darkness, the door, the darkness. The man in the box in the carriage. Alone. He must.
Make a noise. Noise … He advanced. What? Noise. Any.
“Aaaaah! Ooooh!” he quavered, “My country ’tis of dee!” He began running. The cellar door. Louder. “Sweet land of liberty,” he shrilled, and whirled toward the stairs. “Of dee I sing.” His voice rose in a shriek. His feet pounded on the stair. At his back, the monstrous horde of fear. “Land where our fodders died!” The landing; he dove for the door, flinging himself upon it — Threw it open, slammed it shut, and stood there panting in terror.
His mother was standing, staring at him in wide-eyed amazement. “Was that you?”
Close to tears, he lowered his head.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know,” he whimpered.
She laughed hopelessly and sat down. “Come here, you strange child. Come here. You’re white!”
David went over and sank against her breast.
“You’re trembling,” she stroked his hair.
“I’m afraid,” he murmured against her throat.
“Still afraid?” she said soothingly. “Still the dream pursuing you?”
“Yes,” a dry sob shook him. “And something else.”