A Stone for Danny Fisher (1952) (12 page)

T
HE
pedlar looked up at me wisely. “Where’d you get this stuff?” he asked.

“Yuh wanna buy it,” I countered sarcastically, “or yuh want its pedigree?”

He looked down at the small carton. His hand picked up a jar of Mum and he tossed it nervously from one hand to the other as he spoke. “I don’t want the cops should bother me,” he said.

I reached for the carton meaningfully. “Then somebody else will buy it.”

He grabbed at my hand quickly. “Wait a minute. I didn’t say I didn’t want the stuff.”

I let go of the carton. “Then don’t ask so many questions. Fifteen dollars and it’s all yours.”

He parted his lips over yellowed teeth. “Ten.”

“Fourteen,” I said quickly. The ritual had begun. You bargained for everything on the East Side. It was expected.

“Eleven.”

I shook my head.

“Twelve.” He was studying my face.

“Nope,” I replied.

He drew a sharp breath. “Twelve-fifty,” he almost whispered. “That’s the top.”

I looked at his face for a moment, then I put out my hand. “Pay me,” I said.

He reached into his pocket, took out a dirty old change purse, and
snapped it open, revealing a small roll of bills. Carefully he counted the money into my hand.

I counted it again, shoved the money into my pocket, and turned to walk away, but the pedlar called me back.

“When you got some more stuff,” he said greedily, “bring it to me. I’ll treat you right.”

I was looking at him, but I couldn’t see him. Twelve-fifty cut seven ways was less than two bucks apiece. It wasn’t worth the effort. “Sure,” I answered, turning away. “I’ll remember.” But he wouldn’t see me again. There was no percentage in it.

I looked at my watch as I crossed Rivington Street. It was almost six o’clock. I didn’t have to pick up the gang at the candy store before seven. I decided to stop by the house and pick up Papa’s supper. Every day Mamma sent his supper down to the store. It would save her a trip.

The halls smelled. Disgustedly I noticed the paper bags of garbage stuck in front of the doors. The lousy super had been drunk again and forgotten to collect the garbage that morning. Much as I had seen of it, I couldn’t get used to it.

I stumbled on a loose stair and cursed under my breath. I hated it here. I wished we had enough dough to get out. Some day I would get enough dough together and we would buy our house back and leave this stinking neighbourhood.

I opened our door and walked in. Mamma was bending over the stove. She looked up at me wearily.

“Papa said he would be home by two-thirty,” I told her.

She nodded her head.

“I thought I’d take him his supper,” I volunteered.

She looked at me in some surprise. It was the first time since he’d had the job that I’d offered. “You want your supper first?” she asked.

I shook my head. “I’m not hungry,” I lied. “A guy treated me to a couple of hot dogs at Katz’s.”

“Some soup you’ll have, maybe?” she persisted.

“No, Mamma,” I answered, “I’m full.” I could see from the pot there was barely enough to go around as it was.

She was too tired to argue and took down a white enamel
dinner-pail
from the closet and began to fill it. When she had finished she carefully wrapped it in a paper bag and gave it to me. I started out the door.

“Come home early tonight, Danny,” she called after me as the door closed.

“Sure, Ma,” I called back as I started down the stairs.

I stopped in front of the store and looked in. There were a few customers inside and a clerk was waiting on them. Papa must be in the back room. I walked into the store and waited at the counter.

The high-pitched sound of a man’s shouting came from the back room. Involuntarily I listened, remembering it from earlier in the day.

“You stupid ass,” the thin nasty voice was shouting, “I don’t know why I hired you anyway. That’s the trouble with all you guys who been in business for yourselves. You think you know everything, you don’t listen to anybody!”

The voice faded away and the low-pitched murmur of Papa’s voice took its place. I couldn’t make out the words, so I looked back through the glass partition separating the back room from the store. Papa was standing there talking to Mr. Gold. Mr. Gold was glaring up at him, his face ruddy with rage. He began to shout again even before Papa had finished speaking.

“I don’t want no excuses, no alibis! I felt sorry for you when you came in here crying how you needed a job, but, God-dammit, you’ll either do the work the way I want it done or out you’ll go! You hear me, Fisher! My way or out! That’s all!”

I could hear Papa distinctly now. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gold,” he was saying. There was a beaten, servile quality in his voice that made me sick to my stomach. “It won’t happen again, Mr. Gold. I promise.”

A wild impulse was running through me. I could kill the little son of a bitch who spoke to my father like that. No man had the right to do that to another.

The clerk’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Anything I can do for you, sir?”

I shook my head and started for the door. Then I remembered the dinner I had in my hand and went back to the counter and put it down. “This is Doc Fisher’s supper,” I told the clerk, and ran out of the door, Mr. Gold’s thin high-pitched voice following me out into the street.

“A buck and a half apiece?” Spit’s voice was querulous.

I looked at him coldly. My voice was flat. “You kin do better, you fence it.”

Saliva ran in tiny beads from the corner of Spit’s mouth as it always did when he was excited. “Okay, Danny, okay,” he said hastily. “I ain’t arguin’.’

I finished distributing the money, then looked up at them. I had held out two bucks on them, but that was my due. I had figured out the job.

“What we gonna do next, Danny?” Spit asked, looking at me expectantly.

“I dunno,” I answered, taking out a cigarette. “But no more uh this. There ain’t enough in it.” I lit the cigarette. “Don’t worry, I’ll think of somethin’.” I looked at my watch. It was almost seven o’clock. “I’m gonna take a shot at the crap game in the garage,” I said. “
Anybody
wanna come with me?”

“Not for me,” Spit drooled quickly. “I got a dame lined up. At least I’ll get somethin’ outta my dough that way.”

The gang broke up and I walked alone around the corner. Spit had reminded me. I had a date at nine with that girl behind the soda fountain. She seemed like a bright kid. That was okay with me, I liked them bright.

I was almost at the garage now. I felt better as I came near the entrance. The three and a half bucks I had in my pocket was as good as nothing. If I was lucky I could afford to buy the dame some chinks.

A thin-faced Italian kid was standing in the garage entrance acting as lookout. I walked past him. The kid put out a hand to stop me. “Where ya goin’?” he asked.

I brushed his hand off me without anger. “Easy, luksh,” I smiled. “I’m just gonna try my luck.”

The Italian boy smiled back at me in recognition. “Okay, Danny,” he said, turning back to the entrance.

I walked through the darkened garage toward a light in the back. In a space hidden by the automobiles surrounding it, a group of men and boys were standing in a small semicircle. Their voices were low and quiet, punctuated only by the metallic clicking of the dice. Several of them looked at me as I came up, but their gaze returned quickly to the floor as they recognized me. Their attention was riveted on the dice as they rolled along the floor and bounced back from the wall.

I stood there quietly for a few minutes trying to get the feel of the game. I didn’t believe in bucking the dice, I tried to nose out who was not and then follow that player. There was a small, swarthy guy who seemed to be doing all right. I watched him for a while. He had picked up two bets before I made up my mind. The next time he bet against the dice I went along with him. I threw a buck down on the floor. “Against,” I said. The bookie covered it.

The shooter made the point and I lost my bet. I followed the swarthy man again. This time I won. Again I bet and won. I began to feel excitement stirring in me. I bet again and won. I had seven bucks now. It was not quite eight o’clock and I began to feel lucky.

I stood on the kerb in front of the store and watched the girls coming out. I lit a cigarette. It was ten after nine. She was certainly taking her time. Maybe she was giving me a stand-up. I’d give her five more minutes.

“Hello, Danny,” she said quietly. She was standing beside me. I had watched her come out the door, but hadn’t recognized her, she looked so much younger in her own clothes than in her uniform.

“Hi, Nellie.” My eyes widened. She was just a kid. At the most she was no older than me. “Yuh hungry?” I asked after a moment’s hesitation.

She nodded quietly. She seemed a little embarrassed, not as sure of herself as she had been behind the counter of the store.

I took her arm and steered her toward the corner, looking at her from the corner of my eyes. Her hair was jet-black, and bluish tones seemed to flicker in it as the lights from the store windows struck it. Her eyes were wide and looked straight ahead as she walked. She wore lipstick, but of a softer shade than she had worn during the day.

“You look younger,” I exclaimed in a sort of surprise.

She turned her face toward me. “A lot of girls make up to look older in the store. Otherwise they might not hold their jobs.” A shy warmth came into her eyes. “You look older.”

I smiled back at her. That made me feel good. We were in front of the restaurant, its faded yellow and blue sign blinking at us:

“Let’s eat,” I said, opening the door and letting her walk in before me.

A tired-looking, wizened old Chinese showed us to a table. He dropped two menus on the table before us and shuffled slowly back to the door. The restaurant was almost empty; only two other tables were occupied. I glanced down the menu perfunctorily. I already knew what I wanted. Then I looked across the table at her.

She met my glance. “Chow mein for me.” She smiled.

“And fried rice. We’ll mix it,” I added quickly. I didn’t want her to get any wrong ideas. I wasn’t made out of dough.

A young Chinese waiter, as tired-looking as the old man who had seated us, placed a pot of tea on the table and languidly waited for our order. I gave it to him quickly and he went away. Then I turned back to the girl. As my eyes caught her gaze, she lowered her glance. A faint flush began to creep into her face and a strained air suddenly came between us.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

She raised her eyes to meet mine. “I shouldn’t be here,” she replied nervously. “I don’t even know who you are. My father——”

“Your old man wouldn’t like it?” I interrupted, smiling confidently. I felt more sure of myself now. “How old are you, anyway?”

Her eyes met mine levelly. “Sev——No, sixteen,” she answered hesitantly.

“Been working there long?” I asked.

“Almost a year,” she said. “They think I’m older.”

“Your old man rough on you?” I asked. A sympathy I couldn’t restrain had crept into my voice, and it seemed to lessen the strangeness between us.

“He’s all right, I guess. You know those old-fashioned Italians. It’s always in the old country this, the old country that.” She looked into my eyes candidly. “I’m supposed to come right home after work. I’m old enough to lie about my age to get a job and bring home money, but I’m not old enough to go out with boys. If he knew I was out with you, he’d give me hell.”

I looked at her speculatively, wondering why the long buildup. “Then why did you come?” I asked.

She smiled. “Maybe I’m getting tired of living in the old country. Maybe it’s time he learned this is a new place. We do things differently here.”

“Is that the only reason?” I asked, still watching her closely.

Her face began to blush under my scrutiny. “No, it isn’t,” she confessed, shaking her head slightly. “I wanted to come with you. I wanted to see what you were like.”

“Do you like what you see?”

She nodded silently, her face still flushing. “Do you?” she asked in a shy little voice.

I reached across the table and took her hand This was going to be a pushover. “I sure do, Nellie,” I said confidently. “I sure do.”

She stopped on the street corner under the light. “You better leave me here, Danny,” she said, looking up at me. “My father might be waitin’ on the steps for me.”

“That’s a good brush,” I said coldly.

A shadow came into her eyes. “Danny, it’s not.” Her voice was earnest. “Really, it’s not. You don’t know my old man.”

“Sure,” I said lightly, “I know it’s an old gag, but I’m a sucker for it. I half believe yuh.”

Her hand caught mine. “You must believe me, Danny,” she said quickly. “I wouldn’t fool you. Honest, I wouldn’t.”

I still held on to her hand tightly. “What’ll yuh tell him you’re comin’ in so late for?”

“I’ll tell him we got stuck in the store. He knows sometimes we have to stay.”

“Will he be mad?”

“No,” she replied. “He don’t care if it’s that. He don’t care how late I work.”

I let go of her hand and stepped back into the doorway of a store, away from the street lamp. “C’mere,” I said.

She watched me for a second, then took a hesitant step toward me. Her voice was suddenly nervous. “What for?”

I looked at her steadily. “You know what for,” I said quietly. “C’mere.”

She took another half-step and then stopped. A strange hurt came into her face. “No, Danny. I’m not that kind.”

I made my voice bitter and cutting. “Then it is the brush.” I took a cigarette from my pocket and put it between my lips. “Okay, baby. Beat it. You had your fun.”

I struck a match and held it to my cigarette. When I looked up she was still watching me. There was a peculiar tenseness in the way she stood there, like a doe about to run. The street light behind her threw blue sparkling lights into her hair.

I blew a cloud of smoke toward her. “What’re you waitin’ for? Go on home. Your ol’ man’s waitin’.”