They were bawling out their team song, “Keep the ball rolling, boys.”
One of them looked up at me and shouted,
“We licked them!”
I waved my hand and called back,
“Good work!”
From now on there was a steady stream of private cars.
The sky had changed again; a reddish glow was spreading up beyond the housetops. As dusk set in, the street grew more crowded.
People were returning from their walks, and I noticed the dapper little man with the fat wife amongst the passers-by.
Children were whimpering and trailing wearily after their parents.
After some minutes the local picture houses disgorged their audiences.
I noticed that the young fellows coming from them were taking longer strides and gesturing more vigorously than at ordinary times; doubtless the picture they’d been seeing was of the wild-West variety. Those who had been to the picture houses in the middle of the town came a little later, and looked more sedate, though a few were still laughing. On the whole, however, they seemed languid and exhausted.
Some of them remained loitering in the street under my window.
A group of girls came by, walking arm in arm.
The young men under my window swerved so as to brush against them, and shouted humorous remarks, which made the girls turn their heads and giggle.
I recognized them as girls from my part of the town, and two or three of them, whom I knew, looked up and waved to me.
Just then the street lamps came on, all together, and they made the stars that were beginning to glimmer in the night sky paler still.
I felt my eyes getting tired, what with the lights and all the movement I’d been watching in the street.
There were little pools of brightness under the lamps, and now and then a streetcar passed, lighting up a girl’s hair, or a smile, or a silver bangle.
Soon after this, as the streetcars became fewer and the sky showed velvety black above the trees and lamps, the street grew emptier, almost imperceptibly, until a time came when there was nobody to be seen and a cat, the first of the evening, crossed, unhurrying, the deserted street.
It struck me that I’d better see about some dinner.
I had been leaning so long on the back of my chair, looking down, that my neck hurt when I straightened myself up.
I went down, bought some bread and spaghetti, did my cooking, and ate my meal standing.
I’d intended to smoke another cigarette at my window, but the night had turned rather chilly and I decided against it.
As I was coming back, after shutting the window, I glanced at the mirror and saw reflected in it a corner of my table with my spirit lamp and some bits of bread beside it.
It occurred to me that somehow I’d got through another Sunday, that Mother now was buried, and tomorrow I’d be going back to work as usual. Really, nothing in my life had changed.
III
I HAD a busy morning in the office.
My employer was in a good humor.
He even inquired if I wasn’t too tired, and followed it up by asking what Mother’s age was.
I thought a bit, then answered, “Round about sixty,” as I didn’t want to make a blunder.
At which he looked relieved—why, I can’t imagine—and seemed to think that closed the matter.
There was a pile of bills of lading waiting on my desk, and I had to go through them all.
Before leaving for lunch I washed my hands.
I always enjoyed doing this at midday. In the evening it was less pleasant, as the roller towel, after being used by so many people, was sopping wet.
I once brought this to my employer’s notice.
It was regrettable, he agreed—but, to his mind, a mere detail.
I left the office building a little later than usual, at half-past twelve, with Emmanuel, who works in the Forwarding Department.
Our building overlooks the sea, and we paused for a moment on the steps to look at the shipping in the. harbor. The sun was scorching hot.
Just then a big truck came up, with a din of chains and backfires from the engine, and Emmanuel suggested we should try to jump it.
I started to run.
The truck was well away, and we had to chase it for quite a distance.
What with the heat and the noise from the engine, I felt half dazed.
All I was conscious of was our mad rush along the water front, amongst cranes and winches, with dark hulls of ships alongside and masts swaying in the offing.
I was the first to catch up with the truck. I took a flying jump, landed safely, and helped Emmanuel to scramble in beside me.
We were both of us out of breath, and the bumps of the truck on the roughly laid cobbles made things worse.
Emmanuel chuckled, and panted in my ear, “We’ve made it!”
By the time we reached Celeste’s restaurant we were dripping with sweat.
Celeste was at his usual place beside the entrance, with his apron bulging on his paunch, his white mustache well to the fore.
When he saw me he was sympathetic and “hoped I wasn’t feeling too badly.” I said, “No,” but I was extremely hungry.
I ate very quickly and had some coffee to finish up.