the handkerchief over to him. ‘All my life I’ve been arranging things to suit my father.’
‘I know you’re disappointed, Dorrie. But you’ve got to think of the future.’ He extended the envelope to her. Her hands, folded on the table, made no move to accept it. He put it on the table between them, a white rectangle slightly swollen by the capsules inside. ‘I’m prepared to take a night job now, to quit school at the end of this term. All I’m asking you to do is to swallow a couple of pills.’
Her hands remained folded, her eyes on the sterile whiteness of the envelope.
He spoke with cool authority: ‘If you refuse to take them, Dorothy, you’re being stubborn, unrealistic, and unfair. Unfair more to yourself than to me.’
The jazz record ended, the coloured lights died, and there was silence.
They sat with the envelope between them.
Across the room there was the whisper of a chessman being placed and an old man’s voice said, ‘Check.’
Her hands parted slightly and he saw the glisten of sweat in her palms. His own hands were sweating too, he realized. Her eyes lifted from the envelope to meet his.
‘Please, baby—’
She looked down again, her face rigid.
She took the envelope. She pushed it into the handbag on the bench beside her and then sat gazing at her hands on the table.
He reached across the table and touched her hand, caressed the back of it, clasped it. With his other hand he pushed his untouched coffee over to her. He watched her lift the cup and drink. He found another nickel in his pocket and, still holding her hand, dropped the coin into the selector and pressed the button opposite ‘Some Enchanted Evening’.
They walked the wet concrete paths in silence, divorced by the privacy of their thoughts, holding hands through habit. The rain had stopped, but face-tingling moisture filled the air, defining the scope of each street-lamp in shifting grey.
Across the street from the dorm, they kissed. Her lips under his were cool and compressed. When he tried to part them she shook her head. He held her for a few minutes, whispering persuasively, and then they exchanged good nights. He watched as she crossed the street and passed into the yellow-lighted hall of the building.
He went to a nearby bar, where he drank two glasses of beer and tore a paper napkin into a delicate filigreed square of admirable detail. When half an hour had passed, he stepped into the telephone booth and dialled the number of the dorm. He asked the girl at the switchboard for Dorothy’s room.
She answered after two rings. ‘Hello?’
‘Hello, Dorrie?’ Silence at her end. ‘Dorrie, did you do it?’
A pause. ‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘A few minutes ago.’
He drew a deep breath. ‘Baby, does that girl on the switchboard ever listen in?’
‘No. They fired the last girl for—’
‘Well listen, I didn’t want to tell you before, but – they might hurt a little.’ She said nothing. He continued, ‘Hermy said you’ll probably throw up, like before. And you might get a sort of burning sensation in your throat and some pains in your stomach. Whatever happens, don’t get frightened. It’ll just mean that the pills are working. Don’t call anyone.’ He paused, waiting for her to say something, but she was silent. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before but, well, it won’t hurt too much. And it’ll be over before you know it.’ A pause. ‘You’re not angry with me, are you, Dorrie?’
‘No.’
‘You’ll see, it’ll all be for the best.’
‘I know. I’m sorry I was stubborn.’
‘That’s all right, baby. Don’t apologize.’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Yes.’
There was silence for a moment and then she said. ‘Well, goodnight.’
‘Goodbye, Dorothy,’ he said.
NINE
Striding into the classroom Friday morning he felt weightless and tall and wonderful. It was a beautiful day; sunlight poured into the room and bounced off the metal chairs to
‘I know you’re disappointed, Dorrie. But you’ve got to think of the future.’ He extended the envelope to her. Her hands, folded on the table, made no move to accept it. He put it on the table between them, a white rectangle slightly swollen by the capsules inside. ‘I’m prepared to take a night job now, to quit school at the end of this term. All I’m asking you to do is to swallow a couple of pills.’
Her hands remained folded, her eyes on the sterile whiteness of the envelope.
He spoke with cool authority: ‘If you refuse to take them, Dorothy, you’re being stubborn, unrealistic, and unfair. Unfair more to yourself than to me.’
The jazz record ended, the coloured lights died, and there was silence.
They sat with the envelope between them.
Across the room there was the whisper of a chessman being placed and an old man’s voice said, ‘Check.’
Her hands parted slightly and he saw the glisten of sweat in her palms. His own hands were sweating too, he realized. Her eyes lifted from the envelope to meet his.
‘Please, baby—’
She looked down again, her face rigid.
She took the envelope. She pushed it into the handbag on the bench beside her and then sat gazing at her hands on the table.
He reached across the table and touched her hand, caressed the back of it, clasped it. With his other hand he pushed his untouched coffee over to her. He watched her lift the cup and drink. He found another nickel in his pocket and, still holding her hand, dropped the coin into the selector and pressed the button opposite ‘Some Enchanted Evening’.
They walked the wet concrete paths in silence, divorced by the privacy of their thoughts, holding hands through habit. The rain had stopped, but face-tingling moisture filled the air, defining the scope of each street-lamp in shifting grey.
Across the street from the dorm, they kissed. Her lips under his were cool and compressed. When he tried to part them she shook her head. He held her for a few minutes, whispering persuasively, and then they exchanged good nights. He watched as she crossed the street and passed into the yellow-lighted hall of the building.
He went to a nearby bar, where he drank two glasses of beer and tore a paper napkin into a delicate filigreed square of admirable detail. When half an hour had passed, he stepped into the telephone booth and dialled the number of the dorm. He asked the girl at the switchboard for Dorothy’s room.
She answered after two rings. ‘Hello?’
‘Hello, Dorrie?’ Silence at her end. ‘Dorrie, did you do it?’
A pause. ‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘A few minutes ago.’
He drew a deep breath. ‘Baby, does that girl on the switchboard ever listen in?’
‘No. They fired the last girl for—’
‘Well listen, I didn’t want to tell you before, but – they might hurt a little.’ She said nothing. He continued, ‘Hermy said you’ll probably throw up, like before. And you might get a sort of burning sensation in your throat and some pains in your stomach. Whatever happens, don’t get frightened. It’ll just mean that the pills are working. Don’t call anyone.’ He paused, waiting for her to say something, but she was silent. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before but, well, it won’t hurt too much. And it’ll be over before you know it.’ A pause. ‘You’re not angry with me, are you, Dorrie?’
‘No.’
‘You’ll see, it’ll all be for the best.’
‘I know. I’m sorry I was stubborn.’
‘That’s all right, baby. Don’t apologize.’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Yes.’
There was silence for a moment and then she said. ‘Well, goodnight.’
‘Goodbye, Dorothy,’ he said.
NINE
Striding into the classroom Friday morning he felt weightless and tall and wonderful. It was a beautiful day; sunlight poured into the room and bounced off the metal chairs to
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