The assistant by Bernard Malamud Page B

or a salesman, I left by the hallway with the empty milk bottle under my coat. Later I threw it away in a lot. That's all there is to it. Tonight I took a chance and came in while you were still in the back of the store, because I have a cold and don't feel too good." "How can you sleep in such a cold and drafty cellar?" "I slept in worse." "Are you hungry now?" "I'm always hungry." "Come upstairs." Morris picked up his hatchet, and Frank, blowing his nose in his damp handkerchief, followed him up the stairs. Morris lit a light in the store and made two fat liverwurst sandwiches with mustard, and in the back heated up a can of bean soup. Frank sat at the table in his coat, his hat lying at his feet. He ate with great hunger, his hand trembling as he brought the spoon to his mouth. The grocer had to look away. As the man was finishing his meal, with coffee and cup cakes, Ida came down in felt slippers and bathrobe. "What happened?" she asked in fright, when she saw Frank Alpine. "He's hungry," Morris said. She guessed at once. "He stole the milk!" "He was hungry," explained Morris. "He slept in the cellar." "I was practically starving," said Frank. "Why didn't you look for a job?" Ida asked. "I looked all over." After, Ida said to Frank, "When you finish, please go someplace else." She turned to her husband. "Morris, tell him to go someplace else. We are poor people." "This he knows." "I'll go away," Frank said, "as the lady wishes." "Tonight is already too late," Morris said. "Who wants he should walk all night in the streets?" "I don't want him here." She was tense. "Where you want him to go?" Frank set his coffee cup on the saucer and listened with interest. "This ain't my business," Ida answered. "Don't anybody worry," said Frank. "I'll leave in ten minutes' time. You got a cigarette, Morris?" The grocer went to the bureau and took out of the drawer a crumpled pack of cigarettes. "It's stale," he apologized. "Don't make any difference." Frank lit a stale cigarette, inhaling with pleasure. "I'll go after a short while," he said to Ida. "I don't like trouble," she explained. "I won't make any. I might look like a bum in these clothes, but I am not. All my life I lived with good people." "Let him stay here tonight on the couch," Morris said to Ida. "No. Give him better a dollar he should go someplace else." "The cellar would be fine," Frank remarked. "It's too damp. Also rats." "If you let me stay there one more night I promise I will get out the first thing in the morning. You don't have to be afraid to trust me. I am an honest man." "You can sleep here," Morris said. "Morris, you crazy," shouted Ida. "I'll work it off for you," Frank said. "Whatever I cost you I'll pay you back. Anything you want me to do, I'll do it." "We will see," Morris said. "No," insisted Ida. But Morris won out, and they went up, leaving Frank in the back, the gas radiator left lit. "He will clean out the store," Ida said wrathfully. "Where is his truck?" Morris asked, smiling. Seriously he said, "He's a poor boy. I feel sorry for him." They went to bed. Ida slept badly. Sometimes she was racked by awful dreams. Then she awoke and sat up in bed, straining to hear noises in the store-of Frank packing huge bags of groceries to steal. But there was no sound. She dreamed she came down in the morning and all the stock was gone, the shelves as barren as the picked bones of dead birds. She dreamed, too, that the Italyener had sneaked up into the house and was peeking through the keyhole of Helen's door. Only when Morris got up to open the store did Ida fall fitfully asleep. The grocer trudged down the stairs with a dull pain in his head. His legs felt weak. His sleep had not been refreshing. The snow was gone from the streets and the milk boxes were again lying on the sidewalk near the curb. None of the bottles were missing. The grocer was about to drag in the milk cases when the Poilisheh came by. She went inside and placed three pennies on the counter. He