biting mouths.
The girls drifted into the hotel around nightfall. Some of them went
steady with one man; others simply sat in the lobby and waited for an
invitation. Because of the thinness of the walls, the open doors and the
loud voices, what went on in the rooms between men and women could not
be avoided. The sounds of it echoed in the corridors and the men talked
about it in the dining room so that to Hank it was like the Lysol smell
of the floors or the loose scabs of ancient paint on the outside ok the
hotel. It was part of the hotel; part of its dark smelly substance.
When he was eleven Hank had seen Old Kelly, the oldest engineer on the
line, beat up one of the girls. She had run out into the hall and Old
Kelly had caught her at the foot of the stairs. They had stood there,
both of them naked, Old Kelly hitting her the way men hit one another,
straight solid blows on the lumpy body of the woman. It made a sound
like someone kneading bread; not a slapping sound, but a dull, soggy,
damaging sound. The woman had scratched out at Old Kelly, but finally had
fallen forward into his arms, so that he could no longer hit her. Hank
had watched them make their stumbling broken way back to the room.
Once two of the girls, a little older than the rest, had stopped him in
the lobby. They were both very drunk and ready to cry. One had patted
him on the head and said, "A little boy I might have had." Hank had
knocked her hand away and backed off, angry. The two girls had cried,
looking hopelessly at one another and at Hank. Big tears soaked their
way through the powder and rouge and dropped pinkly and aimlessly from
their chins. Their grief had been so great that they had staggered out
into the night, without waiting for their railroaders to arrive.
By the time he was thirteen Hank was too big and gawky to sit in the
corners. They ran him out of the taxicab office and the pool hall and
Cohen asked him one day why he didn't get a job. The girls in the hotel
began to get angry with him for looking at them. Hank decided to go
to school.
Hank enrolled in the local high school. He was the best student they had
ever had. He finished the first two years of work in a single year. But
at the start of his senior year he discovered mathematics and poker and
quit school.
As soon as he learned mathematics in school, he began to calculate the
odds in the poker game that went on day after day down at the hotel. He
took a statistics textbook from the library and with the deck of cards
out in front of him he figured various combinations. He memorized columns
and columns of figures and odds and chances until gradually he forgot the
columns and knew by merely looking at a hand how it could be improved,
how it compared with other hands and how a kicker would help it. Then he
went down to the lobby where the men played poker and watched them. He
moved from one man to another, watching their hands, checking their
chances with his statistics. He noticed how some men place a chip over
an ace when it comes to them down; that few men look again at their
down card in stud if it is a face card; that most men swallow when they
make a good draw; that the time to win in a poker game is late in the
evenings when players are anxious to win back losings. The statistics
he had learned rapidly, but the way men play took longer. At the end of
a year he thought he knew enough to play.
One night he asked the men if he could play and they laughed and let him
in. He bought five dollars worth of chips, a little stack of white and
red, that when held between his fingers ran only up to his second knuckle.
He lost rapidly until he had only three white chips and one red chip left
in his fingers. Then he got over the confusion caused by the smoke over
the table, the eyes, the rapid flicking of the cards and he started to
win. He played cautiously, like a very stingy old man, and by midnight
he had won six dollars. He was
The girls drifted into the hotel around nightfall. Some of them went
steady with one man; others simply sat in the lobby and waited for an
invitation. Because of the thinness of the walls, the open doors and the
loud voices, what went on in the rooms between men and women could not
be avoided. The sounds of it echoed in the corridors and the men talked
about it in the dining room so that to Hank it was like the Lysol smell
of the floors or the loose scabs of ancient paint on the outside ok the
hotel. It was part of the hotel; part of its dark smelly substance.
When he was eleven Hank had seen Old Kelly, the oldest engineer on the
line, beat up one of the girls. She had run out into the hall and Old
Kelly had caught her at the foot of the stairs. They had stood there,
both of them naked, Old Kelly hitting her the way men hit one another,
straight solid blows on the lumpy body of the woman. It made a sound
like someone kneading bread; not a slapping sound, but a dull, soggy,
damaging sound. The woman had scratched out at Old Kelly, but finally had
fallen forward into his arms, so that he could no longer hit her. Hank
had watched them make their stumbling broken way back to the room.
Once two of the girls, a little older than the rest, had stopped him in
the lobby. They were both very drunk and ready to cry. One had patted
him on the head and said, "A little boy I might have had." Hank had
knocked her hand away and backed off, angry. The two girls had cried,
looking hopelessly at one another and at Hank. Big tears soaked their
way through the powder and rouge and dropped pinkly and aimlessly from
their chins. Their grief had been so great that they had staggered out
into the night, without waiting for their railroaders to arrive.
By the time he was thirteen Hank was too big and gawky to sit in the
corners. They ran him out of the taxicab office and the pool hall and
Cohen asked him one day why he didn't get a job. The girls in the hotel
began to get angry with him for looking at them. Hank decided to go
to school.
Hank enrolled in the local high school. He was the best student they had
ever had. He finished the first two years of work in a single year. But
at the start of his senior year he discovered mathematics and poker and
quit school.
As soon as he learned mathematics in school, he began to calculate the
odds in the poker game that went on day after day down at the hotel. He
took a statistics textbook from the library and with the deck of cards
out in front of him he figured various combinations. He memorized columns
and columns of figures and odds and chances until gradually he forgot the
columns and knew by merely looking at a hand how it could be improved,
how it compared with other hands and how a kicker would help it. Then he
went down to the lobby where the men played poker and watched them. He
moved from one man to another, watching their hands, checking their
chances with his statistics. He noticed how some men place a chip over
an ace when it comes to them down; that few men look again at their
down card in stud if it is a face card; that most men swallow when they
make a good draw; that the time to win in a poker game is late in the
evenings when players are anxious to win back losings. The statistics
he had learned rapidly, but the way men play took longer. At the end of
a year he thought he knew enough to play.
One night he asked the men if he could play and they laughed and let him
in. He bought five dollars worth of chips, a little stack of white and
red, that when held between his fingers ran only up to his second knuckle.
He lost rapidly until he had only three white chips and one red chip left
in his fingers. Then he got over the confusion caused by the smoke over
the table, the eyes, the rapid flicking of the cards and he started to
win. He played cautiously, like a very stingy old man, and by midnight
he had won six dollars. He was
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