that when Tony got home that time he had found
his wife gone, the flat in Mulberry Street vacant.
"Sold every goddamn thing iIt the house, even my
war medals." He claimed he got them for bravery,
fighting the Austrians,
"hoppin'
around on the moun-
tains just like a goddamn goat." He was about old
enough, close to forty, his thick, dark hair beginning
to gray over the ears. "But what the hell," laughed
Tony, and threw back his head and let the red wine
trickle into his red mouth. "Now you take a drink."
And when the train slowed down and pulled up to
the little station he was the first one out, shouting,
"Come on, bums, shake a leg
I"
The river was narrower here, bluer, between the
points of high, rounded hills. The little station lay
quiet between the river and a dark green hill, noth-
ing but a shack and a wooden platform weathered
gray in the sun. The camp truck wasn't there yet, so
we waited at the station. For a while, Tony sat with
the older men against the wall of the shack, talking
politics, the New Deal, what would help business,
Mussolini,
the war in Africa ....
When Tony got
excited we could hear him sputter:
"But what the
hell ...
the hell with that ...
but goddamn it, I've
been to a war, and I don't want any more of that-
and I don't want any more camping, either. Camp is
all right for kids. I'm a first class mechanic, I am.
What the hell. ...
"
After a while, he came over and joined us younger
fellows, where we lay stretched out on the sun-
warmed platform,
our heads in the shade, with our
packages for pillows. We were telling stories: "It
seems this fellow spent the night at a lonely farm-
house, and the farmer had a pretty daughter ... ", you
know, and then another.
At the end of each story,
shouts of uproarious laughter and the smacking of
thighs and then, "That's like the one about ...
" ,
and another one started.
We had had a couple of rounds, each one chiming
in, except Swede. He lay there listening, his shaggy
blond head propped up on his sunburnt arms, his
sleeves rolled up to where the muscles bulged, milk-
white. He had his jacket off and his collar open at
the neck, as if it were a hot summer day; you got
the feeling Swede didn't need clothes to be com-
fortable,
like a healthy animal.
He didn't say a
thing; just lay there listening,
his chinablue eyes
staring out towards the smoothblue river.
When Tony came over, he stood over Swede, list-
ening too, while someone told a story about how
Pat went to confession and got some pointers from
the priest, and then Tony laughed and said: "That
reminds me ...
" and started a long story about a
young fellow who wanted very much to get married.
It was funny, the way Tony told it, with his shrug-
ging shoulders and the quick suggestive motions of
his brown hands, and we all laughed like hell when
he finished. We were still laughing when Swede got
10
up, not laughing, and picked up his jacket and went
over to the baggage cart that was standing by the
station shack. He sat down on the cart, his legs
drawn up, his solid arms on his knees, holding his
towhead between his big fists and looking out at
the river. He was no more than twenty and strong
as an ox.
Tony stopped laughing and said:
"The poor
sap wants to get married,
too. He wants his woman.
But what's he gain'
to get married on? And if he
does get married, what's he gain' to keep his woman
on, or his kids? On relief? Kin you blame a woman
for sellin'
out on a man? What's a woman want
with a goddamn boyscout away in camp? Camp is
all right for kids. A man don't want a camp. But
they're !earnin'
us. Maybe they're learnin'
us to get
along without women. I learned in the war, and
now
1'111
leamin'
in a camp. Maybe they're learnin'
us to be like kids. What the hell. ... "
If Swede heard him, he gave no sign. Tony
glanced at the drawnup figure, turned and went over
to him. Alongside Swede, Tony looked small, slen-
der, very brown. He leaned against the cart and
said something teasing, to which the other responded
only with the twitch of a blond eyelash, as if flicking
off an insect. But the little man smiled and with the
brown knuckles of his clenched fist, lightly jabbed
the other's arm, again and again, until the husky one
with an easy swing brushed the teaser off. But back
Tony came, this time more intent, with provoking
jabs under the solid ribs, again and again, until
Swede, as if suddenly stung, jumped down from the
cart, seized Tony, and wrestled with him.
The little brown man was strong too, and agile,
and they wrestled all over the dusty platform,
roll-
ing out of the shade and into the sun, Tony pro-
longing the fight by letting himself go until he was
almost pinned down and then squirming up in the
nick of time. Both were flushed and breathing hard;
the back of Swede's neck was bright red, and his
hair stood up in disordered clumps; Tony's teeth
flashed between his drawn lips, and curly veins stood
out on his brown temples and hands; but they were
both enjoying the scrimmage like a pair of puppies-
only there was more of guile in the little man's an-
tics, as he played with the magnificent strength of
the big lad. Finally Swede got a scissors hold on
Tony's legs and pinned him down, kneeling over him,
holding Tony's legs clamped between his powerful
thighs, and pressing down with his huge hands on
the little man's shoulders. Then, smiling and breath-
less, and looking up into Swede's face with his soft
dark eyes, Tony reached up one brown fist and slow-
ly pressed up into the other's groin.
It was not a foul offensive-that
was clear; it was
so deliberate.
And Swede, surprisingly,
took no of-
fense. Instead, a look of dull dawning, of awakened
understanding and stolid sympathy,
of some strong
JUNE,
1936
