232
PARTISAN REVIEW
I was born. He lost it a few years ago but we continue to live here,
in the same flat.
Mter breakfast he takes his bag with the overalls in it and his
trowel and goes to work. Then my mother sees me to the door and
puts my lunch in my hand. She wears an old bathrobe and her
stockings are gartered loosely below the knees and falling. Some–
times she tries to kiss me goodby and I allow it. Ordinarily she is
as strange to me as though she were dead or nonexistent. But then,
when I recognize that she is alive-not only that she lives, but that
she prepares my orange juice before I leave and hands me my
lunch-it gives me an extraordinary twist. I am the only son.
Besides the lunch I get fifty cents for tobacco, for carfare, for
a drink, for a newspaper, perhaps. Things that are essential.
I wait for the car, the Cottage Grove car, on the corner near
Poland's grocery store. The Polands know me very well. They
have been on the corner for many years. Mr. Poland waves at me
from behind the counter withdrawing one hand from the breast of
his apron, and smiles at me with his big, broad teeth whose discol–
oration makes a little flare in the early morning grocery-light. He
wears an old fashioned belted cap. He says something to Mrs.
Poland who is cutting down bananas from a bunch in the window.
What can it be but, "Nu, Mandelbaum's boy is still looking for a
position"? Their own son, Bobby, is an accountant. We're of
about the same age.
It's a long ride. Often, when there's no special hurry, I get
off and walk. In this way I have covered the whole distance on
foot and I know every part of it-garages, laundries, re-sale stores,
house foundations, autoparts, weeds-all in two colors, sand and
gray. There are no others; seasonal colors, I mean. Near Twenty·
second Street there are several new factories with slick fronts and
neon piping in the office windows. And then, when the line turns
down Wabash Avenue, past the movie distribution houses, you
see huge tableaux of kiss and thrill and murder. But usually I
read a book and pay little attention, while the car wobbles towards
the Loop, except to see what the sun is doing. I watch it occasion·
ally. Just before we creep under the elevated lines it appears for
a moment. Not much hope for it, I remark to myself.
If
it outlives
me it won't be for long. This morning it makes me think of nothing
more important than a paper seal on a breakfast-food box. Yank it
