PARTISAN REVIEW
it must be conceded, he had every right to hold privately, or did
he believe what he said. The latter was the more likely explana·
tion. Babble, tedium and all the rest, were to be expected, they
came with every marriage. There was still another possibility
to consider and that was that he was not resigned and that he
did not ignore her as he pretended but-and there was every
likelihood that he was unaware of this-heard and delighted
in her, wanted her slovenly, garrulous, foolish and coy, took
pleasure in enduring her. His face, as we looked at each other,
took on a doglike aspect. I was perturbed and rebuked my
imagination for the unfair and inhumane comparison it drew.
The doctor had left a prescription. The old man asked me
to take it to the drug store. As I went out I heard Mrs. Almstadt
saying, "My Iva's husband is here to lend a hand. He isn't
working now, he's waiting for the Army so he has all the time
in the world." I started and turned full of indignation, but she
smiled at me all oblivious. I wondered whether it was possible
that she should not have said it interrtionally, that she should be
blameless; whether her thoughts were as smooth and contentless
as counters or blank dominoes; whether she was half guile and
half innocence; or whether there worked through her a malice
she herself knew nothing abourt.
There was a sharp wind outside; the sun, low and raw in
a field of coarse clouds, ruddied the bricks and the windows.
The street had been blown dry (the day before had been damp)
and it presented itself in one of its winter aspects, creased and
with thin sidelocks of snow, vacant, as Chicago streets often are,
and as if its human use had for all times ended.
As I was going back, an exhibit in a barber-shop attracted
me. "Fancy articles from kitchen odds and ends by Mrs.
J.
Kowalski, 3538 Pierce Avenue". And there were laid out
mosaic pictures, bits of matchstick on mats of leaf from old
cigar butts, ashtrays cut from tincans and shellacked grapefruit
rind, a braided cellophane belt, a letter opener inlaid with bits
of glass, and two handpainted religious pictures. In its glass
case the striped pole rolled smoothly, the Lucky Tiger watched
from a thicket of bottles, the barber read a magazine. Turning
with my package I went on and entered through the grey pillars
