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508
PARTISAN REVIEW
"God damn you!" he said. He turned and walked back toward
the kitchen. "I'll give you ten minutes to let me out of here.
If
you
don't I won't come back here at all."
Her eyes widened. "I won't let you come back if you leave now."
Then she again looked into
his
eyes, and she shook her head
wearily. "Stay-stay: look at all this food!" She grabbed a basket
of strawberries that she had bought for him on her way home. She
held it up to him to tempt him. "Look at this-and you're starving–
why shouldn't you eat?"
"Oh Mama-you don't understand."
He took out his wallet. "See, I have three dollars here. That's
enough for meals for the next two days. I'll come for supper on
Wednesday and I'll ask you for five dollars to finish out the week.
I'll get a job tomorrow and I'll get paid on Friday."
"Hero! Hero! A martyr! What can you do with three dollars?"
"Now this? Let me get out and I'll come back in two days
when perhaps you've learned a lesson."
"No!" she shouted and she seized a knife from the table. "You'll
stay here!" She stood before the door with the knife in her hand.
"Don't you leave me any pride?"
"Pride," she hissed. "You have no money, you're starving!" It
was not true, but she was staring at his neat, clean suit and his proud
face. The woman with the fending arms of a mother saw his pride
before life very clearly and it only hurt her more; the woman felt:
what are pride and dignity without power?
"You exaggerate. I eat well. I can take care of myself."
"Take care of yourself! I had to help you pay for that suit!
Stubborn! Stubborn! Why won't you stay for dinner? Why can't I
give you money? That's your sickness- you're stubborn! You'll kill
somebody. I know you will, and then you'll die alone in your room;
you'll starve in the middle of the city and no one will know. They'll
break down the door and find you in your room. You'll go picking
garbage cans on the East Side, your fingers yellow from nicotine and
shaking! I dreamed it, I dreamed it!"
There were tears in
his
eyes, and never had he felt so close to
her as now. Yet it was atavistic and there was the dark, terrible
loneliness and fear that only she could make him feel with her
deep-suffering images. He felt his strength going from him; her
fearful passion was like a nightmare.
"Ma-I'm going now. Put down that knife! Are you really mad?
I'm a man!"
