THE TEETH
still near enough to the war's ending so that they might think. . . .
With his reverie,
his
limp had grown more exaggerated until he
rolled grotesquely on the tide of evasion and self-pity; but he became
suddenly aware of another stare, incurious, mocking surely, almost
malicious.
It was a boy, fourteen, perhaps flfteen, who leaned against the
railing between sidewalk and house, resting; his mouth had dropped
open and
his
unnoticed breath broke from
it
dog-like
hunh! hunh!
hunk!
Each of his arms was humped backwards over a rail, his
head dangling limply on to his chest between shoulders thrust up and
forward so that he might have been a hunchback; it was impossible
to say for sure. But the metal leg-braces, all fluid and luminous in
the last sun, and the surgical shoes were unambiguous. This Warren
could not hope to deceive; he blushed.
"Hey mister, gimme a nickel, mister!" The boy called the words
casually, almost mumbled them, turning his head oddly up against
Warren's face from beneath, and reaching one cupped hand forward
without releasing his arm from the supporting stake. How he exploits
his
distortion, Warren thought, as if he had invented it, and not
merely suffered it as an affliction. "Obscenity!" he told himself and
he did not waver.
"Hey mister, mister!" A little louder now, so that Warren could
not longer pretend he did not hear. Just beneath his own face swam
the face of the real cripple, blurred from focus, but the sweat visible,
the fat quivering tongue, the knowledge of his fraud. He knew!
"Gimme a nickel, mister!" the dim face insisted (not begging
now,
demanding)
and one eye winked, wrinkled in mocking com–
plicity. Warren walked away from the boy, faster, faster, forgetting
to limp in his embarrassment; and then, sensing that to leave off
would seem a confession, a surrender to that petty blackmail, threw
himself again into his burlesque gimpy gait. Behind him he could
hear the creak of leather, the ticking of metal against the pavement,
as the boy took up the chase: "Hey, mister, gimme a nickel! Hey
mister!"
Warren did not look around, but he could feel the absurdity of
the scene, man and boy, parodying each other down the street that
swarmed and closed about their strange intimacy. Who was the
49
