5-42
PARTISAN REVIEW
body seemed lost in
his
blue cloth shirt, and his
limbs
looked like
sticks which the hand of age had whittled thin. He was talking to
himself in a low voice, scarcely heard outside of his corner, and its
quavering notes had the sweetness of an evening prayer. One of
his pale little wrists still showed the traces of a tattooed design, which
old age had half effaced.
"Life is like that," said Martin, indicating the darkening land–
scape outside the window. "When you really look at it, hell, it chills
your very guts." Grandgil, though the remark had not been especially
directed at him, acquiesced with a nod without turning his head.
He seemed to be searching in this small twilight filled space for some–
thing more concrete than an image of life. The proprietor turned
on the light, and drew .across the window pane the blue curtain re–
quired by the defense ministry. The two men slowly turned away
from the window, and facing the counter their glances met. Strangers
to each other as they were, it seemed to Martin that this long gaze
had set up between them a bond of sympathy, although his neighbor
gave no other sign of interest. In
his
corner, the old riverman, ap–
parently disturbed by the electric light, had ceased his monologue,
and was looking with a troubled brow at his own hands, as they
twitched feverishly on the table. Presently, he turned toward the
counter and called impatiently: "Girl!" At his third appeal, the
proprietress took from the cash drawer a scrap of paper on which
were traced three words, which she spelled out painfully:
"Formosa ... Taiwan ... Foutcheou.... Did you under–
stand? ... Formosa.... "
The old man nodded his comprehension, and began his mon–
ologue again.
The proprietress was explaining to a customer: "You see, he talks
to himself about his China campaign, as he calls it. But the trouble
is that the names slip his mind, and then he is just lost. But what
can you expect, with names like that? They make you wonder
where he ever found them. I can ·hardly read them myself, even
though I repeat them to him ten times in an afternoon. And it's
the same thing with my husband."
Grandgil seemed interested in the boatman, who was once more
following the thread of his memories.
"Old people are not so much to be pitied as people think,"
