PARTISAN REVIEW
Hank was trying to call out something in his sleep. "Mama," he
seemed to be saying softly, "Mama!" like a child half waked out of a
nightmare. But I could not be sure.
There was no use. I kissed her on the forehead, on the eyes, very
gently on the mouth. "I like you, Judith. I like you a lot. It's just
that-" I did not know when I started how I would finish the sentence,
but it came to me all at once, the final lie. "It's just that I've never slept
with a gentile girl before-and-I've heard of such things, but I never
believed
it-
Something in me deeper than desire or love, something in
the blood-refused, refused!"
"Oh my darling," she sobbed, "you do like me, you
do!
My poor
Milton, my poor, poor Jew."
When I got outside there was no one in sight, and I watched alone
the dawn coming drably over the empty beercans and the clothespoles
and the deserted street. It was then that my desire flowed back into me,
idiotically, uncomfortably, to the crowing of the first cocks; and I
hobbled down the street, feeling for the first time that summer almost
cold.
