231
DAVID JACKSON
"Man, that's a strange one," Nicolas informed him, looking
up from something in his hands.
Now Nicolas expanded. He ordered more beers, Meredith
was still there to pay. To insure this, he moved over into Mary
Jane's chair to speak directly into Meredith's face, saying "You
know, Meredith, I read that little poem of yours about my kind
of poetry. No, look, Nicolas's not mad. I gotta say this, we gotta
stick
together,
man. This is a lonely life...." Almost anytime,
Nicolas could move himself to tears thinking of how lonely and
misunderstood he was. The truth being, of course, that he passed
scarcely an hour of any day out of company. He would have told
you, the shine of water on his cheeks, that none of
that mat–
tered.
"You sit there, like at a table, and the black wall closes
in, right, man? You feel that, man?" Meredith nodded, distract–
edly. He wanted to go, he was nervous about Mary Jane; but
this stroke about his Beatnik quatrain half paralyzed his urge
and he sat on. He talked to his friend Christian. Then, turning,
he was aware that Nicolas had left the table. He rose, paid the
bill, said goodbyes, and went off to the door. And he had just
time to wave
acro~
the room to Nicolas before he went out. "See
you around, man!" Nicolas called.
"Let me in."
"Tomorrow."
"Just for a few minutes."
"Please, tomorrow."
"I'll keep knocking."
"Well ... Really, Meredith. I was asleep."
"Did you think
I
would sleep?"
The next twenty minutes were rather hard on Meredith.
Mary Jane had begun her campaign. He was told she respected
people who worked, realized their gifts, and ,depended on no one.
Their parting was cool, but not final. He shut her door and
started, rather dejectedly, for his own. 'I'll let him think awhile
before I go in,' Mary Jane told herself.
When the door of the bar had closed on Meredith, Nicolas
