THE ENGLISH GARDENS
243
while he ran down it toward the distant street light he was pro–
testing,
"O.K.! O.K.!"
The rain tried to choke him as he ran. His course was a
dotted one of doorways. He burst into the Schwabing station
where a cleaning women watched him drip on her wet floors
and, generously, offered him a large dirty cloth to mop his head.
uSchlechtes Wetter,"
she said.
If
not the words, he understood
the gratuitousness of the remark and mumbled,
((la, ja."
He de–
cided on the main station and got there, extravagantly, by taxi.
The driver, incensed at his meager tip, complained about the
wet seat left behind, wasted on Nicolas who only slammed the
door.
There is almost a spiritual air to railroad stations at 4: 30
in the mornings. He wandering through it, idly, stood for a while
in front of a toilet mirror. At length, he sank down on a bench
in the third class waiting room. He had the bemused air of a
child who has been thoroughly punished. For the first time in
a life of such public places at such an hour he was unaware of
speculative eyes turned upon him. He did not see a policeman
looking his way and talking to a janitor: "He is not an Ameri–
can. He is Greek. I have been watching him for some time."
Then, under their stare, Nicolas gave a start. His hand reached
into his breast pocket where he had a package of cigarettes in
which he had put Mary jane's checks. He was saying, "No .. .
no ... don't let 'em be ..." Slowly he pulled them out-they
were dry. He breathed.
He need not have had that particular anxiety. Life, toward
little plots, is extremely permissive. All such small efforts are
allowed. Limited demands you are granted. Life says, "All right,
now what?" and
sits
back and watches.
Even his passport had not run. He relwced against the bench.
Seeing his nervous search, the policeman nodded, wisely. But
with a burst of vehemence, the janitor said, "Those good-for–
nothings!" and in disgust went back to his work.
At 9: 00 that morning, the Gdifin was at her desk making
