STORIES
Maureen Howard
THE THREE PIGS OF KRISHNA NURU
The day that Jimmy Cogan was accepted at Fordham
was a happy one for his family. The notice came in the morning
mail on a Saturday before he left for work. He whistled as he ran
downstairs even though he had missed the express that would get
him to the
Chateau de Chien
by eleven o'clock. On Conner Street
the cement sparkled with a thousand flickering specks of mica he
had never seen before. He was not usually a cheerful boy but this
morning the world was filled with promises which he never believed
would be for him. His mother and father had smiled until he
thought their faces would break.
At the kiosk he bought a copy of
Newsweek
determined to
attack the problems of the day with a keen mind. The picture on
the cover was of a young Democratic Senator, a bright hope, hand–
some as an actor. Jim had never heard the man's name, a fact that
would never have troubled
him
in the past; though he had read
every word from the mouth of Che Guevara, politics had always
seemed too remote and meaningless. The war was still on -
his
peace button thrown in a drawer with paperclips and cuff
links.
His peace poster over the bed had popped its tacks and now lay
in a roll on the closet shelf. Today he felt that he must know some–
thing beyond his blind acceptance of a cause. Beginning now,
with
this
magazine on the subway. There was not a moment to be lost.
For weeks he had done nothing but stare into space, thinking
of the bare body of the girl he slept with - Shelley Waltz. He had
tried calling her his girl but that was wrong: there was no way
in which he possessed her. She was somewhat crazy, a wandering,
angry girl. Though she had a home she seemed more a child of
