Page 18 - Contrast1962v6n1

"Sure, I got one, ah, somewhere ... " as he pounded his pockets
for the torn, squashed pack. His hand jerkingly ripped the pack from
his shirt pocket. Fumbling with its contents, he lifted one and place~
it in her lips. Another match vibrated in his fingers as he struck It
and cupped it for the dark, quiet woman.

"Where you going, mister? You look kinda lost," she said halt-
ingly as the icy air stung her lips. She peered into his face of Mephi-
stophelian leanness and saw soft silver lines hidden behind a two-day
beard-a sandy softness and quietness. She knew he too was lonely
and cold.

"Just out, just out to gaze at stars and spires and wait till morn-
ing for donut buyers." He stopped, reflected on his cleverness, then
chuckled in his raspy throat. Seeing the bitter funniness, she laughed
too in a dry shrillness.

"Didn't mean to be funny. Just the way words cling for me, I
suppose," he said dreamily. His eyes jumped off his own ego and onto
the dark figure who had chuckled at his rime. They searched her
hungry, bony face and wandered over her auburn hair which was
black in the shadow.

"Why aren't you in somewhere where it's warm?" he asked softly
and warmly for he thought he knew her kind. He had known many
ladies in black waiting in corners.

"Just waiting for morning and people. You're the only one I
seen. Thanks for the cigarette."

"No need to thank me. The first one's always free," he grinned
with sour lips. "Where you going, honey? We can walk together.
That is, if you decide to come out of the doorway and not freeze to
death waiting for morning."

She bent forward, straightened up, and inquired into his eyes.
His eyes met hers and they knew. He lifted his arm over her shoulder
as she huddled close to his side like a child.

"My name's Jean, mister," she said looking up.

He was silent, walking with a brave brace against the bitter
breeze. Avoiding the embarrassing silence, she blurted on in whimper-
ing tones:

"You always that cute with words, mister? Maybe, I should call
you Poet 'cause you sound like a poet. I usta know a few poets once.
Had a beard, one of 'em. Real weird stuff he wrote, but awful sad.
Kinda horrible, if you know what I mean, mister. By the way, what's
your name? Can't call you 'Mister' all night."

It's almost day, and you don't have to know my name. If it

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