White Horses

by Alice Hoffman

  “Going steady?” Silver said. “Do I look like the steady type?”

  “That’s what she told me.” Teresa shrugged.

  “Give me that girl’s name,” Silver said. “I’ll interrogate her.”

  “Well, are you or aren’t you?” Dina asked.

  “Of course I’m not,” Silver said. He turned to Teresa. “Don’t believe gossip,” he told her.

  “You’re blushing,” Dina said, hoping to trap him into telling the truth.

  “Like hell I am,” Silver said. “I don’t blush—I don’t believe in it.”

  “Well, it’s all over town,” Teresa said.

  Silver tapped Teresa with his boot. “Don’t worry,” he said. “When I’m going steady, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “I’m not worried,” Teresa said. She turned the pages of her textbook without really looking at any of the words; she wanted to believe that if Silver had women, he had dozens, but no one special, no one he loved.

  “Oh, no?” Silver said. “You’re not worried?” He lowered his voice. “I told you the truth, there’s no girl.”

  “Well, of course not,” Dina said. “We all know that no one is good enough for you.”

  “That’s right.” Silver nodded. “Goddamn right.”

  Silver kept a low profile until Gregory was booked and charged without the slightest hope of bail. When he was certain that Gregory wouldn’t come looking for him, Silver moved quickly. He got into his car and visited every one of Gregory’s connections; before the night was over, Silver was no longer a runner—he had taken over Gregory’s business, when he walked down the street he felt as though he were wearing Gregory’s red snakeskin boots. But because Silver would never make the mistake Gregory had—letting some hungry kid know too much about his business—he had to work twice as hard as before. At night he was in the Dragon making local connections, and during the day he drove his old route to Oakland and San Francisco. He slept very little—from dawn till nine or ten in the morning. He lost weight, he saw double, sometimes when he reached for a drink his hand shook. He stored cartons of dope in the garage, he kept two shoeboxes of cash under his bed, and when they were full, he began to store the largest bills in the first drawer in his dresser. But he didn’t have the chance to spend his money; he was far too busy, and he felt as though he couldn’t get a moment’s rest.

  In no time, Bergen figured out that something was going on.

  “He doesn’t look good,” Bergen said to Dina one Saturday.

  “I never worry about Silver,” Dina said. “I know he can look out for himself.”

  “He’s lost at least ten pounds,” Bergen said. “Maybe he’s working too hard. Maybe he should cut down his hours at that restaurant.”

  “Leona’s?” Dina said. “He hasn’t worked there since the summer.”

  Bergen looked at her quickly, then looked away. “You never told me that,” he said, a soft accusation.

  “You never asked,” Dina said. “And anyway, I thought you knew. Silver wasn’t meant to be a dishwasher.”

  Bergen spent the day putting down a new linoleum floor in the kitchen. When he took a break to have some lemonade, he mentioned Silver again. “If he quit his job, then where does he get his money?”

  “That comer isn’t straight,” Dina said as she examined the new floor.

  “How does he afford the car?” Bergen asked. “Where does he get all his new clothes?”

  “He’s a smart boy,” Dina said.

  “Dina!” Bergen said. “He’s not smart enough to make money appear out of thin air.”

  “All right,” Dina said. “I don’t know where he gets his money. And I don’t want to know.”

  Bergen didn’t say another word. He went outside to the garden and stood in the spot where he and Dina had turned the earth, preparing for the following year. If it had been anyone but Silver, Bergen would have figured it out a long time ago, but even now, he tried to find excuses for the boy. Each time he thought of Silver he thought about Dina as well—Dina on a bus to Vacaville prison, in summer, when the bus was much too hot and passengers stuck to their seats—Dina at a courthouse, a cemetery, Dina crying out Silver’s name, Dina pale with worry, sick with age, Dina without her son, without Silver.

  By the time she had walked out into the garden, wearing a sweater the detective had given her as a present, Bergen had already decided not to tell Dina any of his theories, whatever he guessed about Silver he would keep to himself.

  Dina came up close behind him, he could smell her—a scent of coffee, and cologne, and fear.

  “Where do you think he gets his money?” Dina asked now.

  Bergen stared at the slate border around the vegetable patch he and Dina had laid down; miles away, the river was so high it covered the tops of some trees. “It doesn’t matter,” Bergen said. “I don’t want to talk about Silver.” He turned and held Dina. “It’s you I’m worried about,” he whispered. “Out here without a coat. Maybe I’d better take you out to dinner.”

  “Just because I don’t have a coat?” Dina asked.

  “Maybe I ought to buy you a new coat after I take you out to dinner,” Bergen suggested.

  “Somebody could love a man like you,” Dina said.

  Bergen searched for the signs of an admission, but Dina was staring at the ground.

  “Someone like you?” Bergen asked.

  Dina buried her face against him. “Take me out to dinner,” she said. “I want it to be just the two of us.”

  If Bergen had wanted to, he could have easily found out every move Silver had made in the past few weeks, he could have followed him to Oakland in a rented car that Silver wouldn’t recognize and written down every drug connection in a looseleaf notebook. Instead, he took the woman he thought the most beautiful in the world to an Italian restaurant where globes of candlelight attracted the pale yellow moths of wintertime. If Bergen had wished to, he could have found Silver right then, in only a matter of hours, but he had already decided—he would never follow Silver, he would try not to even talk to the boy, he wanted to know nothing about him.

  Lee, however, would have given anything for some of the tricks of Bergen’s trade; alone in her room, surrounded by white furniture and longing, she hadn’t the faintest idea how to contact Silver. For weeks she had looked out her window, waiting for the headlights of his car to appear, ready to run to him. She hung around outside the high school until dark, hoping that Silver would know how much she needed to see him. When the telephone rang, she ran to answer it.

  She was certain that Silver was angry, that she had said something wrong. She couldn’t bear to think that he just wasn’t thinking about her. But the truth was Silver was preoccupied. And although there was a woman in south San Francisco he sometimes spent the night with, there really was no one else—he was simply too busy, he no longer had time for Lee. When she hadn’t heard from him for nearly a month, Lee started telephoning the house. Teresa picked up the phone the first time she called—Lee immediately hung up. And although she wanted to stop, she couldn’t help herself; she called again and again, but Silver never answered the phone.

  “It was for you,” Teresa told Silver one day when she picked up the phone and no one was on the other end.

  “How do you know?” Silver asked.

  “Some girl,” Teresa shrugged. “It’s always for you when they call and then hang up.”

  Because Lee telephoned at least once a day, Teresa began to feel a connection with her. She was certain that the girl who refused to speak had been terribly hurt, perhaps she and Teresa passed each other every day on the street or in school, both thinking about Silver at the very same time. Every time she called, Teresa hoped she wouldn’t hang up, and because Silver never did answer the phone, though she prayed he would each time she called, Lee finally did speak.

  “Is Silver there?” she asked in a low voice.

  Teresa was so surprised that the caller had finally spoken, that she didn’t answer.


  “Is he there?” Lee asked.

  “No,” Teresa told her. “He’s never here after dinner. If you want to reach him, this is a terrible time to call.” Teresa could hear the girl sigh. “I could give him a message,” she suggested.

  “No,” Lee said. “He’d kill me if he knew I tried to call him at home.”

  “Are you his girlfriend?” Teresa asked.

  Lee hesitated. “Yes,” she said.

  “Oh,” Teresa said. Now that they had actually spoken, Teresa felt the connection between them breaking down. Talking to Lee now seemed a betrayal of Silver. “Well, don’t worry,” Teresa said, “he’ll probably call you sooner or later.”

  But he never did, and Lee soon discovered that she couldn’t think of anything but Silver. Each time she saw a man on the street who was his height, Lee had the urge to follow him, and there were times when she did just that. She wound up tracking men who were thirty instead of eighteen, men who revealed themselves as counterfeit the minute she got a good look at them in the light. And even then, when she found that the man she had pursued didn’t resemble Silver in the least, Lee was never quite certain that it wasn’t Silver in disguise, that in order to avoid her he had somehow managed to rearrange his own flesh and blood.

  She began to walk past his family’s house in the mornings and late in the afternoon, even though she knew how furious Silver would have been if he had ever come to the front door and discovered her out on the sidewalk. He had told her from the start that she was never to bother him. They were to see each other only when he wanted to, and when he wanted her she’d know—she’d see his car parked outside her house, she’d hear his heartbeat, she’d feel him call to her, she’d feel it in her bones. But after a month of silence, Lee couldn’t wait any longer for Silver’s call. One night, in late winter, she climbed out her bedroom window, jumped to the ground, and hitched a ride to the Dragon. She no longer had her sister’s proof of age with her, and without Silver beside her they wouldn’t let her past the door. So she waited outside, she leaned up against the brick wall and studied every man who walked by. Sometime after midnight it began to rain, and Lee tied a scarf around her hair; she intended to wait all night if she had to.

  It was nearly three in the morning when she saw his car. Silver parked, turned off the windshield wipers and the headlights, then got out and slammed the door shut. His collar was turned up and he walked quickly, avoiding the puddles on the sidewalk. When Lee came out of the shadows, Silver didn’t miss a step. He walked over to her as if he’d been expecting her all along. He leaned up against the brick wall, and if Lee had reached out, just a little, she could have touched him.

  “It’s late for you to be out all alone,” Silver said.

  Now that she was face to face with him, Lee discovered that she couldn’t speak. It would be so easy to say something wrong, so easy to make him mad. Even when she looked down at the sidewalk she could feel him watching her, his eyes burning right through her skin.

  “You’re not following me, are you?” Silver’s voice was harsh. “You’re not checking up on me to see if I’ve got another girl, are you?”

  “No,” Lee said. “I just wanted to see you.”

  Silver took out a cigarette and lit it. “Well, now you’ve seen me,” he told Lee. “Satisfied?”

  Lee started to cry then, and she surprised herself—she had never dared cry in front of him before.

  “Oh, shit,” Silver said. “Come on. Don’t cry.”

  Lee covered her face with her hands, but it was too late—she couldn’t have stopped herself even if she wanted to.

  “Look, just don’t cry,” Silver said. He pulled her near and whispered in her ear, “I’m sorry I haven’t called you. But don’t act like it’s a goddamned felony. Let me buy you a drink and we can forget about it.”

  Lee shook her head no.

  “Let’s go inside,” Silver urged. “I’ll buy you a whiskey sour.”

  “I’m pregnant,” Lee told him.

  Silver took a step backward. He threw his cigarette onto the cement and carefully ground it out with his boot heel. “What?” he said to Lee.

  Mascara had flooded Lee’s eyes; beneath her silk scarf the rain had set her hair into small cold ringlets. “I’m pregnant,” she said.

  “It’s not mine,” Silver said immediately.

  “It is!” Lee said. “It is too yours.”

  “Just calm down,” Silver told her. “How do you expect me to think when you’re crying?” He walked in a circle, walked to her, then away. “Goddamn it, Lee.”

  “It’s not my fault,” Lee whispered.

  “This is all I need,” Silver said. He narrowed his eyes and when he stared at her that way Lee looked like a ghost, and he wondered why she had ever tempted him at all. “What do you plan to do?” Silver asked her.

  Lee shrugged. She reached into her purse for a Kleenex. “It’s yours,” she told Silver.

  “All right!” Silver said. “All right, all right, it’s mine!” He stared at her so cruelly that Lee had to look away. “You want to get married,” he said finally. “Is that it?”

  Lee looked up then; she knew that she had him. “Yes,” she said, and she was calmer than she’d ever been before. “I want to get married.”

  Silver pulled at his collar; his knuckles were white. “I don’t even love you,” he said. “Do you know that? I don’t even love you.”

  Lee raised her chin; she wasn’t wearing high heels, but she still felt quite tall. “Well, that’s what I want,” she told Silver.

  Only a few feet away, inside the Dragon, men Silver’s age fed quarters into the jukebox and ordered whiskey and beer. But out on the sidewalk steam was rising, the rain fell harder, and Silver felt himself age, as if he were already a husband, and father, a family man. He could have walked away and left Lee alone on the sidewalk, he could have given her the money to leave town and driven her to the bus station right then. But Silver had been raised with a sense of duty; maybe King Connors and Reuben could run away when their lives weren’t turning out as they’d planned, but not Silver. He leaned up against the brick wall calmly. “Okay,” he said to Lee. “If that’s what you want.”

  Lee swung her purse on its gold chain; she wiped the mascara out of her eyes and smiled. Silver took her arm and led her toward the Dragon; he was determined to celebrate their sudden future together.

  “I’m going to buy you a drink,” he told her. “Just like I promised I would.”

  After he had driven Lee home, Silver parked his car in the driveway of the house on Divisadero Street. As he sat smoking cigarettes the rain stopped falling, but the air itself seemed to have become liquid. This early in the morning the scent of the river was everywhere, it coated Silver’s windshield with a cool green film, it got into the strands of his hair. The streets were empty, and all over the front lawn a gray mist rose up in cold waves, shock waves, billows the color of iron. When the sun had risen above the roof of the house—when the night which had seemed to last forever was finally over—Silver got out of his car and went inside. He heard Dina, already awake, downstairs in the kitchen. Before long Dina would be out in the garden; she would weed the earth where the scallions and peas were just beginning to break through the ground. When Silver walked into the kitchen, Dina had already poured herself a cup of coffee and was stirring in a spoon of sugar.

  “I’m moving out of here,” Silver told his mother.

  “I’ve heard that before,” Dina said calmly. “I’ve heard it a hundred times. I know you like living here—you like your shirts ironed the way I do them. You’d never run off like Reuben and your father.”

  Upstairs, Teresa was still asleep, and Silver wondered who would take care of her when he left. He tried to imagine the words that might make what he was about to do seem like anything less than desertion.

  “I have to move,” Silver told his mother. He leaned against the refrigerator; it was as if his legs were no longer strong enough to hold
his weight. “I’m getting married,” he said.

  Dina dropped her coffee cup; it broke into pieces on the linoleum and coffee spilled over the floor. She shook her head as if she hadn’t heard right. “What did you just say?” she asked.

  “I’m getting married,” Silver repeated.

  Dina went to him and held him. If she had thought about Silver marrying and moving away before, she refused to accept the notion. She wanted to believe he would always come back home. He might be gone for days or weeks, she and Teresa might grow lonely looking out the window—but there would always come a night when he would return. Now he was going and Dina could tell—it would be for good. Silver closed his eyes; he was being pushed even closer to the refrigerator and there was a hum inside his head. He moved away from his mother, then went to the closet for a dustpan and broom. While her son crouched down low to the floor, Dina wished that she could kneel down beside him and check his fingers for sharp bits of pottery. Instead, she went to the cabinet over the stove, took a clean cup, then poured herself more coffee. By the time Silver had swept up the blue and white cup that had shattered into a thousand pieces, Dina was able to smile, just as if she’d been truly happy for him.

  Silver took the trash out through the back door. The sun was covered by low clouds now; snails had left holes in the strawberry plants Dina had set out in narrow rows. As he stood by the side of the house, Silver held onto the trashcan so tightly he could feel every muscle in his arms. He was used to staying out all night, to only a few hours sleep, but after he covered the trashcan he was too tired to move. He inhaled deeply, and because it was still so early in the morning, and still so quiet, Silver’s breathing echoed in the garden, and then hung beneath the wisteria vines that grew over the porch, vines that would turn, in only a matter of days, into a violet ceiling, a color so delicate it always seemed edged with desire.

  Teresa didn’t want a party for her sixteenth birthday, and if Arnie Bergen hadn’t insisted on taking her out to dinner, she would have ignored the day, preferring to avoid all celebrations so that she could watch the slate-colored rain from the safety of her room.