“Your apartment?” Johnny stared at her, perplexed.
“Yes, … I live there with Jeannie and Rita.”
Johnny stood up nervously, upset by being with one of the members of that outraged group from which he had run.
“Don’t worry.” She smiled weakly to disarm his fears. “I’m not going to tell anyone you’re here.”
Johnny sat again slowly and gazed toward the lighted window just below. He could see nothing but some of the rug on the floor, the light playing on it, and part of a table. There were no noises from within.
“I wonder what’s going on down there?” Johnny whispered.
“I don’t know. I can’t hear anything.”
They both spoke in slow, quiet, mysterious whispers.
“I’ll go to the door and see what’s going on.” She walked toward the door leading down.
Nervously, Johnny rose from his sitting position, studying the neighboring rooftop. He could make out the shadowed images of thin poles standing upright and the strands of clothesline sloping lazily down from the top and reaching up again to the top of the next pole. Chimney pipes stuck up on the sides of the buildings. Beyond the next roof, Johnny saw yet another low wall separating that building from the next one.
Laura pulled the roof door open. It squeaked once, sharply, metallically.
Johnny mounted the wall, ready to bolt over to the next roof. He trembled with expectancy of danger, of betrayal as Laura’s head disappeared into the doorway. He held his breath fearfully. She stretched onto her tiptoes, her head penetrating the inside of the house more deeply. After crushing seconds of fear, she pulled her head back and shut the door quietly, holding one hand on the door frame to guide the door into position easily. She tiptoed back to Johnny.
“Well?”
“Your friend is laying on the floor outside the apartment, … and there are still some people inside.”
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. They’re just talking.”
“I hope they don’t come up here. How the hell will I get out of here?” He searched the surrounding roofs.
“I don’t think they’ll come up.” She wanted to reassure him.
“If they do, I’m sunk.” His eyes darted to the doorway of the stairwell, which stood out as a huge, black shadow on the bluish-whiteness of the moon-bathed roof.
“What did you do?” Laura asked curiously.
“Me …? I didn’t do a thing, not a thing, … honest. That’s my buddy though. You know, they’ll probably figure to give me a beating too. That’d teach him a lesson.”
“I don’t think they’d do anything to you. You didn’t do anything. What’d your friend do?”
“I don’t know. Is there any way off this roof besides that doorway?”
“No, just the other roofs, … but they’re all locked. Come on.” She stood erect and stepped onto and then off the other side of the retaining wall.
“Where we going?”
“There’s a little spot over here where they can’t see you, even if they come up.”
Laura led Johnny over two roofs. The third roof was higher than the others, but Laura mounted it with the aid of a milk box there for that purpose. Johnny followed. They walked to the front of that roof. A high, wide chimney stood outlined against the sky. Laura sat at the base of the huge chimney on the side away from the doorway of her own building.
“I come up here a lot. This place has heat, the chimney is nice and warm, and they can’t see you from over there.”
Johnny looked around cautiously and sat down. The chimney sent a comfortable warm feeling through his back.
“This is nice,” he remarked.
They sat silently for many minutes. He wondered why she didn’t betray him. His attention was drawn away, however, to the sounds of the roof. Wind whined over the stretched clotheslines; the poles snickered and creaked, but no other sounds were heard.
“What’s your name?” he asked after several minutes of silence.
“Laura. Yours?”
“Johnny. That guy tried to fool around with one of the girls down there. Rita, … you know? I guess she’s your roommate. She started to scream. That’s when I ran out. He’s crazy, that guy, sometimes. You know, he does some crazy things.”
“Oh? You live around here?”
“No. We’re from New Jersey. We just came over to look around. You know, have some fun maybe, that’s all. I didn’t come over to rape anybody, you know? We just came over to Louis’ for kicks. My friend is a little strange. I mean, it wasn’t my idea about your friend and all …”
“Don’t worry. They can’t find us here.”
“Wheww …” Johnny blew out his breath in relief. It was pleasant to be safe and to breathe deeply after all the half breaths to which he had rationed himself during his escape. He looked up to the sky. The night was clear, and the moon shimmered a silvered light from its full, pock-marked surface. The stars were gleaming, and as he turned his eyes from the brightness of the moon, he saw the stars shining brightly like little holes in the dark blanket of night letting in sunlight.
“What are you looking at?”
“The stars. Ever look at the stars? I’m not good at it or anything, but I like to look at the stars once in a while, you know, when I’m alone.…”
“Do you know anything about them? I mean scientific stuff?” Laura wondered.
“Only a little. Like I said, I’m not good at it. See that line of stars up there?” He pointed over his shoulder to a spot behind them. Laura twisted toward him, looking to where he pointed. Her mouth agape, she searched the heavens.
“Where? I don’t see it.”
“Right there.” Johnny drew his finger back a couple of inches and shot it out again to indicate which stars he meant.
Laura squinted, straining her eyes, but in the mass of little dots of light she couldn’t pick out a line of stars. They all looked like a jumble.
“Where? I can’t see them.”
“Right up there.” Johnny moved closer to Laura so that he could focus on the same level as her eyes. His face was almost touching hers, and he was very conscious of this. He watched her from the side of his eyes. Her profile was very close to his face, gazing at the sky. He moved closer to her to point out the star, extremely careful lest their faces should touch and she think he was trying to rape her. She smelled lovely, fresh and clean, he thought, sort of like soap and scented powder.
“See … There are three bright stars right in a row. Up there, … see,” he said, using his outstretched arm and finger as a guide. “See them?”
“Yeah, … yeah. I see them now,” Laura said excitedly, a straight line appearing in that mass.
“Well, that’s the belt of Orion. See off to the right and up. There’s another real bright star.”
“… Yeah?” Laura answered, unsuredly, searching. Johnny watched her little face furrow momentarily, then became calm again as she found what she was looking for.
“Well, that’s Orion’s arm. Now, see out to the right further. There’s a curving line of stars … They sort of curve up and down?”
Laura studied the sky again. Johnny watched her. He felt pleased that he was being helpful, that someone was listening to him because he knew something, and that someone wasn’t laughing at him and his nervousness.
“Yeah. What are they?”
“That’s Orion’s shield,” he said more confidently. “If you look more to the right of that, there’s a big bright star. See it?”
“Yeah … yeah … I see it.” Laura was really excited at being able to discern something up there out of the jumble of little dots.
“That’s Taurus’s eye. Taurus the Bull’s eye.”
“Taurus the Bullseye?”
“No. Taurus’s eye. Taurus is the bull.” Johnny laughed Laura laughed too.
As they laughed, Johnny gazed steadily at Laura. He became conscious of his staring and his laugh became hollow and unreal. He stopped l
aughing and just gazed at Laura. She looked at him too, and they both looked away, so as not to stare at each other. After several minutes, Johnny looked back at her. He became conscious of being alone with a female. It was a rare event in his life. He was nervous and didn’t know what he was expected to do.
Johnny looked at Laura and believed she was returning his look with one of expectancy, as if she was waiting for him to do something. Maybe she likes me, he thought. It was always like this, the girl expecting him to do something, and he never being able to do it. He was self-conscious about it. He didn’t know just what he should do. All the guys on the block always kidded his shyness. Perhaps he could just extend his hand and hold hers. That would be a start. All he needed was a start; and, if he were wrong, that’s all there was to that. She wouldn’t get angry if he tried to hold her hand. But he couldn’t put his hand out. She was probably sitting there waiting for him to start, sitting and wondering what was wrong with him. She was probably thinking he didn’t know what he was doing, probably laughing. Probably thinking what a chicken he is. Thoughts were engulfing Johnny—here I am on the roof and we could have some fun together. I might put my arm around her and just kiss her. A big lump was in his throat and he swallowed and felt his Adam’s apple go up and down, and he made a little gurgling noise which he felt sure she heard. Now she could be sure he was nervous. If he didn’t do something soon she probably would go home. She might be getting tired of waiting. “What are you thinking about?” Laura asked.
“Nothing … nothing.”
Maybe if he mentioned that it was cold, she would agree with him and he could put his arm about her. That’s all he wanted to do, because then he could tell if she was interested in him, and it wouldn’t be so hard. He’d know what to do then.
“I think it’s kind of cold.”
“It is. It’s a little chilly. But it’s not too bad by this chimney.”
Her ambivalent answer threw him off balance. He wasn’t sure if he should make his advance now.
“Are you cold?” he asked, trying to get a more positive statement from her.
“A little, … but it’s okay.”
He started to reach his arm out toward her. The gulf between them seemed interminable. His arm just stretched out and out. He felt as if the whole world was a witness to his action, and that everyone was laughing at his shyness and slowness. If anyone ever saw me they’d laugh, he thought. Any other guy from the block would’ve been making out with her already. His hands finally spanned the chasm between them, and his fingers touched her jacket and he skinned his knuckles on the chimney as he slipped his hand behind her head.
“What are you doing?” she asked, startled. Her words seemed derisive.
“I’ll keep you a little warmer,” he stuttered, trying to be gay. His remark seemed to him to have come out too weakly, too flat.
“No, … that’s all right,” she said nervously, trying to take his arm from around her shoulder.
She is only playing games. This is only the playfulness of woman, he thought. You can’t give up like that. She’s just trying to give you a hard time, to see if you stick to it.
“Oh, come on, my arm around your shoulder won’t hurt.”
Laura was bewildered, too shy herself to be brusque. She suffered his arm on her shoulder. For precaution, however, she clutched his hand as it dangled forward over her shoulder.
The fact that she was holding his hand strengthened Johnny, assured him. She is interested in me, he thought. He tried to do the next thing that he thought he should do. He thought he should kiss her. They sat there silently for what seemed an eternity to the two. Each second passed slowly, and they were both conscious of their own presence as well as each other’s. Johnny felt little specks in the cement of the chimney digging into his wrist as her back pressed it into the wall. Laura felt only the ponderous weight of his arm on her shoulder. Johnny leaned toward Laura to kiss her.
“Don’t, … please don’t,” she pleaded, leaning away.
“Come on,” he urged, feeling that she was just being playfully shy. He pulled her closer to himself, trying to be manly. He was afraid to be timid. “What’s a little kiss?”
“Please don’t.” Laura’s head squirmed away from his mouth.
“Oh, come on,” urged Johnny, nervous and confused, now that she was refusing so vehemently.
“Stop!” Tears started to well up in her eyes. “Don’t make me yell for the people down in the apartment. Please leave me alone.”
Johnny was not quite sure any more. His grip loosened.
“Just leave me alone,” Laura pleaded, single tears running down each cheek. “I’m going down … You can wait here, and leave when you want.”
She stood, walked to the edge of the roof, lowered herself to the milkbox, and then to the lower roof. Johnny heard the stiff tar bubbles crack under her feet as she walked quickly toward her own building.
He sat with the warmth of the chimney still against his back. He was humiliated. He felt rotten and cheap. He felt as if he had tried to seduce a nice girl. Yet he felt as if he weren’t a man because he couldn’t get her to make out with him. How often he had heard stories from the guys about being with girls, and how easily they started fooling around with them—and he failed, he failed miserably. He put his hands on his bent knees, and put his face in them, … and he was sobbing, and cursing, … and he sat on the cold roof with the moon lowering through the heavens.
14
The blustery, torturous winter wind continued its siege of the Village, restricting the activities of the Villagers within doors. The weather was neither extremely frigid, nor unseasonably warm for any marked length of time. It was a confused sort of winter with mild weather lulling the city for a few days, then a sudden attack by ripping, biting cold wind. Heavy snow did not fall often, but flurries constantly found their way to earth, only to be trampled instantly into nothingness by the hundreds of thousands of feet and cars constantly traveling the streets.
When snow did, on occasion, fall heavily, it remained on the streets for a long time. Piles would be shaped along the curbs and at the corners by the city’s orange snow plows, and the soft, white snow became filthy piles of ice shale, mixed with garbage which had been surreptitiously abandoned because the snow forced a discontinuance of the sanitation service.
Walking was terribly difficult, the only paths being the narrow ones fashioned by pounding feet. Old people constantly slipped and fell. One felt sorry for the old women; when they fell helpless and confused in the snow, their dresses swirled up around their thighs and one could see their dark stockings, and their shriveled, skinny legs, and one thought sadly about the days recently past when these had been as young as the children now scampering to the top of the snow heaps on the corner, and then their legs exciting not pitiable.
Children happily climbed atop the eight-foot snow hills formed by the snow plows, and beat their chests rapidly with mittened hands, and slid down on the seats of their pants or on dismantled corrugated boxes while their mothers waited patiently, resignedly, as the children enjoyed winter in the city.
It was difficult for cars, too. Drivers were forced to park almost in the middle of the streets, four-foot furrows of snow lining the curbstones. The street surface was often extremely icy, and wheels became lodged in the ice, whirring violently but impotently to free themselves. When cars could move, they were forced into ruts that had been melted out of the ice by other cars. Sometimes the drivers couldn’t turn their cars out of the ruts when they wished, and they passed their turns and tied up traffic as they tried to back up. Many car owners didn’t mind the storm’s covering their cars with snow, however. The burial afforded them a parking space until the city could dig out the streets, which task always seemed more activity than result.
Scooters were becoming a popular means of transportation in the city, and often one would see the raw redness of an intrepid scooter rider’s face as he blew steam on his hands, waiting for a traffic li
ght to change.
Through the winter, Rita and her roommates continued their rather hectic, futile, biding way of life, as did the rest of the people in the Village. The Villagers bided their time, waiting for something to happen, something to break, a big chance to come along. They waited for the world to blossom into a beautiful place. They waited and waited, amusing themselves the while.
The Village and its inhabitants are considered strange, off beat, but in all its sad ugliness, it is not so strange as the conceptions the people outside harbor about it. Sadness—a hollow, gnawing sadness—and loneliness is the quality which permeates much of the activity of the Village, not gaiety and abandon. The actors, the actresses, the painters, the poets, the sculptors, the writers, the lonely, the unaccepted, all find their way to the quiet streets, where at night one can walk alone and hear the lamentation rising out of the streets and buildings, swelling from every bar and cafe and coffee shop. Dreams of success are replaced by temporary respites of love and affection, of acceptance and friendship.
And just as the Village is strange, so, very often, is the acceptance found there. There is a great deal of mixing of Negro and white people. Not that this mixing of Negro and white is so strange, only the terms on which it is arranged, and the great profusion of it in this one tiny area.
This integration is only another manifestation of rebelliousness, the expression of hidden needs and desires on the part of the mixers, a purposeful, visible railing against Uptown society and all its preachings and doctrines.
Here is a place where both races meet on equal terms, thereby demonstrating, revealing the hollowness and ignorance of Uptown. Here, brotherly love blooms, thrives; but it bears only bitter fruit. The beauty of the love affairs and friendships is not the primary concern. It is a façade which shows to the world in the case of both white and black that the people so engaged are noble, fine, better than the ones outside who are not magnanimous enough to accept each other. This mixing then is not an acceptance, a solution. It is an unhealthy atmosphere, through which some people ostentatiously attempt to create about themselves an aura of dignity, nobility, worthiness, independence for the rest of the world to note. This integration, taken in the light of a desire to impress the world, being a means to personal aggrandizement, not an end in itself, is not a pretty picture. It is a sad, visible demonstration that there is still a great gap between the two groups.
What’s Happening? Page 17