There was silence after that while they spooned up the soup, until Sol started on one of his Army stories about New Orleans and it was so impossible they had to laugh, and after that things were better. Sol shared out the rest of the Gibsons while Shirl served the burgers.
“If I was drunk enough this would almost taste like meat,” Sol announced, chewing happily.
“They are good,” Shirl said. Andy nodded agreement. She finished the burger quickly and soaked up the juice with a scrap of weedcracker, then sipped at her drink. The trouble on the way home with the water already seemed far distant. What was it the woman had said was wrong with the child?
“Do you know what ‘kwash’ is?” she asked.
Andy shrugged. “Some kind of disease, that’s all I know. Why do you ask?”
“There was a woman next to me in line for the water, I was talking to her. She had a little boy with her who was sick with this kwash. I don’t think she should have had him out in the rain, sick like that. And I was wondering if it was catching.”
“That you can forget about,” Sol said. “ ‘Kwash’ is short for ‘kwashiorkor.’ If, in the interest of good health, you watched the medical programs like I do, or opened a book, you would know all about it. You can’t catch it because it’s a deficiency disease like beriberi.”
“I never heard of that either,” Shirl said.
“There’s not so much of that, but there’s plenty of kwash. It comes from not eating enough protein. They used to have it only in Africa but now they got it right across the whole U.S. Isn’t that great? There’s no meat around, lentils and soybeans cost too much, so the mamas stuff the kids with weedcrackers and candy, whatever is cheap…”
The light bulb flickered, then went out. Sol felt his way across the room and found a switch in the maze of wiring on top of the refrigerator. A dim bulb lit up, connected to his batteries. “Needs a charge,” he said, “but it can wait until morning. You shouldn’t exercise after eating, bad for the circulation and digestion.”
“I’m sure glad you’re here, doctor,” Andy said. “I need some medical advice. I’ve got this trouble. You see — everything I eat goes to my stomach…”
“Very funny, Mr. Wiseguy. Shirl, I don’t see how you put up with this joker.”
They all felt better after the meal and they talked for a while, until Sol announced he was turning off the light to save the juice in the batteries. The small bricks of seacoal had burned to ash and the room was growing cold. They said good night and Andy went in first to get his flashlight; their room was even colder than the other.
“I’m going to bed,” Shirl said. “I’m not really tired, but it’s the only way to keep warm.”
Andy flicked the overhead light switch uselessly. “The current is still off and there are some things I have to do. What is it — a week now since we had any electricity in the evening?”
“Let me get into bed and I’ll work the flash for you — will that be all right?”
“It’ll have to do.”
He opened his notepad on top of the dresser, lay one of the reusable forms next to it, then began copying information into the report. With his left hand he kept a slow and regular squeezing on the flashlight that produced steady illumination. The city was quiet tonight with the people driven from the streets by the cold and the rain; the whir of the tiny generator and the occasional squeak of the stylo on plastic sounded unnaturally loud. There was enough light from the flash for Shirl to get undressed by. She shivered when she took off her outer clothes and quickly pulled on heavy winter pajamas, a much-darned pair of socks she used for sleeping in, then put her heavy sweater on top. The sheets were cold and damp, they hadn’t been changed since the water shortage, though she did try to air them out as often as she could.
“What are you writing up?” she asked.
“Everything I have on Billy Chung, they’re still after me to find him — it’s the most stupid thing I ever heard of.” He slammed the stylo down and paced angrily back and forth, the flashlight in his hand throwing twisting shadows across the ceiling. “We’ve had two dozen killings in the precinct since O’Brien was murdered. We caught one killer while his wife was still bleeding to death — but all of the other murders have been forgotten, almost the same day they happened. What can be so important about Big Mike? No one seems to know — yet they still want reports. So after I put in a double shift I’m expected to keep on looking for the kid. I should be out tonight, running down another phony spotting report, but I’m not going to — even though Grassy will ream me out tomorrow. Do you know how much sleep I’ve been getting lately?”
“I know,” she said softly.
“A couple of hours a night — if that. Well, tonight I’m going to catch up. I have to sign in again by seven in the morning, there’s another protest rally in Union Square, so I won’t get much sleep anyway.” He stopped pacing and handed her the flashlight, which dimmed, then brightened again as she worked the lever. “I’m making all the noise — but you’re really the one who should be complaining, Shirl. You had it a lot better before you ever met me.”
“It’s bad for everyone this fall, I’ve never seen anything like it. First the water, now this thing about a fuel shortage, I don’t understand it…”
“That’s not what I mean, Shirl — will you shine the light on this drawer?” He took out a can of oil and his cleaning kit, spreading the contents out on a rag on the floor next to the bed. “It’s about you and me personally. Things here aren’t up to the standards you’ve been used to.”
She skirted around mentioning her stay with Mike just as carefully as he did. It was something they never talked about. “My father’s place is in a neighborhood just like this one,” she said. “Things aren’t that different.”
“I’m not talking about that.” He squatted and broke open his revolver, then ran the cleaning brush back and forth through its barrel. “After you left home things went a lot better for you, I know that. You’re a pretty girl, more than just pretty, there must have been a lot of guys who were running after you.” He spoke haltingly, looking at his work.
“I’m here because I want to be here,” she said, putting into words what he had not been able to say. “Being attractive makes things easier for a girl, I know that, but it doesn’t make everything all right. I want… I don’t know exactly… happiness, I suppose. You helped me when I really needed help and we had more fun than I ever had before in my life. I never told you before, but I was hoping you would ask me to come here, we got along so well.”
“Is that the only reason?”
They had never talked about this since the night he had asked her here, and now he wanted to know all about her feelings without revealing any of his own.
“Why did you ask me here, Andy? What were your reasons?” She avoided his question.
He clicked the cylinder back into the gun without looking up at her, and spun it with his thumb. “I liked you — liked you a lot. In fact, if you want to know,” he lowered his voice as though the words were shameful, “I love you.”
Shirl didn’t know what to say and the silence lengthened. The dynamo in the flashlight whirred and on the other side of the partition there was a creaking of springs and a subdued grunt as Sol climbed into bed.
“What about you, Shirl?” Andy said, in a low voice so Sol wouldn’t hear them. He raised his face for the first time and looked at her.
“I… I’m happy here, Andy, and I want to be here. I haven’t thought much more about it.”
“Love, marriage, kids? Have you thought about those things?” There was a sharp edge to his voice now.
“Every girl thinks about things like that, but…”
“But not with a slob like me in a broken-down rat trap like this, is that what you mean?”
“Don’t put words into my mouth, I didn’t say that or even think it. I’m not complaining — except maybe about the awful hours you’re away.”
“I have my job to do.”
“I know that — it’s just that I never see you any more. I think we were together more in those first weeks after I met you. It was fun.”
“Spending loot is always fun, but the world can’t be like that all the time.”
“Why not? I don’t mean all the time, but just once in a while or in the evenings, or even a Sunday off. It seems like weeks since we have even talked together. I’m not saying it has to be romance all the time…”
