Part 19 (2/2)
Laura screamed, a weak shuddering noise, and fell back, covering her face with her hands.
”Don't mind me,” he said. ”I won't hurt you.”
Laura felt herself trembling with fear. She tried to pull her torn clothes straight, but it was so dark she could hardly see what she was doing. When he turned his face toward her she could see a little of it. It was very indeterminate; there was no way to guess his age or anything about him.
She stood up quickly and started to scramble up the hill, but he said, ”There's an easier way.”
She gave him one quick scared glance and then went on, but he stood up and said, ”There's steps about a half block on.”
Again she turned, very wary but willing to listen now. It looked a million miles to the top.
”I'll show you,” he offered. His voice was not menacing and he stood facing her with his hands in his back pockets, a black statue with silver edges. ”Come on, I'll walk ahead.”
He turned then and went southward, agile and sure. After a moment Laura began to follow him, moving clumsily and with great effort, trying to copy his movements and praying that he wouldn't suddenly attack her. She stooped and grabbed a sharp stone glinting at her feet and held it tight in a sweating hand, just in case.
He heard her panting behind him and stopped, bringing Laura up sharp with a gasp. ”You're tired,” he said. ”Want to sit down a minute?”
She shook her head at him.
”You can talk to me, I'm no devil,” he said. And she had the idea he was grinning at her. But when she maintained her tense silence he shrugged and turned back. Now and then he glanced at her to see how she was doing. ”Want some help?” he asked when she stumbled once, leaning toward her, but she drew back fast and he said, ”Okay. Just trying to help.”
They walked for a few moments and Laura was almost ready to bolt from him when she realized that the lights ahead she had taken for far distant were in reality small bulbs strung up to illuminate a row of steps.
”Maybe you're wondering who I am,” he said almost hopefully as they neared the steps, as if he had a story to tell and was looking for a listener.
He turned, one hand on the iron rail that ran alongside the steps, and held out a hand to her. ”Here y'are. Help you?”
She ignored him, turning her back to him to swing a leg over the low railing.
”Don't you wonder who I am?” he said. ”I don't help just anybody, little girl.” He spoke sharply. ”Don't you want to know my name?”
”No!” she cried suddenly, angrily, startling herself. ”You're just a man and all men are alike. No matter what their names are!” He gaped at her, astonished. ”You don't really care about me, only about yourself. You don't want to know my name, you only want me to know yours.” She spoke breathlessly at breakneck speed. ”You can't suffer like a woman can. You aren't made to take it, you men. You're just made big enough and brute enough to hurt us. But we can't hurt you. We can't hurt you, do you hear?” And she stopped abruptly, putting her hand over her mouth in a storm of self-pity and shame and revulsion. It was Jack she was screaming at, not this stranger. She couldn't believe she had hurt Jack as she had hurt Beebo or it would destroy her. She screamed to make herself believe she couldn't really hurt him, no matter what she did.
The tears burst from her eyes when she saw it all for a lie. A lie shouted to spare her own tortured feelings. The man looked at her, patient now and unamazed. He was over his first surprise. And hers was not the first desperate speech he had heard on the sh.o.r.es of the East River.
Laura began to run up the steps.
”You won't get far, looking like that,” he called after her.
Momentarily Laura stopped and looked at herself in dismay. She turned and glanced back at her guide. He was standing on the steps some twenty feet below her, smiling at her consternation. He was a large man, bigboned, and she thought, My G.o.d, he could break me in two. Like my father.
”Cat got your tongue?” he said.
She started up again on shaky legs and he called, ”Is that all the thanks I get?”
At this Laura began to run, but to her alarm he ran after her. She felt her heart balloon in her chest, beating frantically, and when he caught her, only a few steps from the top, she yelled in fear. She would have screamed without stopping until somebody heard her if he had not wrapped a big hand around her mouth and forced her against the gate.
”I won't hurt you,” he said. ”I told you that. I never hurt anyone. I'm harmless.” He grinned, and Laura, squirming under his big hand, was dizzy with panic.
He held her quietly for a few minutes as if to a.s.sure her that he spoke in good faith. Finally he asked her, ”Where are you going?” and released her mouth. When she tried to holler at once he covered it again.
”I'll ask you again,” he said. ”But don't yell. Where are you going?”
When he freed her mouth this time she murmured, ”Home. I'm going home. Let me go.”
”How you getting home?”
”II'll walk. It's not far. Just a block.”
”You know what block this is?” He smiled with superior knowledge.
”It can't be far,” she said.
He shook his head quizzically. ”I don't get it. You're not even drunk. You're tore up but you're no tramp neither. Mostly the ones I find down here are hitting the bottle. Or they wouldn't be down here. Or kids, exploring. Not pretty girls.” He smiled and Laura's one intense hope was that she not faint and fall into his clutches.
”Let me go,” she said, trying to sound controlled. But her big eyes and urgent breathing gave her away.
”Okay.” He took his hands away from her altogether, and said, ”Go. But I'll bet you need a dime to telephone with.”
She turned, dragging on the gate behind her until he said, ”Here. Let me.” He opened it for her. And when she saw that he was really going to let her go, she allowed herself to turn and look at him. See him. He was holding out a dime.
”Take it,” he said. ”At least you can call somebody to come get you.”
Laura stared at him. He was big and ugly, seamyfaced, and wearing dirty clothes with a worn cap tilted over his ear. But he had a nice honest grin. And he looked, for all his dirt and size, rather childish. Laura stood poised at the gate, wavering between flight and the dime. At last she took it, her face reddening. She had to drop her sharp stone to get it.
”Didn't need that, didya?” he said with a smile, watching it fall.
She shook her head and whispered, ”Thanks.”
”That's all I want to hear,” he said and let her go. She ran halfway down the block, and then turned, overwhelmed with curiosity, to see what had happened to him. He was standing there behind the closed gate gazing after her, smiling. He's nuts, she thought. An idiot. A d.a.m.n man! That's probably all he does, save people from the river. But even that ... even that pitiful life is worth more than mine. All I've ever done is hurt the people I love the most.
At the end of the block she stopped running and looked once more. He was gone.
CHAPTER 10.
LAURA HID HERSELF for a minute in a shadowed doorway and tried to make sense of things. She was a mess, with mud on her torn clothes and on her face, tangled hair and dried blood.
She made an effort to smooth her hair down. There was some Kleenex in her pocket and she wiped her face off carefully, reaching every corner of it and rubbing till the skin turned pink. She brushed at her disheveled clothes rather hopelessly. Maybe it was late enough so n.o.body would notice her.
She began to walk, holding her arms together in front of her as if to keep herself warm, but in fact to keep the worst rips from showing. And she kept her head down. If only the police don't stop me, she thought. I must look like a wh.o.r.e.
Laura walked straight west on Fortyfirst Street, for it was Fortyfirst, past Lexington Avenue and Park and Fifth and Broadway and over to Seventh. No cops stopped her, although more than one pa.s.serby stared.
It was cold, a raw March night with the sting of coming storm in the air. Laura went south on Seventh Avenue, walking almost mechanically. When she thought of it she realized it was cold. But she hardly thought of it. There was too much else on her mind.
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