Then came a crash of sound and I felt the iron head crumble and fly apart in my hand. Coins flew over the room like crickets, ringing, rattling against the floor, rolling. I stopped dead.
"Just listen to 'em! Just listen to 'em!" Mary called from the hall. "Enough noise to wake the dead! They know when the heat don't come up that the super's drunk or done walked off the job looking for his woman, or something. Why don't folks act according to what they know?"
She was at my door now, knocking stroke for stroke with the blows landing on the pipe, calling, "Son! Ain't some of that knocking coming from in there?"
I turned from side to side in indecision, looking at the pieces of broken head, the small coins of all denominations that were scattered about.
"You hear me, boy?" she called.
"What is it?" I called, dropping to the floor and reaching frantically for the broken pieces, thinking, If she opens the door, I'm lost . . .
"I said is any of that racket coming from in there?"
"Yes, it is, Mary," I called, "but I'm all right . . . I'm already awake."
I saw the knob move and froze, hearing, "Sounded to me like a heap of it was coming from in there. You got your clothes on?"
"No," I cried. "I'm just dressing. I'll have them on in a minute."
"Come on out to the kitchen," she said. "It's warm out there. And there's some hot water on the stove to wash your face in . . . and some coffee. Lawd, just listen at the racket!"
I stood as though frozen, until she moved away from the door. I'd have to hurry. I kneeled, picking up a piece of the bank, a part of the red-shirted chest, reading the legend, FEED ME in a curve of white iron letters, like the team name on an athlete's shirt. The figure had gone to pieces like a grenade, scattering jagged fragments of painted iron among the coins. I looked at my hand; a small trickle of blood showed. I wiped it away, thinking, I'll have to hide this mess! I can't take her this and the news that I'm moving at the same time. Taking a newspaper from the chair I folded it stiffly and swept the coins and broken metal into a pile. Where would I hide it, I wondered, looking with profound distaste at the iron kinks, the dull red of a piece of grinning lip. Why, I thought with anguish, would Mary have something like this around anyway? Just why? I looked under the bed. It was dustless there, no place to hide anything. She was too good a housekeeper. Besides, what of the coins? Hell! Maybe the thing was left by the former roomer. Anyway, whose ever it was, it had to be hidden. There was the closet, but she'd find it there too. After I was gone a few days she'd clean out my things and there it'd be. The knocking had gone beyond mere protest over heatlessness now, they had fallen into a ragged rumba rhythm:
Knock!
Knock-knock
Knock-knock!
Knock!
Knock-knock!
Knock-knock!
vibrating the very floor.
"Just a few minutes more, you bastards," I said aloud, "and I'll be gone! No respect for the individual. Why don't you think about those who might wish to sleep? What if someone is near a nervous breakdown . . . ?"
But there was still the package. There was nothing to do but get rid of it along the way downtown. Making a tight bundle, I placed it in my overcoat pocket. I'd simply have to give Mary enough money to cover the coins. I'd give her as much as I could spare, half of what I had, if necessary. That should make up for some of it. She should appreciate that. And now I realized with a feeling of dread that I had to meet her face to face. There was no way out. Why can't I just tell her that I'm leaving and pay her and go on off? She was a landlady, I was a tenant -- No, there was more to it and I wasn't hard enough, scientific enough, even to tell her that I was leaving. I'll tell her I have a job, anything, but it has to be now.
She was sitting at the table drinking coffee when I went in, the kettle hissing away on the stove, sending up jets of steam.
"Gee, but you slow this morning," she said. "Take some of that water in the kettle and go wash your face. Though sleepy as you look, maybe you ought to just use cold water."
"This'll do," I said flatly, feeling the steam drifting upon my face, growing swiftly damp and cold. The clock above the stove was slower than mine.
In the bathroom I put in the plug and poured some of the hot water and cooled it from the spigot. I kept the tear-warm water upon my face a long time, then dried and returned to the kitchen.
"Run it full again," she said when I returned. "How you feel?"
"So-so," I said.
She sat with her elbows upon the enameled table top, her cup held in both hands, one work-worn little finger delicately curved. I went to the sink and turned the spigot, feeling the cold rush of water upon my hand, thinking of what I had to do . . .
"That's enough there, boy," Mary said, startling me. "Wake up!"
"I guess I'm not all here," I said. "My mind was wandering."
"Well, call it back and come get you some coffee. Soon's I've had mine, I'll see what kind of breakfast I can whip together. I guess after last night you can eat this morning. You didn't come back for supper."
"I'm sorry," I said. "Coffee will be enough for me."
"Boy, you better start eating again," she warned, pouring me a full cup of coffee.
I took the cup and sipped it, black. It was bitter. She glanced from me to the sugar bowl and back again but remained silent, then swirled her cup, looking into it.
"Guess I'll have to get some better filters," she mused. "These I got lets through the grounds along with the coffee, the good with the bad. I don't know though, even with the best of filters you apt to find a ground or two at the bottom of your cup."
I blew upon the steaming liquid, avoiding Mary's eyes. The knocking was becoming unbearable again. I'd have to get away. I looked at the hot metallic surface of the coffee, noticing on oily, opalescent swirl.
"Look, Mary," I said, plunging in, "I want to talk to you about something."
"Now see here, boy," she said gruffly, "I don't want you worrying me about your rent this morning. I'm not worried 'cause when you get it I know you'll pay me. Meanwhile you forget it. Nobody in this house is going to starve. You having any luck lining up a job?"
"No -- I mean not exactly," I stammered, seizing the opportunity. "But I've got an appointment to see about one this morning . . ."
Her face brightened. "Oh, that's fine. You'll get something yet. I know it."
"But about my debt," I began again.
"Don't worry about it. How about some hotcakes?" she asked, rising and going to look into the cabinet. "They'll stick with you in this cold weather."
"I won't have time," I said. "But I've got something for you . . ."
"What's that?" she said, her voice coming muffled as she peered inside the cabinet.
"Here," I said hurriedly reaching into my pocket for the money.
"What? -- Let's see if I got some syrup . . ."
"But look," I said eagerly, removing a hundred-dollar bill.
"Must be on a higher shelf," she said, her back still turned.
I sighed as she dragged a step ladder from beside the cabinet and mounted it, holding onto the doors and peering upon an upper shelf. I'd never get it said. . .