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“Yes, I’ll wait for you, that’s a good idea,” Shirl said, suddenly feeling very alone.
“Cards,” the patrolman said and she handed him the three Welfare cards, hers, Andy’s and Sol’s. He held them to the light, then handed them back to her. “Six quarts,” he called out to the valve man.
“That’s not right,” Shirl said.
“Reduced ration today, lady, keep moving, there’s a lot of people waiting.”
She held out the jerry can and the valve man slipped the end of a large fu
The jerry can gurgled when she walked and was tragically light. She went and stood near the policeman until the woman came up, pulling the child with one hand and in the other carrying a five-gallon kerosene can that seemed almost full. She must have a big family.
“Let’s go,” the woman said and the child trailed, mewling faintly, at the end of her arm.
As they left the Twelfth Avenue railroad siding it grew darker, the rain soaking up all the failing light. The buildings here were mostly old warehouses and factories with blank solid walls concealing the tenants hidden away inside, the sidewalks wet and empty. The nearest streetlight was a block away. “My husband will give me hell coming home this late,” the woman said as they turned the corner. Two figures blocked the sidewalk in front of them.
“Let’s have the water,” the nearest one said, and the distant light reflected from the knife he held before him.
“No, don’t! Please don’t!” the woman begged and swung her can of water out behind her, away from them. Shirl huddled against the wall and saw, when they walked forward, that they were just young boys, teen-agers. But they still had a knife.
“The water!” the first one said, jabbing his knife at the woman.
“Take it,” she screeched, swinging the can like a weight on the end of her arm. Before the boy could dodge it caught him full in the side of the head, knocking him howling to the ground, the knife flying from his fingers. “You want some too?” she shouted, advancing on the second boy. He was unarmed.
“No, I don’t want no trouble,” he begged, pulling at the first one’s arm, then retreating when she approached. When she bent to pick up the fallen knife, he managed to drag the other boy to his feet and half carry him around the corner. It had only taken a few seconds and all the time Shirl had stood with her back to the wall, trembling with fear.
“They got some surprise,” the woman crowed, holding the worn carving knife up to admire it. “I can use this better than they can. Just punks, kids.” She was excited and happy. During the entire time she had never released her grip on the child’s hand; it was sobbing louder.
There was no more trouble and the woman went with Shirl as far as her door. “Thank you very much,” Shirl said, “I don’t know what I would have done…”
“That’s no trouble,” the woman beamed. “You saw what I did to him — and who got the knife now!” She stamped away, hauling the heavy can in one hand, the child in the other. Shirl went in.
“Where have you been?” Andy asked when she pushed open the door. “I was begi
“It was the water, the line must have been a block long. They only gave me six quarts, the ration has been cut again.” She saw his black look and decided not to tell him about the trouble on the way back. He would be twice as angry then and she didn’t want this meal to be spoiled.
“That’s really wonderful,” Andy said sarcastically. “The ration was already too small — so now they lower it even more. Better get out of those wet things, Shirl, and Sol will pour you a Gibson. His homemade vermouth has ripened and I bought some vodka.”
“Drink up,” Sol said, handing her the chilled glass. “I made some soup with that ener-G junk, it’s the only way it’s edible, and it should be just about ready. We’ll have that for the first course, before—” He finished the sentence by jerking his head in the direction of the refrigerator.
“What’s up?” Andy asked. “A secret?”
“No secret,” Shirl said, opening the refrigerator, “just a surprise. I got these today in the market, one for each of us.” She took out a plate with three small soylent burgers on it. “They’re the new ones, they had them on TV, with the smoky-barbecue flavor.”
“They must have cost a fortune,” Andy said. “We won’t eat for the rest of the month.”
“They’re not as expensive as all that. Anyway, it was my own money, not the budget money, I used.”
“It doesn’t make any difference, money is money. We could probably live for a week on what these things cost.”
“Soup’s on,” Sol said, sliding the plates onto the table. Shirl had a lump in her throat so she couldn’t say anything; she sat and looked at her plate and tried not to cry.
“I’m sorry,” Andy said. “But you know how prices are going up — we have to look ahead. City income tax is higher, eighty per cent now, because of the raised Welfare payment, so it’s going to be rough going this winter. Don’t think I don’t appreciate it…”
“If you do, so why don’t you shut up right there and eat your soup?” Sol said.
“Keep out of this, Sol,” Andy said.
“I’ll keep out of it when you keep the fight out of my room. Now come on, a nice meal like this, it shouldn’t be spoiled.”
Andy started to answer him, then changed his mind. He reached over and took Shirl’s hand. “It is going to be a good di
“Not that good,” Sol said, puckering his mouth over a spoonful of soup. “Wait until you try this stuff. But the burgers will take the taste out of our mouths.”
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 a
“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, co
“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…”