Place in the City by Howard Fast Read Free Book Online Page B

the mission house. It had been, formerly, a livery stable; now it had some benches, two coats of buff paint, and a pulpit.
    The priest went through the big door, and walked straight to the pulpit, still wrapped up in his thoughts. When he turned around, he saw that all the benches were taken. Well, that was the way things went on a cold, bitter night. There was no place to go, and the missions were always full.
    He took off his hat and his coat, went to the stove and threw some more wood into it, and then looked at the people who sat on the benches. They were always the same, men whose eyes held nothing at all, women who could no longer walk the streets, and a sprinkling of well-dressed sightseers. For a moment, he looked at them; then he smiled; then he went into the room behind the pulpit. When he saw that the girl was there already, waiting for him, he felt suddenly and completely rested. She turned around, a girl with yellow hair and a smile as eager as his own. Her name was Marion Meyer; she was the third daughter of the man who kept the cigar store.
    This room, an L behind the stable, was a combination living room, kitchen, and office. There was a coal stove, a couch, two big chairs, three small chairs, a desk, and a red carpet. There were some pictures on the walls, but the walls themselves were not in such good repair. The paint curled, and it was yellow with age. And there were cracks in the plaster where the wind came in from the outside. On the stove, a two gallon coffee pot bubbled and steamed, and the whole room was heavy with its fragrance.
    â€œI have a cup for you,” she said. “Look, cream, one lump of sugar, and two pieces of toast with butter. You’re wet and you’re tired.”
    She put her two hands in his, and for a moment he simply looked down at them; then he raised them to his lips, then let them fall abruptly. He sank into a chair, and she brought the coffee over to him.
    â€œDoes your father know you’re here again?” the priest asked her.
    â€œHe didn’t ask me where I was going, Jack. But if he had, I would have told him. Don’t you think I would? If you want, I’ll make a point of telling him tomorrow. He knows I come here to sing and help you. Is there anything so terribly wrong in that?”
    â€œNo—”
    â€œThen eat, and then we’ll give out the coffee. Isn’t it a frightful night, cold and wet. Your feet are soaked, and of course you would never think to put on overshoes. No—just like now. What are you dreaming about now? If the coffee gets cold, you won’t like that, and you’ll scold me. I work hard all day, and then I come here to be scolded by you. Ah—please drink your coffee. Wonderful, I made you smile. Tell me what happened, where were you? You’ll have to change your shoes. Here are the others. Jack, do you ever get new shoes?”
    She brought him a pair of shapeless, patched black shoes, and while he drank the coffee, unlaced the ones he was wearing. After he had changed, he stared at her; then he clasped her in his arms and kissed her.
    â€œYou’re a devil—but God bless you,” he whispered.
    â€œAm I? What shall I sing tonight?”
    â€œTonight?” He walked to the stove, lifted the coffee pot, and she took up a tray of tin cups; and then, as they walked to the door, he threw back over his shoulder:
    â€œAnything to give them hope. Onward, Christian Soldiers, The Lord is My Rock—” He opened the door, a cloud of steam from the coffee pot preceding him. “Look how they sit there. Sing to them, Marion.”

A FTER supper, Jessica went down to mind the store.
    Meyer hardly ever had the girls do that, because the store was so much of a hangout for pimps and heelers, men like Shutzey. But tonight, Meyer was tired, more tired than he had ever felt before; he couldn’t go down to the store again, and now he wanted his wife with him.
    He sat in a chair in the