I told Billy that all I had was a quarter.
“Even if you have the money, I ain’t gonna let you buy him no sandwich,” Billy said.
Ringo looked down at the floor and tapped his right foot nervously and scratched his leg. Then he put both hands over his eyes. Nothing happened. When Ringo finally took his hands away from his eyes, he said, “Billy, but I hungry.”
“Hell, you always hungry, Ringo,” Billy said. “But that don’t mean you starving. It obvious you ain’t no middleweight no more.”
“That ain’t nice,” Ringo said, looking pained. “Why the world full of bad feeling?” He put his hands over his hat, crossing his fingers, and closed his eyes and began to twist and contort his mouth. He began to shake his whole body, without moving his feet or changing his position, and then, with his eyes still closed, he smiled. I looked over at Billy to see how he was taking it. He was leaning on the counter, reading the Washington Post. I went behind the counter and picked up my suitcase.
Billy looked up from his paper. “Well,” he said, “you looking better. How you feeling?”
“Much better,” I said. “Thanks a lot, Billy.” We shook hands.
“Look at that fool!” Billy said.
Ringo was still vibrating and smiling, but his eyes were open now. “What you doing with that suitcase?” he asked.
I didn’t say anything, but moved toward the door to watch for another bus.
Ringo came up to me and put an arm around my shoulder. “So you going home,” he said.
“That’s right,” I said.
“What you in a big hurry for?” he asked.
“So long, Ringo.”
“I don’t see no bus coming,” he said.
I made sure I had a firm hold on my suitcase; then I tried to walk away, but he had a strong grip on my shoulder. “There ain’t no bus coming,” he said, smiling.
“Get lost, Ringo,” I said.
“Go on, Ringo. Go on, now,” Billy said. He came out from behind the counter.
“Look, there your bus, John,” Ringo said.
I turned and looked out the window, but the street was clear. While I was looking down the street, Ringo slipped his forearm under my chin and pressed it against my throat. With his free hand he pressed the back of my head forward. “Now what you gonna do?”
I couldn’t talk, because he was pressing too hard on my throat. I swung my suitcase, trying to hit him with it, but could only manage a light, slapping blow to the back of his legs.
Ringo began to laugh. “You can’t do nothing, see? You can’t do nothing.”
Then he suddenly yelled and let me go.
I turned around, rubbing my throat, and saw Billy just back of Ringo, holding a large soda bottle. Ringo was grabbing at his ankle and hopping on one foot.
“Goddam, Billy,” he said. “You nearly break my leg.”
“Next time I break your head.”
Ringo hopped over to the refrigerated case and sat on the front edge of it, holding his ankle. He looked from me to Billy, then back to me again. His eyes were half closed; his mouth was turned down exaggeratedly, like a clown’s. “I just tired to death,” Ringo said. “Man, you coulda hurt me, Billy.”
“Yeah, sure,” Billy said. “Now, why don’t you shut up.”
“I mess around,” Ringo said. “But I don’t hurt nobody.”
“That’s what you say,” Billy said, putting the soda bottle back on the shelf.
I stood by the door, and finally I saw a bus turn the corner three blocks down. I pulled the quarter out of my pocket, grabbed my suitcase, and turned around for a final goodbye. “So long, Billy. Thanks,” I said.
Billy waved and smiled at me. “So long, now.”
As I backed through the door, I waved, knocking my hand against the doorframe. I dropped the quarter and it rolled under the refrigerated case, and I missed the bus again.
“Now, ain’t that a damn shame!” Ringo said. He was all lit up, and had recovered his vitality.
Billy came over with a wooden yardstick to see if he could get the quarter out; it had become lodged between the case and the wall. He worked the yardstick in the crack until he had moved the quarter out onto the open floor. He picked it up, dusted it off on his apron, and handed it to me. “You having a bad day,” he said. “Next time you keep it in your pocket.” He slapped me on the back and told me I was going to make it.
Ringo looked at me with a wide and happy grin. “Well, Charlie, you having some rough luck,” he said.
“My name’s not Charlie,” I said.
“Ain’t you Charlie White Man?” Ringo said, smiling.
“Go on, Ringo. Go on,” Billy said, looking at me apologetically.
“I got to admit that you is some fool, John,” Ringo said, coming over to me. “You all set to go and then you drop the quarter.” He laughed, closing his eyes, and put his hand on my shoulder.
I asked him if he wanted to rip the sleeve off this time.
“It look like you got a flower growing out of your shoulder,” Ringo said, putting a finger on the ripped white lining that was puffing out. “Man, you look like hell. You know that?”
I took out my pack of cigarettes and lit one. Ringo watched me. I gave him the pack and told him to keep it and go away.
“You scares me,” he said, taking my cigarette to light his. “I just can’t figure you out.”
Suddenly I got a terrible headache, and the room began to spin. Down the street another bus had appeared, but I decided it was no use even trying this time. I turned and looked at Billy, and he knew immediately that I was in some kind of trouble. “Don’t you worry, now,” he said. He pointed to the door that led to the bathroom. “See you soon,” he said.
I walked unsteadily toward the door. There must have been a disturbance in my middle ear, because the ceiling seemed to rush at me and then rush away. I fell down, and began to crawl on all fours toward the door.
“He think he a horse,” I heard Ringo say.
Billy helped me to my feet, steadied me, and walked me a few steps toward the bathroom. I told him I was all right and could make it the rest of the way. In the bathroom, I wasn’t sick, but I was so dizzy that I couldn’t stand up. I sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall for a few minutes, waiting for the dizziness to stop. Then I lay down and went to sleep.
Some time later, I felt someone nudging me lightly on the shoulder, and I woke up and saw Billy in his white apron, kneeling on one knee.
“You been in here about twenty minutes,” he said. “I got to worry about you.”
I stood up and walked over to the sink, feeling all right. The vertigo was gone. Billy switched on the light and stayed in the room while I washed up. “John, I think your luck is turning,” he said.
When Billy and I went back into the big room, Ringo was talking to the woman I had seen him with earlier, outside the store. There was also another man — a large, dark-brown, sleepy-eyed Negro whom the woman called Tracy. “All right, Tracy, go on, knock him down,” she said, pointing at Ringo.
Billy set a chair for me in the corner of the room farthest from Ringo and his friends. He saw that I was shivering, and he got his topcoat and told me to put it on. He also gave me another cup of Coca-Cola syrup, and said he was boiling some water for tea, and that I should just relax and take it easy.
“Knock him on his butt, Tracy,” the woman said, looking fierce.
“Aw, honey, now,” Tracy said, and then he smiled shyly at Ringo and folded his arms.
Ringo kicked some imaginary object, and turned on the woman. “Ruby, why you always want to make trouble?” he said. “Now, Tracy’s my friend.”
“I want to see you fight,” Ruby said. “You supposed to be a fighter. Well, I want to see you fight.”