‘Come on over,’ Biff said kindly. ‘Your friend has gone.’ The fellow was still hunting for Singer. He had never seemed really drunk like that before. He had an ugly look. ‘I have something for you over here and I want to speak with you a minute,’ Biff coaxed. Blount pulled himself up from the table and walked with big, loose steps toward the street again. Biff leaned against the wall. In and out-in and out. After all, it was none of his business. The room was very empty and quiet. The minutes lingered. Wearily he let his head sag forward. All motion seemed slowly to be leaving the room. The counter, faces, the booths and tables, the radio in the corner, whirring fans on the ceiling--all seemed to become very faint and still. He must have dozed. A hand was shaking his elbow. His wits came back to him slowly and he looked up to see what was wanted.
Willie, the colored boy in the kitchen, stood before him dressed in his cap and his long white apron. Willie stammered because he was excited about whatever he was trying to say. ‘And so he were l-l-lamming his fist against this here brick w-w-wall.’
‘What’s that? ’
‘Right down one of them alleys two d-d-doors away.’
Biff straightened his slumped shoulders and arranged his tie. ‘What?’
‘And they means to bring him in here and they liable to pile in any minute--’
‘Willie,’ Biff said patiently. ‘Start at the beginning and let me get this straight.’
‘It this here short white man with the m-m-mustache.’
‘Mr. Blount. Yes.’
‘Well--I didn’t see how it commenced. I were standing in the back door when I heard this here commotion. Sound like a big fight in the alley. So I r-r-run to see. And this here white man had just gone hog wild. He were butting his head against the side of this brick wall and hitting with his fists. He were cussing and fighting like I never seen a white man fight before. With just this here wall. He liable to broken his own head the way he were carrying on. Then two white mens who had heard the commotion come up and stand around and look--’
‘So what happened?’
‘Well--you know this here dumb gentleman--hands in pockets--this here--’
‘Mr. Singer.’
‘And he come along and just stood looking around to see what it were all about. And Mr. B-B-Blount seen him and commenced to talk and holler. And then all of a sudden he fallen down on the ground. Maybe he done really busted his head open. A p-p-p-police come up and somebody done told him Mr. Blount been staying here.’
Biff bowed his head and organized the story he had just heard into a neat pattern. He rubbed his nose and thought for a minute.
‘They liable to pile in here any minute.’ Willie went to the door and looked down the street ‘Here they all come now. They having to drag him.’
A dozen onlookers and a policeman all tried to crowd into the restaurant. Outside a couple of whores stood looking in through the front window. It was always funny how many people could crowd in from nowhere when anything out of the ordinary happened.
‘No use creating any more disturbance than necessary,’ Biff said. He looked at the policeman who supported the drunk.
‘The rest of them might as well clear out.’
The policeman put the drunk in a chair and hustled the little crowd into the street again. Then he turned to Biff: ‘Somebody said he was staying here with you.’
‘No. But he might as well be,’ Biff said.
‘Want me to take him with me?’
Biff considered. ‘He won’t get into any more trouble tonight.
Of course I can’t be responsible--but I think this will calm him down.’
‘O.K. I’ll drop back in again before I knock off.’
Biff, Singer, and Jake Blount were left alone. For the first time since he had been brought in, Biff turned his attention to the drunk man. It seemed that Blount had hurt his jaw very badly. He was slumped down on the table with his big hand over his mouth, swaying backward and forward. There was a gash in his head and the blood ran from his temple. His knuckles were skinned raw, and he was so filthy that he looked as if he had been pulled by the scruff of the neck from a sewer. All the juice had spurted out of him and he was completely collapsed. The mute sat at the table across from him, taking it all in with his gray eyes.
Then Biff saw that Blount had not hurt his jaw, but he was holding his hand over his mouth because his lips were trembling. The tears began to roll down his grimy face. Now and then he glanced sideways at Biff and Singer, angry that they should see him cry. It was embarrassing. Biff shrugged his shoulders at the mute and raised his eyebrows with a what-to-do? expression. Singer cocked his head on one side.
Biff was in a quandary. Musingly he wondered just how he should manage the situation. He was still trying to decide when the mute turned over the menu and began to write.
If you cannot think of any place for him to go he can go home with me. First some soup and coffee would be good for him.
With relief Biff nodded vigorously.
On the table he placed three special plates of the last evening meal, two bowls of soup, coffee, and dessert. But Blount would not eat. He would not take his hand away from his mouth, and it was as though his lips were some very secret part of himself which was being exposed. His breath came in ragged sobs and his big shoulders jerked nervously. Singer pointed to one dish after the other, but Blount just sat with his hand over his mouth and shook his head.
Biff enunciated slowly so that the mute could see. ‘The jitters--’ he said conversationally.
The steam from the soup kept floating up into Blount’s face, and after a little while he reached shakily for his spoon. He drank the soup and ate part of his dessert. His thick, heavy lips still trembled and he bowed his head far down over his plate.
Biff noted this. He was thinking that in nearly every person there was some special physical part kept always guarded.
With the mute his hands. The kid Mick picked at the front of her blouse to keep the cloth from rubbing the new, tender nipples beginning to come out on her breast. With Alice it was her hair; she used never to let him sleep with her when he rubbed oil in his scalp. And with himself? Lingeringly Biff turned the ring on his little finger. Anyway he knew what it was not. Not. Any more. A sharp line cut into his forehead. His hand in his pocket moved nervously toward his genitals. He began whistling a song and got up from the table. Funny to spot it in other people, though.