"Are you asleep?" he asked at last.
"What?" she said, startled.
"Are you asleep?"
"No. Where are we?"
"On the West Side Highway. We just went through the Spuyten Duyvil toll booths."
"No, I'm not asleep," she said, suspecting she had been. "I just have to close my eyes every now and then. Otherwise, I read everything."
"Oh," he said, and she looked at him a moment, expecting more, and then closed her eyes again when she realized nothing was forthcoming. He did not speak again until shortly before the accident. She must have dozed off a second time because she sat up in alarm when she heard his voice.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"What?"
"About reading everything."
"I'm a compulsive reader," she said.
"Oh," he answered.
End of conversation, Sally thought.
"Yes," she said, persisting in spite of better judgment, "I can reel off word for word every sign and billboard we passed on the road today. My mind's like a hall closet."
She waited for him to make some comment, hardly expecting that he would. When he did not, she sighed, and closed her eyes again. The accident occurred not two minutes later. Now, watching the police officer as he examined both men's licenses, watching him turn solicitous and then obsequious as Jonah casually mentioned the name of a circuit judge, watching the little man go pale and almost faint when he realized he had rammed into someone with high legal connections, Sally still felt giddy and numb, and her front tooth hurt like hell, what a damn silly thing to get involved in, an accident when she was so close to home.
Still, Jonah's profanity had exploded into that dreary automobile ride like a mortar shell, and she was grateful for the careless little man who was now explaining to Jonah and the policeman and anyone who would listen that he was a poor but honest bricklayer coming home late from a job in Harlem, anxious to be reunited once more with his wife and six kids — she was.sure he had said five kids the first time around — and therefore perhaps a bit unheedful of traffic signs, but he had stopped at the sign, he had come to a full if brief stop. What was he, did the attorney think, some kind of maniac who would endanger the life and limb of innocent people on a public highway? Did the attorney, did these honorable law enforcement officers, did these good citizens believe for a moment that he would do a fink thing like that, crashing into innocent people — arguing his case right there on the highway without benefit of counsel while Jonah kept holding his left hand in his right, and Sally could see now that he was wincing in pain.
She got out of the car suddenly and walked to where the small man was still pleading his case, turning to a fat smiling bleached blonde now, and advising her that he had been a citizen for fifteen years, having come from Cairo, and that he had never been in any kind of trouble with the law before this, nor ever in an automobile accident though he had been driving since 1956, did he look like a fink, he asked the bleached blonde. The blonde smiled and then clucked her tongue sympathetically, but remained noncommittal as to whether he was or was not a fink.
"I think he's hurt his hand," Sally said to the nearest patrolman. "Are we going to be much longer here, or can we get him to a hospital?"
"You're bleeding, miss," the patrolman said.
"I'm all right," Sally said.
"Can you drive?" the patrolman asked Jonah.
"Yes, I can."
"Maybe we'd better do as the young lady suggests. We can run you right over to Harlem Hospital, right on Lenox."
"No, it's nothing," Jonah said. "I just wrenched it when we collided, that's all."
"Something might be broken in there," the patrolman said.
"Why is nobody here to worry about my head?" the man from Cairo asked. "I'm sorry, your worship, but my head is bleeding, too, don't forget."
"You'd better get him to the hospital," Jonah said.
"You come along, too, Mr. Willow. No offense meant, but I think we'd better take a look at that hand."
"It's beginning to swell," Sally said.
"Miss, do you know your lip is cut?"
"What?"
"Your lip, miss. It's bleeding pretty bad."
"I think we'd all better take a little ride over to the hospital," the other patrolman said.
"I don't see any need for that," Jonah said.
"Begging your pardon, Mr. Willow," the patrolman said, "but I don't think Judge Santesson would like it if we let a friend of his go home with a broken hand or something."
"All right," Jonah said, "let's get it over with,"
They did not get it over with until eleven o'clock that night. By that time Jonah was in a surly, cantankerous mood. He told the frightened little man from Cairo that he was going to do his damndest to have his driver's license revoked, and then got into an argument with the policemen about the advisability of doing any further driving that night.
"Let's take a taxi," Sally said.
"How can I lay bricks without the license to drive?" the Egyptian said.
"Why don't you take a taxi, Mr. Willow?" the cops said.
Jonah took Sally's arm and led her out of the hospital and then got into a further argument the moment they entered the automobile, simply because Sally suggested that she ought to do the driving, a swollen Up seeming to her less restricting than a sprained and taped wrist. Jonah testily informed her that he was in perfect physical condition, and then proceeded to prove his point by racing down to the Village (your license ought to be revoked, she thought, but did not say), scaring her half to death, and parking the car in a clearly marked No Parking zone in front of her building.
The hallway was silent. They climbed the steps to her fourth-floor apartment, Sally leading, Jonah following. He did not say a word to her as they walked up, radiating only what seemed to be sullen anger. Outside her apartment, she opened her bag and searched for her key in silence.
"I'm sorry about the accident," he said abruptly.
"It wasn't your fault."
"Your eyes were closed, I thought perhaps…"
"No, I saw what happened."
"In any case, I'm sorry." His manner was still brusque and scarcely civil. She found her key and inserted it in the lock. "And I'm also sorry you had such a terrible time," he said, "but you see…"
"I didn't, don't be silly."
"… I'm not very good at small talk."
The hallway was silent again.
"I have a great many things on my mind," Jonah said. "I'm sorry."
"That's all right," Sally said. She twisted the key. The tumblers fell with a small oiled click.
"I'm sorry about the profanity, too," he said.
"That's all right," she said again. She listened as he continued to apologize for his swearing in the car and on the highway, his voice lowering, listened as he told her how sorry he was for having argued with the policemen and for having threatened the little Egyptian, "I know this is the first time we've been alone together, without a lot of people chattering away, and I wish I could have been more entertaining. But you see…"
"That's all right, Jonah," she said.
"… I had hoped this friend of mine could help me, he's an expert on military engagements, that's his forte, Sally. He's written several really good books, and I thought he could help me. I thought he could come up with something more than he did."
"I know it was a disappointing day for you."
"Yes, it was."
"But I did enjoy the accident. The accident was fun," she said, and smiled.
"May I see you again?"
"Yes," she said.
"I'll call. The trial should be over by the end of the week, perhaps we can get together Friday or Saturday."