She grabs the glass from him, a lot of what’s in it spills on the bar and their clothes, and throws the rest of it in his face. He stands, takes out a wallet, slaps some bills on the bar, kicks his stool, it’s wobbling on two of its four legs when he kicks at it again and misses but it still falls, grabs his hat and coat off a peg while Henry picks up the stool and slides it back to the bar and Marjorie raises a chair leg she got from somewhere and bangs it against something metal like a cabinet or sink and yells “Get out of here before you get your ears nailed — I’m not fooling with you, get out, get out!” and bangs the metal again and he rushes through the door I didn’t know I was still holding open and outside puts on his hat and coat.
“Don’t go if you don’t have to,” she says to me. “But if you do, I hope no hard feelings to the bar.”
“No really and I only came in for a single coffee or beer,” foot keeping the door open as I put on my coat and think never again in this place even with the pianist playing and a friend.
“Hey,” Henry says, “the Hen’s got a terrific idea with business booming this great.”
“We can’t,” she says. “There’s still the lady in the gentlemen’s can and what if Witty—” but I’ve let the door go and step outside.
Rain’s stopped. That I saw from the door. But sky seems clear, even a bit of moon to be seen, and feels ten to fifteen degrees warmer than when I went in, almost too much for this coat, unbuttoning it. The man’s wiping his face with a bunch of napkins. “I don’t know — how’d all that happen so fast?” I say. Looks at me, shakes his head commiseratively: more my fault than his; in fact it’s all your fault his pointing finger says, throws the napkins into the street and heads downtown. Napkins quickly picked up by the wind and hover a few feet over the street before four drop and one soars three flights more till I can’t see it anymore. There it is — no, just a pigeon if my fading vision’s not mistaken, and I take out my eyeglasses case. “You — catch it!” Wind also must have blown his hat off because here he is hatless chasing one down the sidewalk toward me. I jump to my right, glasses sliding out of the case same time I stop the hat with my foot, pick it up and my glasses and brush it off where I stepped on it and hand it to him. I hold the glasses up. “Oh no.” One of the lenses seems scratched. I smear a little spit on the lens, wipe it dry and put the glasses on. “Oh nuts. It’ll cost a fortune to get fixed.”
“Why? They don’t look cracked.”
“One of the lenses got scratched through both bifocal parts.”
“So? They buff it down in a jiff and say give me five bucks.”
“When was that? Shit. Instinct — didn’t think. Should’ve known they’d fall out. But if I’d stopped to think I wouldn’t have been able to stop your hat from rolling past.”
He turns the hat around in his hands, scratches the dirt off the brim, puts the hat on. “Lose this honey and a lot more than five bucks. Two new pairs of your glasses I could buy with it and a thorough eye exam, so you have my gratitude for a change and what else? My regrets for your spectacles and monetary loss.”
“Thanks very much.” He’s adjusting the hat to his head. I put on the glasses to see how well I can see with them scratched. Other lens has little nicks in it which when I close my eye behind the scratched lens makes me see spots in the distant-vision part and mostly a blur in the near. Both eyes open I can’t come up with a quick comparison, but my vision through both sections is even worse. But so what? No backups at home so nothing to do but get them fixed soon as I can. Tomorrow to the optician’s: one of the first things before noon. No: get angry, become miserable, curse his hat and the wind and Marjorie and he for doing what they did to make me leave the bar sooner than I would have perhaps and her boss for ordering the sign put out if she wasn’t lying and the rain also because if there had been more customers maybe the man wouldn’t have paid so much attention to me and Marjorie to him and just my deteriorating eyes in general and small savings in particular and Brahms and whatever and whoever influenced him to compose that piece and why not while I’m at it the jukebox manufacturer and whatever brought me into the world besides, plus lots of other things: in general the world, in particular the whatever. No reading to very little for a few days though when I have to I’ll strain my eyes and give in for as long as I can to the pain. No: first thing tomorrow after the quicker-than-usual postreveille rituals and no
“Well, so long,” the man says.
