There were three boys walking ahead of him. Juvenile delinquents, gangsters? No, they looked like college boys, potential nuclear physicists, mathematicians. What were' they doing up her'~, all the way uptown?
Listen to them sing, Tamblin thought. Did I ever sing? Wait until they come face to face with the unbending reality of plus and minus. Let's hear them sing then, let's hear them.
Geoffrey Tamblin broke his stride.
His shoe was sticking to the pavement.
Disgustedly, he pulled it loose and examined the sole. Chewing gum! Damnit, when would people learn to be clean, throwing gum all over the sidewalk where a man could step on it.
Swearing under his breath, he looked around for a scrap of paper, wishing he had one of Dr. Fanensel's texts to tear up.
He spotted the blue rectangle of paper lying next to the curb, hobbled over to it, and picked it up. He did not even glance at it. It was probably a throwaway from one of the supermarkets, full of this week's specials, prices, prices, figures, figures, where was all the poetry in the world?
Wadding the blue sheet, he rubbed viciously at the gum on his shoe. Then, pure again, he crumpled the paper into a mathematical ball and threw it down the sewer.
It was probably just as well.
Meyer Meyer's message would have made an exceedingly slim volume of poetry.
""The sun is ashining to welcome the day,"" sang Sammy, "'and it's hi-ho, come to the fair!"" ""To the fair, to the fair, to the fair,"" Bucky sang.
"How does the rest go?" Sammy asked.
""To the fair, to the fair, to the fair,"" Bucky sang.
"Let's sing a college song," Jim said.
"Screw college songs," Sammy said.
"Lets sing "Minnie the Mermaid."" "I don't know the words."
"Who needs words? It's emotion that counts, not words."
"Hear, hear," Bucky said.
"Words are only words," Sammy said philosophically, "if they don't come from here. Right here." He tapped his heart.
"Where's this Mason Avenue?" Jim wanted to know.
"Where's all these Spanish chicks?"
"Up the street," Sammy said.
"North.
Don't talk so loud. That's a police station over there."
"I hate cops," Jim said.
"Me, too," Bucky said.
"I never met a cop," Jim said, "who wasn't an out-and-out son-of-a-bitch."
"Me, too," Bucky said.
"I hate aviators," Sammy said.
"I hate aviators, too," Bucky said.
"But I hate cops, too."
"I hate, especially," Sammy said, "jet aviators."
"Oh, especially," Bucky said.
"But cops, too."
"Are you still crocked?" Jim asked.
"I'm still crocked and it's magnificent. Where are all the Spanish girls?"
"Up the street, up the street, don't get impatient."
"What's that?" Bucky said.
"What's what?"
"That blue piece of paper. Over there."
"What?" Sammy turned to look.
"It's a blue piece of paper. What do you think it is?"
"I don't know," Bucky said.
"What do you think it is?" They began waliting again, past the second carbon copy of Meyer's message.
"I think it's a letter from a very sad old fart. She uses blue stationery whenever she writes to her imaginary lover."
"Very good," Bucky said. They continued walking.
"What do you think it is?"
"I think it's a birth announcement from a guy who always wanted a boy. Only he got a girl by accident, but all the announcements were already printed on blue."
"Very good," Sammy said.
"What do you think it is, Jim?"
"I'm crocked," Jim said.
"Yes, but what do you think it is?"
They continued walking, half a block away from the message now.
"I think it's a blue piece of toilet paper," Jim said.
Bucky stopped walking.
"Let's check."
"Huh?"
"Let's see."
"Come on, come on," Jim said, "let's not waste time. The tamales are waiting."
"Only take a minute," Bucky said, and he turned to go back for the sheet of paper.
Jim caught his arm.
"Listen, don't be a nut," Jim said.
"Come on."
"He's right," Sammy said.
"Who care what the damn thing is?"
"I do," Bucky said, and he pulled his arm free, whirled, and ran up the street.
The other boys watched him as he picked up the sheet of paper.
"Crazy nut," Jim said.
"Wasting our time."
"Yeah," Sammy said.
Up the street, Bucky was reading the sheet. Suddenly, he broke into a trot.
"Hey!" he shouted.
"Hey!"
Teddy Carella looked at her wrist watch.
It was 6:45.
She walked to the curb, signaled for a cab, and climbed in the moment it stopped.
"Where to, lady?" the cabbie asked.
Teddy took a slip of paper and a pencil from her purse. Rapidly, she wrote "87th Precinct, Grover Avenue" and handed the slip to the driver.
"Right," he said, and put the taxi in gear.
Alf Miscolo lay in delirium, and in his tortured he cried out, "Mary! Mary!"
His wife's name was Katherine.
He was not a handsome man, Miscolo.
