The Heart is a Lonely Hunter - Carson McCullers [23]
‘How come you didn’t kick me out last night?’ The man only smiled again. Jake wondered why he was so quiet. He looked around for his clothes and saw that his suitcase was on the floor by the bed. He couldn’t remember how he had got it back from the restaurant where he owed for the drinks. His books, a white suit, and some shirts were all there as he had packed them. Quickly he began to dress himself.
An electric coffee-pot was perking on the table by the time he had his clothes on. The man reached into the pocket of the vest that hung over the back of a chair. He brought out a card and Jake took it questioningly. The man’s name--John Singer--was engraved in the center, and beneath this, written in ink with the same elaborate precision as the engraving, there was a brief message.
I am a deaf-mute, but I read the lips and understand what is said to me. Please do not shout.
The shock made Jake feel light and vacant. He and John Singer just looked at each other.
‘I wonder how long it would have taken me to find that out,’ he said.
Singer looked very carefully at his lips when he spoke--he had noticed that before. But a dummy! They sat at the table and drank hot coffee out of blue cups.
The room was cool and the half-drawn shades softened the hard glare from the windows. Singer brought from his closet a tin box that contained a loaf of bread, some oranges, and cheese. He did not eat much, but sat leaning back in his chair with one hand in his pocket. Jake ate hungrily. He would have to leave the place immediately and think things over. As long as he was stranded he ought to scout around for some sort of job in a hurry. The quiet room was too peaceful and comfortable to worry in--he would get out and walk by himself for a while.
‘Are there any other deaf-mute people here?’ he asked. ‘You have many friends?’
Singer was still smiling. He did not catch on to the words at first, and Jake had to repeat them. Singer raised his sharp, dark eyebrows and shook his head.
‘Find it lonesome?’
The man shook his head in a way that might have meant either yes or no. They sat silently for a little while and then Jake got up to leave. He thanked Singer several times for the night’s lodging, moving his lips carefully so that he was sure to be understood. The mute only smiled again and shrugged his shoulders. When Jake asked if he could leave his suitcase under the bed for a few days the mute nodded that he could. Then Singer took his hands from his pocket and wrote carefully on a pad of paper with a silver pencil. He shoved the pad over toward Jake.
I can put a mattress on the floor and you can stay here until you find a place. I am out most of the day. It will not be any trouble.
Jake felt his lips tremble with a sudden feeling of gratefulness.
But he couldn’t accept. ‘Thanks,’ he said, ‘I already got a place.’
As he was leaving the mute handed him a pair of blue overalls, rolled into a tight bundle, and seventy-five cents. The overalls were filthy and as Jake recognized them they aroused in him a whirl of sudden memories from the past week. The money, Singer made him understand, had been in his pockets.
‘Adios,’ Jake said. ‘I’ll be back sometime soon.’
He left the mute standing in the doorway with his hands still in his pockets and the half-smile on his face. When he had gone down several steps of the stairs he turned and waved.
The mute waved back to him and closed his door.
Outside the glare was sudden and sharp against his eyes. He stood on the sidewalk before the house, too dazzled at first by the sunlight to see very clearly. A youngun was sitting on the banisters of the house. He had seen her somewhere before. He remembered the boy’s shorts she was wearing and the way she squinted her eyes.
He held up the dirty roll of overalls. I want to throw these away. Know where I can find a garbage can?