side. I felt something and then nothing, like a mouse had scurried into my pocket and then-
pop
-disappeared. She held up the dollar: “And I got another problem, sailor. What time is it?”
“Soldier,” I said.
“You're late. Note said eleven, didn't it?” She followed this with a friendly, weary frown, as if we always argued like this. Then she started inside.
“I'm not sure I should go in there,” my voice higher, age lower.
Lily just looked at me. “I think you should,” she said. “Seems pretty clear you're not safe on the streets,” she added, and then smiled. “Besides, how else are you going to get your wallet back?”
UPSTAIRS, ALL WAS it had been before. The door was ajar, the single bulb still burned overhead. Still no furniture, still the pile of blankets in one corner of the room. My wallet hit me in the chest as I crossed the threshold. I fumbled and it fell. As I bent down to pick it up, I saw Lily seated on the floor, back against the wall, studying her hands, studiously not watching me.
“I'm feeling a little bad about taking my dollar back,” Lily said, still not looking up. Then she rubbed her hands together and put them flat on the floor beside her. “Why do you carry that wallet anyway? There's almost nothing in it. Somebody jump you a block before?”
“I just got here, I guess,” I said, my mind spooning out words almost at random, since the whole of me was preoccupied with the situation:
I am in a room, all by myself, with a woman, with a Japanese woman, and we are at war with Japan, and I am an American soldier, and I've never slept with a woman, from Japan or anywhere else, and-
“Just got here'?” Lily said. “C'mon, sit down. Either your brain isn't hooked up to your mouth, or you don't have a brain, or you're just not telling the truth. Let's find out.” She patted the floor next to her. I didn't move. “ ‘Palm reader,’ right?” she asked. “This is what you came about?”
I finally spoke up. “Listen, I've got some questions, okay? I mean, up front?”
“That's what this all about, sailor,” Lily said.
“Soldier,” I said.
“Well, we'll see about that,” Lily said, patting the floor beside her again. “Sit, young man.” She was smiling once more.
“What?” I said. But it was useless. I was already starting to sit. Doing so was a bit painful, but not as much as I'd expected. Either my bruises were fading rapidly, or my mind was too occupied with Lily to register pain.
Lily wiped her palms on her knees. “Let's start with names. What's yours?”
I paused. “Harry,” I said. “Harry… Crosby.” I couldn't give her my real name.
She looked at me, waited, and then said, “And how
is
Bing?” She smiled. “With a brother that famous, I can see why you go under a secret name like ‘Belk.’” She pointed to the name strip on my pocket. I closed my eyes. “Just what are you so nervous about, Soldier Belk?” she asked softly.
“You know why,” I said. “It's that you're-you're-you know.”
“Taller?” she asked. “Than you? Worried I could toss you out the window? Worried I will?”
“No,” I said, imagining being heaved out the window, and then lingering on the scene as I thought about how she'd have to grab hold of me, hug me, probably, wrestle me over there, her arms wrapped around me, our faces inches apart. “You're not taller,” I said, surfacing. “You're-
Japanese
.” I whispered the word like it was a secret she'd asked me to keep.
Her eyes went wide with honest, and then exaggerated, alarm. “Oh dear,” she said. “You can read my every secret, can't you? Maybe the wrong person's running this palm-reading business.” She held out a hand to me. “Here, let's see what else you know. Read
my
palm. Tell me my future.” I still knew I had to leave, but I was hardly going to leave
now
, now that I had a chance to hold a woman's-this woman's- hand. I took it gingerly, cradled it with the same care I'd use on
pop
-disappeared. She held up the dollar: “And I got another problem, sailor. What time is it?”
“Soldier,” I said.
“You're late. Note said eleven, didn't it?” She followed this with a friendly, weary frown, as if we always argued like this. Then she started inside.
“I'm not sure I should go in there,” my voice higher, age lower.
Lily just looked at me. “I think you should,” she said. “Seems pretty clear you're not safe on the streets,” she added, and then smiled. “Besides, how else are you going to get your wallet back?”
UPSTAIRS, ALL WAS it had been before. The door was ajar, the single bulb still burned overhead. Still no furniture, still the pile of blankets in one corner of the room. My wallet hit me in the chest as I crossed the threshold. I fumbled and it fell. As I bent down to pick it up, I saw Lily seated on the floor, back against the wall, studying her hands, studiously not watching me.
“I'm feeling a little bad about taking my dollar back,” Lily said, still not looking up. Then she rubbed her hands together and put them flat on the floor beside her. “Why do you carry that wallet anyway? There's almost nothing in it. Somebody jump you a block before?”
“I just got here, I guess,” I said, my mind spooning out words almost at random, since the whole of me was preoccupied with the situation:
I am in a room, all by myself, with a woman, with a Japanese woman, and we are at war with Japan, and I am an American soldier, and I've never slept with a woman, from Japan or anywhere else, and-
“Just got here'?” Lily said. “C'mon, sit down. Either your brain isn't hooked up to your mouth, or you don't have a brain, or you're just not telling the truth. Let's find out.” She patted the floor next to her. I didn't move. “ ‘Palm reader,’ right?” she asked. “This is what you came about?”
I finally spoke up. “Listen, I've got some questions, okay? I mean, up front?”
“That's what this all about, sailor,” Lily said.
“Soldier,” I said.
“Well, we'll see about that,” Lily said, patting the floor beside her again. “Sit, young man.” She was smiling once more.
“What?” I said. But it was useless. I was already starting to sit. Doing so was a bit painful, but not as much as I'd expected. Either my bruises were fading rapidly, or my mind was too occupied with Lily to register pain.
Lily wiped her palms on her knees. “Let's start with names. What's yours?”
I paused. “Harry,” I said. “Harry… Crosby.” I couldn't give her my real name.
She looked at me, waited, and then said, “And how
is
Bing?” She smiled. “With a brother that famous, I can see why you go under a secret name like ‘Belk.’” She pointed to the name strip on my pocket. I closed my eyes. “Just what are you so nervous about, Soldier Belk?” she asked softly.
“You know why,” I said. “It's that you're-you're-you know.”
“Taller?” she asked. “Than you? Worried I could toss you out the window? Worried I will?”
“No,” I said, imagining being heaved out the window, and then lingering on the scene as I thought about how she'd have to grab hold of me, hug me, probably, wrestle me over there, her arms wrapped around me, our faces inches apart. “You're not taller,” I said, surfacing. “You're-
Japanese
.” I whispered the word like it was a secret she'd asked me to keep.
Her eyes went wide with honest, and then exaggerated, alarm. “Oh dear,” she said. “You can read my every secret, can't you? Maybe the wrong person's running this palm-reading business.” She held out a hand to me. “Here, let's see what else you know. Read
my
palm. Tell me my future.” I still knew I had to leave, but I was hardly going to leave
now
, now that I had a chance to hold a woman's-this woman's- hand. I took it gingerly, cradled it with the same care I'd use on
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