Whipple's Castle by Thomas Williams Page B

asked.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhy do you say ‘Yes’ like that? Why don’t you say ‘Yeah,’ or ‘Yup,’ or something human, for Christ’s sake?”
    â€œAre you mad at me, Beady?”
    â€œWhy the hell should I be?”
    â€œYou just sound like it.”
    â€œWhy the hell should I be? You’re going in the Army, probably get your ass shot off.”
    â€œProbably not.”
    â€œYou’re a Whipple. I know why you look down on me. I ain’t high society. You got your nose a mile in the air.”
    â€œI have?” Wood said.
    Suddenly Beady was angry, and a mean look, surprising on Beady, turned his mouth white and shriveled.
    â€œYou think you’re so goddam superior, don’t you? So how about your brother? He learned how to be a thief up there in that mansion of yours, didn’t he?”
    Wood saw that Beady was astounded by what he was saying. Through Beady’s angry face he saw Beady horrified by his own words.
    â€œI could say a lot more, about every goddam one of you Whipples, buddy boy,” Beady said, his voice high and cramped, desperation in his eyes. “Every goddam one of you. So don’t play high and mighty with me! Understand?”
    Wood meant to say something, and felt cruel in his silence, but he could think of nothing to say. He merely watched, sadly, what his silence did to Beady. Then Beady turned away and nearly ran to the cloak rack, where he jammed his feet into his overshoes, took his coat and scarf and again half ran to the stairwell and up, the wings of his open overshoes brushing together and hindering him, as though he waded through water.
    Wood finished washing, got his coat and walked upstairs, past the empty tables and the silent machines. Without the solid noise, the bright gray winter day came more strongly through the high windows, and the room seemed cold. At the time clock he took his card from the in rack, placed it in the slot and pushed the lever that stamped it, then put it in the out rack. A hand touched his arm. Susie Davis stood close to him in the empty hallway.
    â€œOh, Wood!” she said, and smiled worriedly at him. She was a big girl, but this close to him she had turned smaller, and he realized that she was several inches shorter than he was. Her babushka was tied tightly over her brown hair and down under her wide cheeks. Skin of a warm color, creamy; she was the color of rich cream. A pretty girl, big and a little plump, mostly always smiling as if delighted. Now delight and worry appeared together, and her pinkish, big hand touched his sleeve again. “I was afraid you wouldn’t wait to see me.”
    â€œI was going to, Susie,” he said.
    â€œOh, Wood.”
    â€œCome on. I’ll walk you downstreet.”
    They were looked at by the girls and men who waited at the door for their rides. Everybody knew about her. She walked along beside him, bulky in her wool coat, taking delicate yet long steps in her rubber boots.
    â€œYou were nice to me once,” she said. She looked at him quickly, and he saw that tears made her dark blue eyes shiny.
    â€œI was?”
    â€œYes. In school. In hall, once. Junior Stevens was goosing me in hall, and you told him to cut it out.”
    He remembered her embarrassed smile when Junior Stevens put his fists together under her crotch, from behind, and lifted her up over the last step onto the second floor. At the time he wasn’t sure she didn’t like it, somehow. But he hadn’t liked it, and he told Junior not to do it again.
    â€œI remember telling him to stop,” he said.
    â€œYou’re the only one I care about knowing…” she said, and was silent.
    â€œKnowing what?” They had reached the end of Pleasant Street, and turned onto Bank Street toward the Town Square. The sky above the bare elms was as white as the snow.
    â€œThe truth,” she said.
    â€œAll right.”
    She touched him with