Free Slap Your Sides by M. E. Kerr Page A

saying, “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid!”
    I was quiet, letting it slowly sink in that in Radio Dan’s view, our hanging out together wasn’t very different from certain French people “fraternizing” with the Germans. I’d first heard that word watching a “March of Time” newsreel. They’d shown villagers someplaceoutside Paris shaving a woman’s head because she’d been with a Nazi.
    When we got to Daria’s house, I noticed for the first time that she gave a quick wave and a “’Bye,” and hurried down the driveway. It was dark out by then. The Daniels’ porch lights were on, but she always went in the side door. I decided that was so she could sneak in, and so they wouldn’t look out the windows and see me walking away from the house.

TWELVE
    I was still mulling over the idea of Daria “fraternizing” with me when I got home.
    Mom looked happier than I’d seen her look in months.
    â€œGuess what, Jubal! Tommy and you and I are going to New York City in April. Tommy will have time off for Easter vacation, and Friends will be on spring recess. We can stay with Lizzie.”
    â€œGreat!” I said. “Was it Lizzie’s idea?”
    â€œBud thought of it. He’s taking a furlough to work with Dorothy Day for two weeks.”
    â€œWho’s Dorothy Day?”
    â€œShe’s a Catholic pacifist who runs soup kitchens for the poor in lower Manhattan. Bud doesn’t want to stay with Lizzie.”
    My father opened the door from the basement, walked across to the staircase, and went up without a word.
    â€œI don’t know what’s wrong with him anymore, Jubal,” said Mom.
    â€œSure you do, Mom. Start with the yellow Y that appears on the windows from time to time, and the customers who don’t come in anymore.”
    â€œAre you sure about customers not coming in anymore?”
    â€œWell, a few aren’t.” I tried to soften it. I’d forgotten how Dad always kept bad news to himself.
    I gave Mom a kiss and got Mahatma’s leash from the closet. When he saw me with it, he began walking around, wagging his tail and rattling his dog tags.
    I went upstairs and got the Journal-American article from my desk, put it in an envelope, and scrawled Daria’s name across it. When I went down to the bathroom, Dad was sitting on the side of the tub, waiting for it to fill.
    â€œTake your coat off and stay awhile,” he said.
    â€œI’m taking Mahatma for a walk.”
    â€œWhat has your mother got to say about me?”
    â€œNothing,” I said.
    â€œI bet,” he said.
    After I zipped up, I got a look at dad naked. I hadn’t seen him without clothes since summer. He was getting a paunch. Flab under his arms, too. I was surprised. I couldn’t imagine that he didn’t still work out at the Y. Then wasn’t the time to ask him.
    I took a flashlight and walked down to the Daniels’ with Mahatma.
    Their mailbox was all the way up on their porch. The front hall window had the flag with two blue stars on it, one for Dean and one for Danny. I stuck the article inside and sneaked a look through the living-room curtains. Mrs. Daniel was playing the piano, and Daria was standing facing her, singing. I couldn’t make out the song.
    â€œShe’s got an instrument,” I told Mahatma as we headed back down the street.
    Later that night she called me. She told me, “What I said doesn’t mean we can’t be together, Quinn.”
    â€œDid you hear what you just called me?” I asked her.
    â€œI did it on purpose.”
    â€œI don’t believe you, Daria.”
    â€œWhy? Can’t you believe I’d miss you?”
    She hung up before I could answer.

THIRTEEN
    O ur first day in New York, Bud invited Tommy and me to lunch: “just us three,” and he gave us subway directions to the lower east side.
    There were some bums sleeping