Free The Road Through the Wall by Shirley Jackson Page A

had smiled and nodded at the immigration officials forty years before. “You grow up,” he said sleepily.
    â€œWhen I grow up,” George went on, “I’m going to have a tractor.”
    â€œTractor?” the grandfather said.
    â€œI’ll run into the whole world and kill them,” George said. “And Missus Merriam.” He began to sing, monotonously, “Old man Kelly had a pimple on his belly and it tasted like jelly.”
    His grandfather stirred in the sun, and the leaves of the climbing rose rustled gently.
    â€œOld man Kelly,” George said. “How’d you like to run a streetcar, Gramp?”
    His grandfather opened his eyes and smiled.
    â€œBoy,” George said. “Clang, brrrrrrrrrr, clang, clang.” He left his work and moved about the yard, pulling imaginary levers, steering a desperately maneuvering machine, ringing the bell. “Clang, clang,” he shouted. “Clang.”
    With a faint surprise, the old grandfather watched. A leaf of the rose tree touched his cheek, and he reached up and pulled the leaf around to look at it. Scrutinizing it carefully, he called, “George, come, boy, to me.”
    George stopped careening around the trees and came over to his grandfather. “What you want, Gramp?” he said. He kicked at his skate coaster to come over and stand next to his grandfather.
    â€œSee?” the grandfather said, holding the leaf close to George’s face. “See?” He pointed to a tiny spot on the leaf. “Not good,” he said.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    Harriet Merriam and Virginia Donald walked down Cortez Road arm in arm. They were going to the nearest store, three blocks away, where they would each buy a popsicle and then walk home again. They were passing the big apartment house on the corner of the highway and Cortez when a man, hurrying into the building, ran into Virginia and knocked her nickel out of her hand. “Darn it!” Virginia said loudly, and the man, who had said, “Pardon me,” and hurried on, turned and came back to them. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
    â€œI lost my nickel,” Virginia said. She was looking around on the sidewalk and did not see that the man was Chinese, but Harriet saw him and pulled Virginia’s arm. “You can have
my
nickel,” Harriet said. “Come on, Virginia.”
    â€œIt was my fault,” the man said. “Let me make it good.” He took a handful of change out of his pocket, and Virginia said, “No, no, please,” before she looked up and saw him. Then she said, “Of course not,” very coldly, and took Harriet’s arm again.
    The man smiled at them sadly. “I insist on giving you the nickel,” he said. He had selected a nickel from the change in his hand and now he put the rest of the money back in his pocket and held the nickel out to Virginia. “It was my fault, after all,” he said.
    Virginia hesitated. “You can have my nickel,” Harriet said again.
    â€œSuch a charming young lady,” the man said. “And I have troubled you.” He held out the nickel, more urgently. “You would be very unkind to refuse,” he said.
    â€œThank you,” Virginia said. She took the nickel, and the man bowed and said, “Thank
you
. Now I feel less clumsy.”
    Harriet thought that he had forgotten how much of a hurry he was in before; he stood there as though anxious to talk to them, his head on one side and his smile courteous and expectant. He was excellently dressed, as well dressed as Mr. Desmond, and there had been a lot of money in the change he took out of his pocket. Virginia said, feeling the expectancy in his face, “Do you live here?” She waved at the apartment house.
    He turned and looked at the house curiously. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do.”
    â€œI’ve never been inside,” Virginia said.