"Yes, you know, red, green, blue, yellow and all the others...." Eddie's voice trailed off as his excitement faded. The stranger obviously didn't know, or there would have been an immediate response. All that showed on his face was disappointment faintly tinged with curiosity. At least, though, there was no ridicule.
"What was that word again?"
"Color."
"Co-lor ... interesting. Would you tell me about it? Try to describe it."
"It can't be described," Eddie said, almost sharply. Then, relenting, he added, "I've tried before, many times, just after it happened."
"After what happened? I wish you'd tell me. I'd like to know for ... for personal reasons, which I may tell you afterwards. Of course you may have related it so many times that it bores you."
"No, as a matter of fact I haven't. I haven't told the whole story for months, and then only once." Eddie felt hope again. This man, though he didn't know color, obviously knew something. What he knew might help more than the unlikely theories of doctors and psychiatrists.
"It happened a little over six months ago on a rainy spring night," Eddie began. "I tell you all the details, about the rain and all, because who knows what counts and what doesn't?"
"Go on," said the man, "don't leave anything out."
"That night I felt lonely and sort of depressed, and I decided to go to the movies. Nothing much was playing in my neighborhood, so I went to look at the cheap revivals on Forty-second Street. I wandered around for a long time in the rain, getting more and more depressed.