“She had no choice. She lived here all her life and she never knew anything better.”
“But she liked it. She was happy here. That’s what you gotta remember.”
“I can only remember one thing: I could have taken her out of this fouled-up rut and I didn’t do it.”
“Quit blaming yourself,” Rita said.
“There’s no one else to blame.”
“Yes, there is. But there’s no way to point at him, you don’t know his name. Maybe you’ll never know. After all, it happened almost a year ago. Best thing for you to do is forget about it.”
He wanted to say something, to disagree with Rita’s viewpoint, but as he searched for a way it was like groping in a dark closet that had no walls. He shook his head slowly, futilely, and finally he murmured, “Good night, Rita,” and walked away.
At the corner of Fourth and Vernon he took out his pocket watch. The hands pointed to twenty past three. He had to be up very early and it hardly paid to go home and get in bed. And now the prospect of a battle with Bella was not at all appetizing. He winced at the thought that she’d still be sitting up, preparing to greet him with a flood of curses. Suddenly he was thinking of the railway ticket office, the bus depot, the freighters docked at the piers. But that had nothing to do with Bella. He just felt like taking off, that was all. He just wanted a long trip that would carry him far away from Vernon Street.
Skip it, he told himself. Think about it later.
He shrugged. But it was more than a casual effort. His shoulders felt strangely heavy. And then, trying to shake off the weighted feeling, he began to walk fast. But suddenly he came to an abrupt halt. He turned his head slowly and looked at the dark alley, where moonlight fell on a broken bottle, a crushed tin can, and the dried bloodstains of his sister.