"It seemed to me that he said that if we found some bargains in the city we were not to miss them. He said that we lived at the expense of fools."
My grandfather must have guessed that Mattia was explaining what he had said to me, for with the hand that was not paralyzed, he made a motion as though he were slipping something into his pocket, then he winked his eye.
"Let us go out," I said quickly.
For two or three hours we walked about, not daring to go far for fear we might become lost. Bethnal-Green was even more horrible in the daytime than it had been at night. Mattia and I hardly spoke a word. Now and again he pressed my hand.
When we returned to the house my mother had not left her room. Through the open door I could see that she was leaning her head on the table. Thinking that she was sick I ran to her to kiss her, as I was unable to speak to her. She lifted up her head, which swayed. She looked at me but did not see me. I smelled the odor of gin on her hot breath. I drew back. Her head fell again on her arms resting on the table.
"Gin," said my grandfather, grinning.
I remained motionless. I felt turned to stone. I don't know how long I stood so. Suddenly I turned to Mattia. He was looking at me with eyes full of tears. I signed to him and again we left the house. For a long time we walked about, side by side, holding each other's hands, saying nothing, going straight before us without knowing where we were going.
"Where do you want to go, Remi?" he asked at last, anxiously.
"I don't know. Somewhere so we can talk. I want to speak to you, Mattia. We can't talk in this crowd."
We had by this time come to a much wider street at the end of which was a public garden. We hurried to this spot and sat down on a bench.