He said hurriedly: “Don’t get mad. I don’t want it that way, see?”
She came and put her arms on the top of the bed rail. Her heavy breasts swung away from her olive-skinned body. “What way do you want it, John?” she said. She looked like the great grandmother of all the whores in Cuba.
“Can’t a guy feel lonely and talk to a dame?” he said, not looking at her. If she knew he was scared she would play hell with him.
Therese said, “You came here to talk?”
“Sure, can’t a guy pay you to talk to him?”
This got Therese. She ran her fingers through her thick, black hair. “I guess you’re screwy,” she said at last. “We ain’t got anythin’ to talk to each other about. You better get outta here.”
The boy slid off the bed and wandered to the window again. Maybe the soldiers had gone. He lifted the curtain a trifle and peered into the street. The shadowy silhouettes were still there. He straightened and backed away from the window. Therese watched him curiously. “What’s wrong?” she said. “Why do you keep lookin’ out of the window?”
The boy stood by the table. The ray of the lamp lit his white, pinched face. Therese could see a faint tick in his cheek.
She suddenly felt compassion for him. He looked so lonely and frigid.
“Aw, come on,” she said, “you’re just a kid. I’ll show you a good time.”