Streets of Night

by John Dos Passos

"The evening star's red tonight," said Nan from the window. "Is it on account of the mist, or is it Mars, I wonder?"

"We could look it up in the almanac," said Fanshaw vaguely.

Wenny stood for a moment in the window beside Nan. His blood throbbed with other remembered stars, blooming green in the amethyst sky above the Fenway, gulped suddenly by the stupid cubes of the further apartment houses. The green of them somehow shone in the lamps down brick streets where he and Nan had gone arm in arm in a forgotten dream of walking with her through a port town and seeing at the end of the street masts and tackle and bellying sails and white steam puffs from the sirens of steamers, and going off together alone some sunset. She's in love with me. If I had the courage....

"Well, I must be off to the Hargroves' for dinner," said Fanshaw cheerfully. "O it is a relief to know you are all right, Wenny. We were worried sick about you."

"I'm tired. I must go home," said Wenny firmly and turned away from Nan.

He went away without looking at her again.

* * * *

My dear son:

It has pleased me more than I can say to hear of your sensible and manly course in taking a job. I am sure that earning your own living you will find inspiring and helpful, and that you will come to regret your past callousness and restlessness. Indeed, this great trial may be a disguised blessing. We all have to learn by experience. I myself went through moments in my youth inexpressibly painful for me to recall, bitter moments of profligacy and despair, and that I came through them with my soul alive was only by the merciful Help of the Allknowing and Allforgiving Creator in Whom I have never lost faith, nay not for one instant.

You, my dear boy, I trust and pray will follow the same course. I cannot but think that had I not let my poor sister Elizabeth take you from us, from your real Christian home, your battle might have been less hard.

Your mother joins me in love and in the earnest hope that you will come back to us.

Your loving father,

JONAS E. WENDELL.

Wenny folded the letter and put it back in his pocket. This was the third time he had read it. He gulped the rest of his coffee and left the lunchroom full of hurried breakfasters. Outside the east wind stung his face, made his eyes water.

Then it was March. Now it's April. Last time I told myself I'd kill myself if I stuck it another month. In September that was and in February and now it's April. The music of the spheres makes the months revolve... Think you fool, think. Bitter moments of profligacy and despair. That's me all right, except he got the profligacy and I get the despair. Go whoring and repent and yours is the kingdom of God. A fine system all right but he repented so damn hard he spoiled my chances. Like being a eunuch, funny that, a generation of eunuchs. Your sensible and manly course in taking a job wasting breath coaching Mr. Lelan's dubs, accounted quite a genius at it too. Inspiring and helpful. God! Poor Auntie's education. That's what it's done to me; and next winter teaching, helping to inoculate other poor devils with the same dry rot.