“Aw, come on,” the other said, “let’s leave the smoochers alone!”
They ambled off, looking back every few steps to laugh, to whistle, until they were out of sight.
“Thank heaven, they’re gone,” Judy whispered. “I was frightened.”
“The movies must be over,” Karl said absently, as he sat down and put his arm protectingly around Judy. “Last year, I went with Uncle Yahn to Hanover, to help him on some business matter. Late in the afternoon we went to a movie. The place was crowded with college students. At every love scene there were catcalls—they pelted the screen with peanuts. I couldn’t understand why they did it.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Nor do I understand them,” and he motioned to the two figures disappearing down the street.
“Don’t think about them,” Judy whispered. She wanted to hear again the words so lovingly spoken, words so full of promise for their future. But the tender mood was gone. Karl stood up.
“Come, Judy, it’s time for us to go.”
They walked back slowly, their bodies pressed close, wishing they could walk on and on. They forgot the inevitable separation, the drive and ambition of the most devoted of mothers. A sweetness enveloped them, a confidence in their future they could neither understand nor explain.
Karl stood before Judy’s home as if he couldn’t bear to break away. “I’ll telephone to you as soon as I return to New York.”
“Mother and I will be staying at my grandparents’ for a week, maybe two. I gave you their address and telephone number, didn’t I?”
“Yes.” He stood there awkwardly. “Good-bye, Judy. Say good-bye to your mother for me. I’ll see your father every day, I guess. Good-bye again—” He bent down and kissed her on the mouth, holding her tight. Without another word he rushed down the path.