Down at the corner there was a drug store owned by a man of infinite patience and understanding. No human act was beyond his comprehension or forgiveness, and he was always ready to help in moments of crisis. If a girl needed help, our man at the drug store was there. If she needed work, legitimate or otherwise, he could find the spot for her. If a man needed to make a touch, he could get it without interest. Our druggist was no fence or law breaker—but he was an answering service, a father confessor, and an unlikely guardian angel. I ran to him with my trouble.
He looked at me with his sleepy eyes, and, his soft lips forming quiet assurances, came up with a shovel, an ax, and a pail of hot water.
The problem was where to dig. I went at it blindly, saying to myself: “Shovel. Shovel. Die if you must. But shovel.”
When I had gotten an area of snow removed, I poured water over the ice and went at it with the ax. Finally I struck the top of the box containing the cut-offs and managed to pry open the lid. There were two knobs in the box, and having no idea which one related to my store, I turned them both shut.
After returning the hardware to the drug store, I sloshed back into my inundated establishment and began sweeping the water out with what was left of the broom. Working like a madman, I got most of the water out into the hall, out the door, and over the stairs, where it froze instantaneously. Never mind—tomorrow I will chop the ice away and all will be well.
By this time, my strength was exhausted and the shop was nearly as cold as the outdoors. I felt as though I had survived some kind of monstrous test. I dumped logs on the fire, waited until they were ablaze, then stripped off my wet shoes and socks and wrapped my frozen feet in my coat.
I was sure I had caught pneumonia. I wouldn’t be able to open the store for weeks. The few accounts I had would surely be lost. It was the end of everything. How good it would be if only death would come now, while there was yet a little warmth to taste in a world which certainly wanted nothing of my kind.
Out of my reverie, I heard a bitter cry. It came from outside near my door. I jumped up and looked down the hall. Two men in evening dress were wrestling on the stairs. The screaming and cursing were awful. At last they scrambled up and started toward me.
“You son of a bitch,” one of them cried. “I’ll kill you!” His fall on the stairs had damaged his suit. Bits of ice had collected about his long nose, a few even glistened in his moustache. His hair practically stood on end. Snow and ice covered his jacket and patched his trousers. His black tie was crooked and his dress shirt sodden. The other fellow stared fiercely at me, restraining his partner with one hand, the other balled into a fist, threatening me. “Who put you up to this? Why do you want to ruin our business? You mother-raping bastard, I’ll cut your throat!” He took a step forward. I stepped back.
“Tell us or we’ll kill you here and now.”