He shook his head. ‘It wasn’t a wall. It was a plate glass window. I know!’ he shouted. ‘I saw him and I was going to hit him. I saw him standing right there on the street looking at me and I yelled and jumped him and… and…’ He looked down at his scarred hand. He said, amazed, ‘I turned right around and hauled off and hit the window instead. God.’
He sat down weakly. ‘That’s what the jail was for and it was all over. Just lie there in that rotten jail, sick. Don’t eat, don’t move, get sick and sicker and it’s all over.’
‘Well, it isn’t all over, is it?’
He looked at her. ‘No. No, it isn’t. Thanks to you.’ He looked at her eyes, her mouth. ‘What about you, Janie? What are you after, anyway?’
She dropped her eyes.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That must’ve sounded…’ He put out a hand to her, dropped it without touching her. ‘I don’t know what’s gotten into me today. It’s just that… I don’t figure you, Janie. What did I ever do for you?’
She smiled quickly. ‘Got better.’
‘It’s not enough,’ he said devoutly. ‘Where do you live?’
She pointed. ‘Right across the hall.’
‘Oh,’ he said. He remembered the night he had cried, and pushed the picture away in embarrassment. He turned away, hunting for a change of subject, any change. ‘Let’s go out.’