“Ain’t coming to eat?” His mother again, in the doorway.
“I don’t want to eat. I’m tired.” But he went. He sat down at the table. “I’m tired....”
“Ha! You make me giggle.” Reba. “What should I say then? You tired? My Gawd, you don’t have to stand at the machine all day long, punching them buttons till you think your arm was gonna break off.”
“Now you let ’im alone.” The mother had come to his defence. Always she came to his defence. “Studying ain’t so easy.”
“It ain’t? Wisht to Gawd you would ’ave let me study. How I was begging you to let me go to business school. All the girls I know is stenogs, only I got to work in a factory, because....”
She didn’t say it. But she looked at Emmanuel. The accusation was there. He jumped up. He pushed away his plate and jumped up.
“What do you want of me? Did I stop you from school? Am I making you go to work?” Still, he couldn’t shake off her eyes. They were telling the truth. His mouth twitched, he lowered his voice: “I guess you’re right. If it wasn’t for me you’d.... I’m sorry, Reba!”
She softened, too. She rose and put a hand on his sleeve. She smiled; underneath the thick paint on her face there was something kindly.
“Oh, what’s the matter with you, Manny? I was only kiddin’. Can’t you take a joke?”
Yes, they were all working for him! His father, getting rheumatism in that basement shop of his, haggling, cheating customers out of an extra potato, cheating for the sake of an added cent.... That mother of his, over there. She worked, too. Embroidered with her always diseased eyes. Reba....