The old watchman's imprecations followed her.

Alone at the top of the stairs, in the silence, in the dark, she was filled with fears. What was the old man doing there at the trap door? Had he hurt Rango? Was Rango in the room? The old watchman had been told he could no longer stay on the barge. Perhaps he had avenged himself. If Rango were hurt, she would die of sorrow.

Perhaps Rango had come by way of the other bridge.

It was one o'clock. She would throw another stone on the roof and see if he responded.

As she picked up the stone, Rango arrived.

Returning to the barge together, they found the old watchman still there, muttering to himself.

Rango was quick to anger and violence. He said: "You've been told to move out. You can leave immediately."

The old watchman locked himself in his cabin and continued to hurl insults.

"I won't leave for eight days," he shouted. "I was captain once, and I can be a captain any time I choose again. No black man is going to get me out of here. I have a right to be here."

Rango wanted to throw him out, but Djuna held him back.

"He's drunk. He'll be quiet tomorrow."

All night the watchman danced, spat, snored, cursed, and threatened. He drummed on his tin plate.

Rango's anger grew, and Djuna remembered other people saying: "The old man is stronger than he looks. I've seen him knock down a man like nothing." She knew Rango was stronger, but she feared the old man's treachery. A stab in the back, an investigation, a scandal. Above all, Rango might be hurt.

"Leave the barge and let me attend to him," said Rango. Djuna dissuaded him, calmed his anger, and they fell asleep at dawn.

When they came out at noon, the old watchman was already on the quays, drinking red wine with the hobos, spitting into the river as they passed, with ostentatious disdain.

The bed was low on the floor; the tarred beams creaked over their heads. The stove was snoring heat, the river water patted the barge's sides, and the street lamps from the bridge threw a faint yellow light into the room.

When Rango began to take Djuna's shoes off, to warm her feet in his hands, the old man of the river began to shout and sing, throwing his cooking pans against the wall:

Nanette gives freely

what others charge for.

Nanette is generous,

Nanette gives love

Under a red lantern

Rango leaped up, furious, eyes and hair wild, big body tense, and rushed to the old man's cabin. He knocked on the door. The song stopped for an instant, and was resumed:

Nanette wore a ribbon

In her black hair.

Nanette never counted

All she gave...

Then he drummed on his tin plate and was silent.

"Open the door!" shouted Rango.

Silence.