The street beyond the area lighted by the store was dark. Mr Newman fled into this darkness as into a private room that would enfold him. The eyes of Mr Finkelstein were on his back, hurting him more. If the man would just disappear, just go away … for God’s sake go away and let everybody be the same! The same, the same, let us all be the same! He quietly opened his front door.

The light was on in the kitchen. Mr Newman walked through the living room on tiptoe, with the shreds of his jacket rolled up under his arm, and without drawing the attention of his mother, gained the stairs in the dining room and silently walked up. At the head of the stairway he saw that the light was on in the front bedroom. He hesitated for a moment and walked along the corridor above the stairway and entered the bedroom.

Gertrude looked up from the bed on which she was sprawled with Screenplay magazine in her hand. He laid his bundled jacket on a chair. She kept looking at him.

He sat beside the bed on a little satin-covered stool. Her lips were parted and her eyes did not blink as she decided about him.

‘You’re cut,’ she said, and sat up on the edge of the bed. ‘Where’d you get cut?’

‘I’ll wash in a minute,’ he said.

‘What happened to you? How’d you get cut? You’re all dirty.’

‘I was sitting next to some moron there. He started yelling at me.’

‘Why, what’d you do?’

‘I didn’t do anything. He saw I wasn’t applauding. I never applaud, you know that.’

‘Well, you should have told him,’ she complained.

‘How can you tell him anything, a man like that? They were all excited. You know how they get.’

‘It’s not over yet, is it?’

‘I don’t know.’ He could not believe it: she was angry at him.

‘Didn’t you stay to the end? You should’ve stayed to …’

‘They pushed me out.’

She blinked. An expression grew on her face that he had never seen before. It was pugnacious and cruel and her lips puffed out like swelling bladders. He was so annoyed at her being angry with him that he got up abruptly and started undressing. Her expression did not change as he shed his trousers’ and shoes. Every mass inside his body was floating up against his throat.

‘Well don’t look at me,’ he warned. ‘I just never applaud.’

He got to the bedroom door with only his shorts on.

‘You should have applauded,’ she shouted.

‘Don’t shout, Gertrude,’ he replied, his voice rising.

‘Christ almighty, you act like a …’

‘They’re a bunch of morons!’ He yelled, furiously … she looked so common when she cursed.

His overriding anger turned her away and she lay down on the bed with her back toward him. After a moment he went out of the bedroom and into the bathroom and stood under the shower. The soap burned his cheek, and when he got out he looked into the mirror and saw the cut. It was only as big as a shaving nick, but it was enough to curdle something inside of him and he felt his indignation again. He was not a man who was used to being handled, as some men are.