From across the street Carlson appeared dragging out his hose. Mr Newman turned away. The skinny man playfully called across,’ Better get that water going!’

‘Just resting,’ Newman smiled back, and he looked down at his shoes.

Deep in his chair he sat wishing for darkness to come. Then in the dark he could make some sort of plan. It was twenty-five years since he had looked for a job. He must have one right away. Then he would stand out front watering the lawn with his glasses on. Tomorrow he would leave early, make his train, get out … where?

Where?

Consciously he crossed his hardening legs, leaned back further, and tried to relax.

A screen door slammed up the block, and he turned to look. On the porch of the house adjoining the candy store a man appeared. Mr Newman leaned forward to see better. Glancing around he put his glasses on. A new man on the block. A long beard, a gray beard. Good God, was that a black skull cap on his head? A black skull cap and a beard!

The old man was sitting down. He opened a newspaper. Out of his beard stuck a long cigarette holder which he held between forefinger and thumb.

Mr Newman sat gaping at the man. Probably Mrs Finkelstein’s father. He vaguely remembered hearing that Finkelstein’s father was dead. This must be what Fred had been talking about. A man with a long gray beard and a skull cap and a cigarette holder …

He took his eyes from the man and scanned the whole street. A deep awareness of change pressed upon him. The Blighs had stopped talking and were sitting motionless, staring across at the old man. The orphan boy was whispering into Mr Kennedy’s ear while they watched the stranger. Across the street Carlson stood frowning with his hose in his hand. Newman’s eyes moved from porch to porch. All the faces were turned the same way. Only the hissing of the hoses sounded on the street. He reached up and with a flowing motion slipped off his glasses and with wide, watchful eyes stuck them in his shirt pocket.

An exciting beat agitated his stomach. He got up from the beach chair and went down his stoop, crossed the little lawn and quietly walked down the sloping ramp to the garage doors, which he unlocked. Inside he found the coiled hose and pulled it up the ramp, unrolling it. He went back into the garage and turned on the water and hurried out to the grass and picked up the nozzle. The water spurted and spat and then came in a steady stream. He raised his head and looked toward the corner porch. Movement had begun again on the street. But it seemed quieter now. The conversations on the porches did not erupt into laughter or the raising of a voice in free argument. A stranger was present. Newman turned his head and glanced across the street at Carlson who still had not moved. He kept watching the bank man’s long figure, his bony hands and white hair, and trembling, his fingers reached into his shirt pocket and drew out the glasses. He put them on. Now Carlson took a breath and turned and saw him. In the bank man’s gaunt face the lips tightened and he seemed to be appealing to Newman for the answer to an alarming riddle.