Only on the ladder could he accomplish his end. Sitting on the porch he would have to face Fred and Carlson directly when they returned from Paradise Gardens. In the back yard he might seem to be hiding from their view, while way up here he could be seen but at the same time be facing away from the street, so that if they chose to say hello to him they could, and if not they could ignore him again and he could pretend that he did not even notice their return.

Very slowly he spread the green paint, rested for long protracted moments, and then worked for just a little while and stopped again to listen for Fred’s car. The heat pouring out of the bricks threatened to sicken him, but he would not come down. He must know.

The horror of a nightmare, the ruthless but undefined force of an hallucination was upon him and he was striving to break out of it and understand what was happening to him. Brushing the paint in carefully, he strove to recall what had brought him to this.

Looking back over the past job-seeking days he could not clearly remember whether something had happened on Wednesday, Friday, or Monday. The days had passed, their shapes and colors were now merged in a single gray.

Only Friday was clear. A terrible thing had happened on Friday.

Leaving a building the first inkling of the terror came with the wind. Although it was still midsummer the weather for a moment suddenly seemed to have turned to fall. He imagined snow falling soon. The change in the air brought the fear that he might actually go through the whole summer without a job. In winter one could not pretend to oneself a sort of vacation. On cold days a man did not wander through the streets like this.

As though to escape the vision he turned into a cafeteria and took a piece of cake, a cup of coffee, and a glass of water, and sat at a table. Chewing the pasty cake he reached for the glass of water. The back of his hand clipped it and it fell off the table.

After a single glance he pulled out his clean handkerchief and smiling politely, offered it to the matronly woman next to him, whose stocking was drenched. Her eyes rose to his – two eyes turning to metal an instant after she saw. His apology froze in his throat before the curse that curled on her lips. As though a sudden icy wind were rushing at him from her he felt he would have to shout through to reach the human being behind her button eyes. He turned back to eating and left the glass oh the floor, and her to her mumbling.

Rising to go he saw the young man at another table who had been watching him but whose gaze he had dared not meet until he was ready to leave. The same lordly sheen was glassing the young man’s eyes and Newman, as though on business, hurried out, his heart pounding.