A telephone rang suddenly in the night. Across the yard a toilet flushed with a throaty gargle and rumbling of old pipes, a cat mewed on a back fence, a tug barge hooted mournfully from the river, a baby wailed and would not be pacified.

Tony withdrew some small coins from his pocket, prayed quickly, and threw a coin at the window. He heard the musical ping of metal against glass, then strained to hear if anyone stirred within the darkness of the room.

“Maria,” he whispered. “Maria…”

He had to blink to believe his eyes, for there was a white figure in the window, and the figure was opening the window wider. He saw that it was Maria and took the six steps—three at a time—about to call her name, but paused because she had a finger to her lips. “Ssh,” she whispered. “Quick, tell me your name.”

“It’s Tony.” He knelt at the sill. “Anton Wyzek. It’s Polish.”

“It’s a nice name,” she whispered again. “Now you must go.”

“Go? I just got here. Look, let’s go somewhere where we can talk.” He saw that she still wore the white dress but her hair was loose to frame her face in lovely waves. “We just gotta talk.”

Maria shook her head. “You must go away.”

“Do you want me to go away?”

She sat on the sill, tense and silent. “You must be very quiet.”

He reached out to take her hand and place it on his heart. “What do I do about this?”

“Let it beat,” she said. Suddenly she turned and looked toward the interior of the flat. “You must go. If Bernardo…”

“He’s at the dance,” Tony said, and felt guilty because he knew differently.

Maria nodded. “Soon he will have to bring Anita home.”

“Does he feel about Anita like I feel about you?” he asked boldly.

“I think so,” she said.

“Then he won’t be coming home.” Tony was proud of his logic. “Look, let’s go up on the roof, just for a little while. To talk,” he added, “just to talk, I swear.”

“I believe you,” she said to reassure him. “But if Bernardo should come home… Why does he hate you?”

“Because he’s got reason to.” Once again, as at the dance, he held both her hands. “That’s what I want to talk to you about. Please, it’s important. Unless you want me to go downstairs and come to your front door. I’ll do that if you say so.”

Maria leaned back to look at the skeletal outline of the fire escape and the ladder to the roof. “You’ll hold me?” she asked.

“With my life,” he swore.

Hand in hand they moved quietly up the fire escape. Tony whispered that Maria was not to look down, only up, at the stars, and as she climbed, he was only a half step behind her and both his arms, as they held the sides of the ladder, were a protective semicircle around her.