At five-thirty he had concealed himself behind the door of a tenement across the street from the bridal shop until he had seen the woman who ran the shop leave, and minutes before six he saw Bernardo’s well-stacked chick come out. He had cursed when Anita had returned to knock at the door, which Maria had opened, but Anita had, at last, gone on.

Now, his heart pounding so loud the drumming filled his ears, Tony ran all the way to the back door of the store.

Yes, it was the same girl that had flown with him on the wind the night before, and in silence she offered him her hand he followed her into the shop.

“I thought it would never get to be six.”

“I too was watching the clock,” Maria said. “The minute hand did not move.”

“That’s how it seemed to me too.” He paused to look around the store. “It isn’t so hot in here.”

“That’s what the Señora said. She said it was cooler here than in her flat. I thought she would never go home.”

Tony fingered a scrap of white silk. “But she did. Then I saw that other girl come back.”

“Anita?”

“I guess that’s her name,” he said. “Bernardo’s girl.”

“Yes, Anita. She wanted me to go home with her.” Maria flung her arms wide in imitation of Anita. “You know what she calls the Señora?”

“Old bag?”

“That and something else. A bruja.”

“What’s that?”

Maria giggled. “A witch.”

“That’s not so bad,” Tony said. “But I don’t think there’s a broom strong enough to carry her.”

Maria giggled. “I must tell that to Anita. She wanted me to go home with her so she could give me some”—she thought for a moment—“bubblebath?”

“Today Doc sold a lot of that in the drugstore. I should’ve brought you a present. What kind does Anita use?”

“Black Orchid.”

Tony shook his head because the name did not suit her. “We’ve got better than that in stock,” he said. “Tomorrow I’m gonna bring you some. And some other things too.”

“You mustn’t, Anton.”

“Why not, Maria?”

She turned to study a pattern laid out on the cutting table. “Anita is going home to make herself pretty and exciting.”

“So?”

Maria turned toward him, her mouth turned down at the corners. “For Bernardo, after the rumble. Why do they have to fight, I asked her? And do you know what she said? She said that the boys fight for the excitement which becomes so big that dancing and”—she paused and blushed—“even girls are not enough excitement for the feeling. Anita says that after a fight my brother is so healthy, that she really does not have to use the Black Orchid.” She paused. “Anita knows you are coming here. It was the only way to make her go away.”

“I see,” Tony was solemn. “And what did she say?”

“That you and me—we are both crazy. Out of our heads.”

“Then she doesn’t like my seeing you any more than Bernardo does?”