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restlessness could be felt。 There was a fervid outbreak of new
beliefs。 A young man who had worked at the dye vats in a mill
claimed suddenly that a great holy power had come in him。 He
said it was his duty to deliver a new set of commandments
from the Lord； The young man set up a tabernacle and
hundreds of people came each night to roll on the ground and
shake each other； for they believed that they were in the
presence of something more than human。 There was murder；
too。 A woman who could
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not make enough to eat believed that a foreman had cheated
on her work tokens and she stabbed him in the throat。 A
family of Negroes moved into the end house on one of the
most dismal streets； and this caused so much indignation that
the house was burned and the black man beaten by his
neighbors。 But these were incidents。 Nothing had really
changed。 The strike that was talked about never came off
because they could not get together。 All was the same as
before。 Even on the coldest nights the Sunny Dixie Show was
open。 The people dreamed and fought and slept as much as
ever。 And by habit they shortened their thoughts so that they
would not wander out into the darkness beyond tomorrow。
Singer walked through the scattered odorous parts of town
where the Negroes crowded together。 There was more gaiety
and violence here。 Often the fine； sharp smell of gin lingered
in the alleys。 Warm； sleepy firelight colored the windows。
Meetings were held in the churches almost every night。
Comfortable little houses set off in plots of brown grass—
Singer walked in these parts also。 Here the children were
huskier and more friendly to strangers。 He roamed through the
neighborhoods of the rich。 There were houses； very grand and
old； with white columns and intricate fences of wrought iron。
He walked past the big brick houses where automobiles
honked in the driveways and where the plumes of smoke
rolled lavishly from chimneys。 And out to the very edges of
the roads that led from the town to general stores where
fanners came on Saturday nights and sat around the stove。 He
wandered often about the four main business blocks that were
brightly lighted and then through the black； deserted alleys
behind。 There was no part of the town that Singer did not
know。 He watched the yellow squares of light reflect from a
thousand windows。 The winter nights were beautiful。 The sky
was a cold azure and the stars were very bright
Often it happened now that he would be spoken to and
stopped during these walks。 All kinds of people became
acquainted with him。 If the person who spoke to him was a
stranger； Singer presented his card so that his silence would be
understood。 He came to be known through all the town。 He
walked with his shoulders very straight and kept his hands
always stuffed down into his pockets。 His170
gray eyes seemed to take in everything around him； and in his
face there was still the look of peace that is seen most often in
those who are very wise or very sorrowful。 He was always
glad to stop with anyone wishing his company。 For after all he
was only walking and going nowhere。
Now it came about that various rumors started in the town
concerning the mute。 In the years before with An…tonapoulos
they had walked back and forth to work； but except for this
they were always alone together in their rooms。 No one had
bothered about them then—and if they were observed it was
the big Greek on whom attention was focused。 The Singer of
those years was forgotten。
So the rumors about the mute were rich and varied。 The Jews
said that he was a Jew。 The merchants along the main street
claimed he received a large legacy and was a very rich man。 It
was whispered in one browbeaten textile union that the mute
was an organizer for the C。I。O。 A lone Turk who had roamed
into the town years ago and who languished with his family
behind the little store where they sold linens claimed
passionately to his wife that the mute was Turkish。 He said
that when he spoke his language the mute understood。 And as
he claimed this his voice grew warm and he forgot to squabble
with his children and he was full of plans and activity。 One
old man from the country said that the mute had come from
somewhere near his home and that the mute's father had the
finest tobacco crop in all the country。 All these things were
said about him。
Antonapoulos！ Within Singer there was always the memory of
his friend。 At night when he closed his eyes the Greek's face
was there in the darkness—round and oily； with a wise and
gentle smile。 In his dreams they were always together。
It was more than a year now since his friend had gone away。
This year seemed neither long nor short。 Rather it was
removed from the ordinary sense of time—as when one is
drunk or half…asleep。 Behind each hour there was always his
friend。 And this buried life with Antonapoulos changed and
developed as did the happenings around him。 During the first
few months he had thought most of the terrible weeks before
Antonapoulos was taken away—of the
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trouble that followed his Illness； of the summons for arrest；
and the misery in trying to control the whims of his friend。 He
thought of times in the past when he and Antonapoulos had
been unhappy。 There was one recollection； far in the past； that
came back to him several times。
They never had no friends。 Sometimes they would meet other
mutes—there were three of them with whom they became
acquainted during the ten years。 But something always
happened。 One moved to another state the week after they met
him。 Another was married and had six children and did not
talk with his hands。 But it was their relation with the third of
these acquaintances that Singer remembered when his friend
was gone。
The mute's name was Carl。 He was a sallow young man who
worked in one of the mills。 His eyes were pale yellow and his
teeth so brittle and transparent that they seemed pale and
yellow also。 In his blue…overalls that hung limp over his
skinny little body he was like a blue…and…yellow rag doll。
They invited him to dinner and arranged to meet him
beforehand at the store where Antonapoulos worked。 The
Greek was still busy when they arrived。 He was finishing a
batch of caramel fudge in the cooking room at the back of the
store。 The fudge lay golden and glossy over the long marble…
topped table。 The air was warm and rich with sweet smells。
Antonapoulos seemed pleased to have Carl watch him as he
glided the knife down the warm candy and cut it into squares。
He offered their new friend a corner of the fudge on the edge
of his greased knife； and showed him the trick that he always
performed for anyone when he wished to be liked。 He pointed
to a vat of syrup boiling on the stove and fanned his face and
squinted his eyes to show how hot it was。 Then he wet his
hand in a pot of cold water； plunged it into the boiling syrup；
and swiftly put it back into the water again。 His eyes bulged
and he rolled out his tongue as though he were in great agony。
He even wrung his hand and hopped on one foot so that the
building shook。 Then he smiled suddenly and held out his
hand to show that it was a joke and hit Carl on the shoulder。
It was a pale winter evening； and their breath clouded in the
cold air as they walked with their arms interlocked down the
street Singer was in the middle and he left them172
173
on the sidewalk twice while he went into stores to shop。 Carl
and Antonapoulos carried the sacks of groceries； and Singer
held to their arms tightly and smiled all the way home。 Their
rooms were cozy and he moved happily about。 making
conversation with Carl。 After the meal the two of them talked
while Antonapoulous watched with a slow smile。 Often the
big Greek would lumber to the closet and pour out drinks of
gin。 Carl sat by the window； only drinking when
Antonapoulos pushed the glass into his face； and then taking
solemn little sips。 Singer could not ever remember his friend
so cordial to a stranger before； and he thought ahead with
pleasure to the time when Carl would visit them often。
Midnight had passed when the thing happened that ruined the
festive party。 Antonapoulos returned from one of his trips to
the closet and his face had a glowering look。 He sat on his bed
and began to stare repeatedly at their new friend with
expressions of offense and great disgust。 Singer tried to make
eager conversation to hide this stranee behavior； but the Greek
was persistent。 Carl huddled in a chair； nursing his bony
knees； fascinated and bewildered by the grimaces of the big
Greek。 His face was flushed and he swallowed timidly。 Singer
could ignore the situation no longer； so at last he asked
Antonapoulos if his stomach pained him or if he perhaps felt
bad and wished to go to sleep。 Antonapoulos shook his head。
He pointed to Carl and began to make all the gestures of
obscenity which he knew。 The disgust on his face was terrible
to see。 Carl was small with fear。 At last the big Greek ground
his teeth and rose from his cha