The coffee boiled and he poured himself a cup, winced as the hot black liquid seared his mouth. But it made him feel good inside and he kept drinking it down and poured a second cup. Now he was feeling a lot better and the thick metallic weight in his head was going away. As he started the third cup, he heard her moving around in the bedroom. Then he heard the bathroom door closing and the sound of a faucet running.

  It was a good sound. It was a strong, positive sound, the noise of a bathtub faucet, and she probably did that every morning. It was nice to know that she bathed every day. Most of them here along the water front used cheap cologne and put various creams in their armpits but they seldom bathed.

  He lit another cigarette and had more coffee. He sat there listening to the mingled sounds of the storm outside and the splashing in the bathroom. Within him there was a certain sense of pleasant expectancy that had nothing to do with the senses, a gently sheltered and completely relaxed feeling. It was just nice to be here. And the coffee and tobacco tasted fine.

  Then he heard the bathroom door opening and her footsteps moving toward the kitchen. He smiled a good-morning smile at her as she entered the kitchen. Her hair was brushed and she wore a clean dress, a pale-yellow cotton of simple design.

  She returned his smile and said, “How do you feel?”

  He nodded. “Recovering.”

  “I took a cold bath. It always does something for me.” She moved toward the stove and poured herself a cup of coffee and brought it to the table. She lifted the cup, frowned at it, put it down and looked at Cassidy. She said, “Where did you sleep?”

  “On the floor.” He said it with emphasis. He wanted to be sure she didn't get the wrong idea.

  But then he realized she hadn't been thinking of that, because the concern in her eyes was only for his comfort. She said, “You must be stiff as a board. I guess you didn't get much sleep.”

  “I was out like a light.”

  The concern remained in her eyes. “You sure you feel all right now?”

  “I'm doing fine.”

  She turned her attention to the coffee. After a few sips, she said, “Would you like a drink?”

  “Hell, no,” Cassidy said. “Don't even mention the word.”

  “Would you mind if I had one?”

  He was about to say he didn't mind, of course he didn't mind, and why should he mind? But his lips were somewhat stiff, and his eyes were solemn, kind of paternal. And he said, “Do you really need it?”

  “Badly.”

  He smiled with tender pleading. “Try to get past it.”

  “I can't. I really can't get past it. I need it to pick me up.”

  He inclined his head, studying her. “How long have you been on it this time?”

  “I don't know,” she said. “I never count the days.”

  “You mean the weeks,” Cassidy said. He sighed wearily. “All right, go ahead. If I tied you up with rope, I couldn't stop you.”

  She leaned back a little and regarded him with a childlike seriousness. “Why should you want to stop me?”

  He opened his mouth to reply and discovered he had no adequate answer. He looked at the floor. He heard her rising from the table and going into the bedroom. Thinking about what was taking place in the bedroom, he visualized her deliberate approach to the bottle, the terrible calm and quiet as she lifted the bottle, the dreadful companionship between the bottle and herself. He could see the bottle rising to her lips, and then her lips meeting the lips of the bottle, as though the bottle were something alive, making love to her.

  A shudder streaked through Cassidy, and in the deep ridges of his mind he saw the bottle as a loathsome, grotesque creature that had lured Doris and captured her and pleasured itself with her, draining the sweet life from her body as it poured its rottenness into her. He saw the bottle as something poisonous and altogether hateful, and Doris completely helpless in its grasp.

  Then his mind was dizzy and his eyes were blank as he rose slowly from the table, and for a moment he just stood there, not at all sure of what he meant to do. But as he started toward the bedroom there was a grimness in his stride, and as he entered the bedroom the grimness increased, and he moved toward Doris, who stood facing the window, her head tilted back, the bottle at her lips.

  Cassidy snatched at the bottle, caught hold of it and held it high above his head, and then, with all the power in his arm, he heaved it to the floor. It cracked and burst and the glass and whisky made a silver-amber spray.

  It was quiet and he was looking at her and she was looking at the broken glass on the floor. The quiet lasted for the better part of a minute.

  Finally she looked at Cassidy and said, “I can't understand why you did that.”

  “To help you.”

  “Why should you want to help me?”

  He moved toward the window and gazed out at the blinding rain. “I don't know. I'm trying to figure it out.”

  He heard her saying, “You can't help me. There isn't anything you can do.”

  The rain slashed against the window. It glimmered and whirled going down along a tenement wall across the alley. Cassidy wanted to speak but he had no specific idea to express. He wondered vaguely if it would rain all day.

  He heard Doris saying, “Nothing you can do. Nothing at all.”

  Cassidy stared through the window and through a gap in the tenement walls across the alley. The gap extended toward Dock Street and beyond the street and he saw the rain-blackened sky above the river.

  And he heard her saying, “Three years. I've been on it three years. In Nebraska I was married and I had children. We had a little farm. A few acres. I didn't like the farm. I cared for him with all my heart but I hated the farm. At night I couldn't sleep and I would read a lot and smoke in bed. He said it was dangerous to smoke in bed.”

  Cassidy turned very slowly. He saw she was alone with herself now, talking aloud to herself.

  She said, “Maybe I did it purposely. I don't know. If God in heaven would only tell me I didn't do it purposely—” She lifted her fingers to her lips, as though she was trying to close her lips, trying to stop the words from coming out. But her lips moved. “—not to know whether I did it purposely. Not to know. Only know how much I hated the farm. I'd never lived on a farm. I couldn't get used to it. And that night when I smoked in bed and fell asleep. And when I woke up a man was carrying me. I saw all the people. I saw the house on fire. I looked for my husband and children but I couldn't see them. How could I see them when they were in the house? All I could see was the house burning down.”

  Then her eyes were closed and he knew she was seeing it again.

  And she said, “They were very nice to me. My family and all my friends. But that didn't help. That made it worse. One night I cut my wrists. Another time I tried to jump out of a hospital window. And after that happened they gave me a drink. It was the first time I'd ever tasted liquor. It tasted good. Had a burning taste. Burning.”

  She sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor.

  Cassidy began to walk back and forth. He had his hands behind his back and he was twisting and squeezing his fingers.

  He was thinking about all of them. All the victims of the drink habit. The extent to which they drank and their reasons for the drinking. Then he looked at Doris. And all the others were gone from his mind. He saw the pure and kind and delicate sweetness of Doris, the innocence of Doris, the soft and mild, yet somehow powerful, glow of goodness that she radiated. He felt the kind of pain that one feels when seeing a crippled child. And all at once he felt an enormous desire to help Doris.

  And yet he didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to begin. He saw her sitting there on the edge of the bed, her tiny white hands resting limply in her lap, her shoulders drooped in the attitude of someone lost in a labyrinth.

  He spoke her name and she raised her head and gazed at him. There was a plaintive pleading in her eyes. For a split instant he was aware that she was pleading for another bottle. But he didn't want to know that. He didn't want to think about it.

  He stayed with it only long enough to mutter, “You don't need it.”

  And as he said that, he knew what she needed. What he himself had needed and found in the soft-glowing purity of her presence. He moved toward her. His smile was tender. He took her hand, and there was nothing physical in the contact. It was like a gentle murmur as he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers. She was staring at him with a sort of passive waiting, but her eyes gradually widened in wonderment as he put his arms around her.

  “You're good, Doris,” he said. “You're so good.”

  She stared very widely and at first there was only the astonishment of discovering she was in his arms. But then she felt the warm comfort of his chest, the assurance of his nearness, the pure tenderness she could see in his eyes and feel in his touch. And there was a sense of resting, of being pillowed and sheltered and sweetly, softly protected. Without speaking, just by looking at him, she was able to communicate her feeling to Cassidy and he smiled at her and held her more closely.

  Then he raised her head slightly and lowered his head and saw her pale gold hair drifting past, her gray eyes slowly closing in the placid happiness of knowing the truth and kindness of this moment. Knowing the meaning of the moment. As his lips came nearer. As his lips came softly nearer and then were soft upon her lips and remained there as her arms encircled his wide shoulders, her palms pressing against the thick power of his shoulder muscles.

  It seemed that without moving they were floating backward and onto the bed so that they were prone on the bed, their lips still softly locked, their flesh warming with the soft warmth of allowing it to happen as it was happening.

  And warmer. And still warmer. The good warmth. A cherished warmth, Cassidy told himself. Because it was right. Because it had nothing to do with lust. It was desire, but mostly of the spirit, and the bodily feeling was only what the spirit felt.

  It was physical because it was expressed in physical terms. But the tenderness was far greater than the passion. She bit her lips with embarrassment and mutely tried to tell him she was ashamed of her nakedness, and he leaned down and kissed her shame away. She moved her mouth against his mouth, as though silently saying, I'm grateful, I'm grateful, and now I'm not ashamed, I'm only glad, just glad, and let it happen.

  He raised his head and looked at her and saw the tiny breasts, the fragility of her limbs, the baby-like smoothness of her skin. It was all soft and pale and delicate, like a blending of pale flower petals. The curves of her body were mild, scarcely apparent, just barely suggested, and she was so thin, so pitifully thin. And yet, that in itself was a stimulus for his need to caress her, to give her something of his strength.

  Then, as he put his hand on her breast, he knew the yearning was very great and it was her way of telling him to please let it happen now. He knew he was ready for it to happen, he was intensely glad it was going to happen. And now as it began to happen it was with a soft, very soft, almost gentle pressure. Because she was dainty and he mustn't hurt her. Not the slightest hurt or discomfort, not the slightest suggestion of conquest. Because it was entirely aside from conquest. It was giving, the wondrous untainted giving, and now as she received it she sighed. She sighed again. And again, and again, and again.

  He heard the sigh. That was all he heard. Beyond the wall of the room the storm stampeded upon the streets of the water front, and the raging sound of it came lunging at Cassidy's ears. But all he heard was the gentle sighing of Doris.

  Late in the afternoon the rainstorm reached an intensity that blackened the sky and caused the city to cringe under the booming downpour. Along the water front the ships seemed to press themselves against the docks, as though trying to seek cover. Through the window looking out upon the tenement alley, Cassidy could see only the dark, shimmering blur of the neighboring walls. He smiled at the rain and told it to go on raining. He was content to lie here on the bed and watch the rain coming down, liking the angry sound of it, sort of a frustrated sound because it couldn't get anywhere near him.

  Doris was in the kitchen. She had suggested that they have something to eat and she insisted on preparing the dinner herself. She promised Cassidy it would be a very nice dinner.

  Cassidy rolled himself off the bed and went into the bathroom. He looked in the mirror and decided to improve his appearance for the dinner with Doris. In the medicine cabinet he found a small curved razor, designed for women. At first he had some trouble with it, but gradually scraped it against his face until the bristles were gone. Then he filled the bathtub with lukewarm water and lowered himself into it and sat there for a while. He told himself he had been a long time away from anything approaching a home.

  It seemed altogether natural to him that he should use Doris' comb and her bottle of skin freshener to freeze away the razor nicks on his face. It seemed unbelievable that until last night he had never known there was such a person as Doris.

  Then, as he came into the bedroom and started to dress, it occurred to him that he must have known. Somehow he must have known, he must have been waiting for the arrival of Doris in his life. He told himself he had been waiting and hoping, and aching with the hope. And now it had taken place. It was actual. She was right there in the kitchen, fixing him a dinner.

  He heard Doris calling that dinner was ready, and he went into the kitchen and saw the table neatly arranged, and smelled the nice smell of a really good dinner. There was a chicken stew and she had made biscuits and opened a jar of olives. She stood there at the stove, smiling meekly and saying, “I hope it tastes good.”

  Cassidy moved toward her. He put his arms around her and said, “You knew I was hungry and you came in here and fixed a dinner for me.”

  She didn't know how to respond. She shrugged uncertainly and said, “Well, sure, Jim. Why not?”

  “You know what that means to me?”

  Doris lowered her head bashfully.

  He put his hand under her chin and gently lifted her head. He said, “It means a hell of a lot. It means more than I can tell you.”

  She brought her fingertips to his shoulders. She looked up at him and her eyes were large with wonder. Her lips barely moved as she said, “Listen to it raining.”

  “Doris—”

  “Listen,” she said. “Listen to the rain.”

  “I want you, Doris.”

  “Me?” She said it mechanically.

  “I want you,” he said. “I want to be with you. Here. I want it to go on like this. You and me.”

  “Jim,” she murmured, and she looked at the floor. “What can I say?”

  “Say it's all right.”

  She went on looking at the floor. “Sure it's all right. It's— it's dandy.”

  “But it isn't dandy, is it? You think it's all wrong.”

  She raised her hand to the side of her head, pressed her fingers against her temple. “Please, Jim. Please bear with me. I'm trying to think.”

  “About what? What's bothering you?”

  She started to turn away. He pulled her back and she said, “It isn't fair. You have a wife.”

  He held onto her arms. “Listen, Doris. Just look at me and listen and let me tell you something. I ain't been living with a wife. Married to her, sure, but she ain't a wife. I'll tell you what she is. She's a tramp. A no-good tramp. And I'm finished with her. You hear? I'm finished, I'll never go back. I want to stay here with you.”

  Doris leaned her head against his chest. She didn't say anything.

  “From now on,” Cassidy said, “you're my woman.”

  “Yes,” she breathed. “I'm your woman.”

  “That's right,” he told her. “That's settled. Now let's sit down and have ourselves a meal.”

  5

  During the night an abrupt shifting of the wind sent the storm clouds away from the city, and in the morning the streets were dry. Cassidy was due at the depot at nine, and as he ate a quick breakfast of coffee and toast he complained to Doris about the way the company treated its drivers, forcing them to come in two hours before the first run. He said the company had one hell of a crust, expecting the drivers to make mechanical repairs on the busses and clean the depot and do all sorts of odd jobs that had nothing to do with driving a bus. But his complaint wasn't serious. It was typical Monday-morning griping. After he had said it, and Doris had nodded in agreement with his point of view, he completely forgot about it, and he was ready to start off for a day's work.

  At the door, just before he left, he asked her what her plans were for the day. She groped for an adequate answer, and he said he didn't care what she did as long as she stayed away from the bottle and away from Lundy's Place. She promised to follow his orders. She said it might be worth while for her to take a walk on Market Street, and perhaps she might land a job behind the counter in one of the department stores. Cassidy told her not to worry about getting a job. He said that from here on she wouldn't have to worry about anything. He kissed her, and as he backed away from the door, he blew her a kiss.

  On his way to the trolley line on Arch Street, he passed the ship chandlery where Shealy worked. He caught a glimpse of the white hair through the plate-glass window, and decided to go in and say good morning to Shealy. For some unknown reason he was anxious to have a chat with Shealy, although he was nowhere near an idea as to what the topic would be.

  Shealy was busy with a new stock of seamen's sweaters and working pants. He was up on a ladder, arranging the merchandise on a top shelf. As the sound of Cassidy's voice he started down immediately, without looking at Cassidy. He came out from behind the counter and worriedly put his hands on Cassidy's shoulders.