"Yes! It's the truth! You see, in a criminal trial you learn to look at things from a different perspective. It may be a warped perspective, but it's the nature of the beast. In a case like this one-you're-well, you added up as too too bright, too well educated, bright, too well educated, too removed too removed from the world of a character like Herbert 92X, and therefore-and this is the irony of it-too capable of understanding his problems, and like the French say, 'To understand all is to forgive all.' " from the world of a character like Herbert 92X, and therefore-and this is the irony of it-too capable of understanding his problems, and like the French say, 'To understand all is to forgive all.' "

"Well, actually-"

"I'm not saying that's fair or accurate, but that's the way you learn to look at things in these cases. Not you-but someone like you-can be too sensitive too sensitive."

"But you didn't challenge me. Is that the term?"

"Yeah. No, I didn't. Well, for one thing, I don't think it's right to challenge a juror just because he's-she's intelligent and well educated. I mean, I'm sure you noticed there was n.o.body else from Riverdale on your jury. There wasn't even anybody else from Riverdale on your panel during the voir dire voir dire. Everybody is always moaning over the fact that we don't get more educated jurors in the Bronx, and then when we get one-well, it's almost like wasting a resource or something to challenge one just because you think she might be sensitive sensitive. Besides..." Did he dare try it? He dared dared. "...I just...to be honest about it...I just wanted you on that jury."

He looked as deeply into those big mauve-rainbow eyes as he could and put as honest and open a look on his face as he knew how and lifted his chin, so she could see the fullness of his sternocleidomastoids.

She lowered her eyes and blushed clear through autumn in the Berkshires again. Then she raised her eyes and looked deeply into his.

"I did sort of notice you looking at me a lot."

Me 'n' every other regular in the courtroom!-but it wouldn't do to let her know about that.

"You did? I was hoping it wasn't that obvious! G.o.d, I hope other people didn't notice it."

"Hah hah! I think they did. You know the lady who was sitting next to me, the black lady? She was a very nice person. She works for a gynecologist, and she's very sweet, very intelligent. I asked her for her telephone number, and I told her I'd call her. Anyway, you want to know what she said to me?"

"What?"

"She said, 'I think that district attorney kind of likes you, Sh.e.l.ly.' She called me Sh.e.l.ly. We hit it off very well. 'He can't take his eyes off you.' "

"She said that?" He broke into a smile.

"Yes!"

"Did she resent it? I mean, oh my G.o.d. I didn't think it was that that obvious!" obvious!"

"No, she thought it was cute. Women like things like that."

"It was that obvious, hunh?"

"It was to her!"

Kramer shook his head, as if in embarra.s.sment, all the while pouring his eyes into hers, and she was pouring hers right back into his. They had already jumped over the moat, and rather effortlessly, too. He knew-he knew!- knew!-he could slide his hands across the table and take her fingertips in his, and she would let him, and it would all happen without their eyes leaving one another's, but he held back. It was too perfect and going too well to take the slightest risk.

He kept shaking his head and smiling...ever more significantly...In fact, he was embarra.s.sed, although not over the fact that others had noticed how possessed with her he had been in the courtroom. Where to go- go-that was what he was embarra.s.sed about. She didn't have an apartment, and of course there was no way in G.o.d's world he could take her to his ant colony. A hotel?-far too gross, and besides, how the h.e.l.l could he afford it? Even a second-rate hotel was almost a hundred dollars a room. G.o.d only knew what this meal was going to cost. The menu had an artless hand-lettered look that set off an alarm in Kramer's central nervous system: money money. Somehow he knew, based on very little experience, that this faux faux-casual s.h.i.t spelled money money.

Just then the waitress returned. "Have you had a chance to decide?"

She was a perfect confection, too. Young, blond, curly-haired, brilliant blue eyes, the perfect aspiring-actress type, with dimples and a smile that said: "Well! I can see that you two have decided some something!" Or did it say, "I'm young, pretty, and charming, and I expect a big tip when you pay your big bill"?

Kramer looked into her twinkling face, and then he looked into Miss Sh.e.l.ly Thomas's. He was consumed by feelings of l.u.s.t and poverty.

"Well, Sh.e.l.ly," he said, "you know what you'd like?"

It was the first time he had called her by her first name.

Sherman sat on the edge of one of the bentwood chairs. He was leaning forward with his hands clasped between his knees and his head down. The noxious, incriminating copy of The City Light The City Light lay on top of the oak pedestal table like something radioactive. Maria sat in the other chair, more composed but not exactly her old insouciant self, either. lay on top of the oak pedestal table like something radioactive. Maria sat in the other chair, more composed but not exactly her old insouciant self, either.

"I knew it," said Sherman, without looking at her, "I knew it at the time. We should have reported it immediately. I can't believe I'm-I can't believe we're in this situation."

"Well, it's too late now, Sherman. That's spilt milk."

He sat up straight and looked at her. "Maybe it's not too late. What you say is, you say you didn't know until you read this newspaper that you'd hit anyone."

"Oh, sure," said Maria. "Then how do I say it happened, this thing I didn't even know happened in the first place?"

"Just...tell what actually happened."

"That'll sound won wonderful. Two boys stopped us and tried to rob us, but you threw a tire at one of them, and I drove outta there like a...a...hot-rodder, but I didn't know I hit anybody."

"Well, that's exactly what happened, Maria."

"And who's gonna believe it? You read that story. They're calling that boy some kinda honor honor student, some kinda saint. They don't say anything about the other one. They don't even say anything about a ramp. They're talking about a little saint who went to get food for his family." student, some kinda saint. They don't say anything about the other one. They don't even say anything about a ramp. They're talking about a little saint who went to get food for his family."

The terrible possibility flared up once more. What if the two boys were were only trying to help? only trying to help?

There sat Maria in a turtleneck jersey that brought out her perfect b.r.e.a.s.t.s even at this moment. She wore a short checked skirt, and her glistening legs were crossed, and one of her pair of pumps dangled off the tip of her foot.

Beyond her was the make-do bed, and above the bed there was now a second small oil painting, of a nude woman holding a small animal. The brushwork was so atrociously crude, he couldn't tell what kind of animal it was. It could be a rat as easily as a dog. His misery made his eye hang on it for a moment.

"You noticed it," said Maria, attempting a smile. "You're getting better. Filippo gave it to me."

"Terrific." The question of why some greaseball artist might feel so generous toward Maria no longer interested Sherman in the slightest. The world had shrunk. "So what do you think we ought to do?"

"I think we ought to take ten deep breaths and relax. That's what I think."

"And then what?"

"And then maybe nothing." 'N thin mibby nuthun. "Sherman, if we tell 'em the truth, they're gonna kill kill us. You understand that? They're gonna cut us up in little pieces. Right now they don't know whose car it was, they don't know who was driving, they don't have any witnesses, and the boy himself is in a coma and it doesn't look like he's...he's ever gonna come to." us. You understand that? They're gonna cut us up in little pieces. Right now they don't know whose car it was, they don't know who was driving, they don't have any witnesses, and the boy himself is in a coma and it doesn't look like he's...he's ever gonna come to."

'You'' were driving, thought Sherman. Don't forget that part. It rea.s.sured him to hear her say it. Then a jolt of fear: suppose she denied it and said he was driving? But the other boy knew, wherever he might be.

All he said, however, was: "What about the other boy? Suppose he shows up."

"If he was gonna show up, he woulda showed up by now. He's not gonna show up, because he's a criminal."

Sherman leaned forward and put his head down again. He found himself staring at the shiny tops of his New & Lingwood half-brogues. The colossal vanity of his bench-made English shoes sickened him. What availeth a man...He couldn't remember the quotation. He could see the pitiful brown moon on the crown of Felix's skull...Knoxville...Why hadn't he moved to Knoxville long ago?...a simple Georgian house with a screen porch at one end...

"I don't know, Maria," he said, without looking up. "I don't think we can outguess them. I think maybe we ought to get in touch with a lawyer"-two lawyers, said a small voice in the back of his skull, since I don't know this woman and we may not be on the same side forever-"and...come forward with what we know." lawyers, said a small voice in the back of his skull, since I don't know this woman and we may not be on the same side forever-"and...come forward with what we know."

"And stick our heads in the tiger's mouth is what you mean." 'N stick uh bids in thuh tiguh's mouth. Maria's Southernism was beginning to get on Sherman's nerves. "I'm the one who was driving the car, Sherman, and so I think it's up to me to decide."

I'm the one who was driving the car! She had said it herself. His spirits lifted a bit. "I'm not trying to talk you into anything," he said. "I'm just thinking out loud." She had said it herself. His spirits lifted a bit. "I'm not trying to talk you into anything," he said. "I'm just thinking out loud."

Maria's expression grew softer. She smiled at him in a warm, almost motherly fashion. "Sherman, let me tell you something. There's two kinds a jungles. Wall Street is a jungle. You've heard that, haven't you? You know how to handle yourself in that jungle." The Southern breeze was blowing past his ears-but it was true, wasn't it? His spirits rose a bit more. "And then there's the other jungle. That's the one we got lost in the other night, in the Bronx. And you fought fought, Sherman! You were wonderful!" He had to resist congratulating himself with a smile. "But you don't live in that jungle, Sherman, and you never have. You know what's in that jungle? People who are all the time crossing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, from this side of the law to the other side, from this side to the other side. You don't know what that's like. You had a good good upbringing. Laws weren't any kind of a threat to you. They were upbringing. Laws weren't any kind of a threat to you. They were your laws your laws, Sherman, people like you and your family's. Well, I didn't grow up that way. We were always staggering back and forth across the line, like a buncha drunks, and so I know and it doesn't frighten me. And let me tell you something else. Right there on the line everybody's an animal-the police, the judges, the criminals, everybody."

She continued to smile warmly at him, like a mother who has let a child in on a great truth. He wondered if she really knew what she was talking about or whether she was just indulging in a little sentimental reverse sn.o.bbery.

"So what are you saying?" he asked.

"I'm saying I think you ought to trust my instincts."

Just then there was a knock on the door.

"Who's that?" said Sherman, going on red alert.

"Don't worry," said Maria. "It's Germaine. I told her you'd be here." She got up to go to the door.

"You didn't tell her what happened..."

"Of course not."

She opened the door. But it wasn't Germaine. It was a gigantic man in an outlandish black outfit. He came walking in as if he owned the place, took a quick look around the room, at Sherman, the walls, the ceiling, the floor, and then at Maria.

"You Germaine Boll"-he was gasping for breath, apparently because he had just walked up the stairs-"or Bowl?"

Maria was speechless. So was Sherman. The giant was young, white, with a big crinkly black beard, a huge apoplectic-red face glistening with perspiration, a black homburg with an absolutely flat brim, a too-small black homburg perched way up on his huge head like a toy, a rumpled white shirt b.u.t.toned at the throat, but no tie, and a shiny black double-breasted suit with the right side of the jacket overlapping the left, the way a woman's jacket is usually made. A Hasidic Jew. Sherman had often seen Hasidic Jews in the Diamond District, which was on Forty-sixth and Forty-seventh Streets between Fifth and Sixth Avenues, but he had never seen one so enormous. He was probably six feet five, well over 250 pounds, grossly fat but powerfully built, bulging out of his liverish skin like a length of bratwurst. He took off his homburg. His hair was pasted down on his skull with perspiration. He hit the side of his great head with the heel of his hand, as if he were tamping it back into shape. Then he put his hat back on his head. It was perched up so high, it looked as if it might fall off at any moment. Perspiration rolled down the giant's forehead.

"Germaine Boll? Bowl? Bull?"

"No, I'm not," said Maria. She had recovered. She was testy, already on the attack. "She's not here. What do you want?"

"You live here?" For such a big man, he had an oddly high-pitched voice.

"Miss Boll isn't here now," said Maria, ignoring the question.

"You live here or she live here?"

"Look, we're kinda busy." Exaggerated patience. "Why don't you try later?" Challengingly: "How'd you get in this building?"

The giant reached into the right-hand pocket of his jacket and pulled out an enormous ring of keys. There appeared to be scores of them. He ran a great fat forefinger around the ruff of keys and stopped at one of them and delicately lifted it with his forefinger and thumb.

"With this. Winter Real Estate." Wid dis. Wint-tuh Reelastate. He had a slightly Yiddish accent.

"Well, you'll have to come back later and talk to Miss Boll."

The giant didn't budge. He looked around the apartment again. "You don't live here?"

"Now, listen-"

"It's okay, it's okay. We gonna paint in here." With that the giant stretched both his arms out, like wings, as if he were about to do a swan dive, and walked over to a wall and faced it. Then he pressed his left hand against the wall and sidled over and lifted his left hand and pressed his right hand down on that spot and shuffled over to his left until he was spread out in the swan-dive position again.

Maria looked at Sherman. He knew he was going to have to do something, but he couldn't imagine what. He walked over to the giant. In as frosty and commanding a tone as he could create, just as the Lion of Dunning Sponget would have done it, he said: "Just a minute. What are you doing?"

"Measuring," said the giant, still doing his swan-dive shuffle around the wall. "Got to paint in here."

"Well, I'm very sorry, but we don't have time for that now. You'll have to make your arrangements some other time."

The enormous young man turned around slowly and put his hands on his hips. He took a deep breath, so that he looked puffed up to about five hundred pounds. On his face was the look of someone forced to deal with a pest. Sherman had the sinking feeling that this monster was used to such confrontations and, in fact, relished them. But the male battle was now on.

"You live here?" asked the giant.

"I said we don't have time for this," said Sherman, trying to maintain the Lion's tone of cool command. "Now, be a good fellow and leave and come back and do your painting some other time."

"You live live here?" here?"

"In point of fact, I don't don't live here, but I'm a guest here, and I don't-" live here, but I'm a guest here, and I don't-"

"You don't live here and don't live here and she she don't live here. What you doing here?" don't live here. What you doing here?"

"That's not your concern!" said Sherman, unable to control his anger but feeling more helpless by the second. He pointed toward the door. "Now, be a good fellow and leave!"

"You don't belong here. Okay? We got a real problem." We gottuh reel problem We gottuh reel problem. "We gottuh wrong people living in this building. This a rent-control building, and the people, they turn around"-tuhn arount-"and they rent the apartments to other people for a thousand, two thousand dollars a month. The rent in this apartment here, it's only $331 a month. See? Germaine Boll-but we never see huh here. How much you pay huh?"

Such insolence! The male battle! What could he do? In most situations Sherman felt like a big man, physically. Next to this outlandish creature...He couldn't possibly touch him. He couldn't intimidate him. The Lion's cool commands had no effect. And beneath it all the very foundations were rotten. He was at a complete moral disadvantage. He didn't didn't belong here-and he had everything in the world to hide. And what if this incredible monster was not actually from the Winter Real Estate Company? Suppose- belong here-and he had everything in the world to hide. And what if this incredible monster was not actually from the Winter Real Estate Company? Suppose- Fortunately Maria intervened. "It so happens Miss Boll's gonna be here very shortly. In the meantime-"

"Okay! Good! I wait fuh huh."

The giant began walking across the room like a rocking druid. He stopped at the oak pedestal table, and with glorious casualness, he lowered his tremendous heft into one of the bentwood chairs.

"All right!" said Maria. "That's about enough!"

The giant's response to that was to fold his arms and close his eyes and lean back, as if to settle in for the duration. In that instant Sherman realized he would truly have to do something, no matter what, or else be stripped of all manhood. The male battle! He started to step forward.

Craaaacccckkkk! All at once the monster was on the floor, on his back, and the stiff brim of his homburg was cartwheeling crazily along the rug. One leg of the chair was cracked almost in two, near the seat, with the light wood underneath the exterior stain showing. The chair had collapsed under his weight. All at once the monster was on the floor, on his back, and the stiff brim of his homburg was cartwheeling crazily along the rug. One leg of the chair was cracked almost in two, near the seat, with the light wood underneath the exterior stain showing. The chair had collapsed under his weight.

Maria was screaming. "Now look what you've done, you p.e.c.k.e.rwood! You brood sow! You tub a lard!"

With much huffing and puffing, the giant righted himself and began hoisting himself to his feet. His insolent pose was shattered. He was red in the face, and the perspiration was pouring down again. He leaned over to pick up his hat and almost lost his balance.

Maria continued on the attack. She pointed at the remains of the chair. "I hope you realize you're gonna have to pay pay for that!" for that!"

"Whaddaya whaddaya," said the giant. "It don't belong to you!" But he was retreating. Maria's reproaches and his own embarra.s.sment were too much for him.

"That's gonna cost you five hundred dollars and a-and a lawsuit!" said Maria. "That's breaking and entering and entering and breaking!"

The giant paused by the door and glowered, but it was all too much for him. He went rocking out the door in great disarray.

As soon as she heard him clumping down the stairs, Maria closed the door and locked it. She turned around and looked at Sherman and gave a great whoop of laughter.