RENDEZVOUS IN BLACK Read Free

railroad that went by there. A switch had been defective and cost his father his life; and though he hadn't asked for anything, the railroad must have been afraid that he would, and so in order to save themselves money, they hurriedly, almost eagerly, paid him a smaller amount than what they were afraid he was going to ask for later, as soon as it had occurred to him to do so. And thus they came out ahead.
    It was still a vast amount--to him, to her. Eight thousand odd, after the lawyer turned it over to him. It had originally been fifteen. But most lawyers, the lawyer told him, would have taken a straight fifty per cent out of it, and he hadn't, so he was quite a considerate lawyer. Anyway, now they could get married the succeeding June, and that was all they cared about. It had to be June, she wanted it June; it wouldn't have been like a marriage at all if it had been May or July. And anything she wanted, he wanted too. And figures above five hundred lost their reality, they weren't used to them. One thousand was as much as eight, and eight was as much as fifteen. It became just theoretical at those heights, even when you were holding the check in your hand.
    And it was all his, all theirs. His mother had died when he was a kid, and there was no one else to share in it. Gee, June took its time about getting here! It seemed to purposely hang back and let all the other months get in ahead of it, before their turns.
    His name was Johnny Marr, and he looked like-- Johnny Marr. Like his given name sounded. Like any Johnny, anywhere, any time. Even people who had seen hini hundreds of times couldn't have described him very clearly, he looked so much like the average, he ran so true to form. She could have, but that was because she had special eyes for him. He was a thousand other young fellows his own age, all over, everywhere. You see them everywhere. You look at them and you don't see them. That is, not to describe afterwards. "Sort of sandy hair," they might have said. "Brown eyes." And then they would have given up, slipped unnoticeably over the line away from strictly physical description. "Nice, clean-cut young fellow; never has much to say; can't tell much about him." And then they would have run out of material on that plane too. He would perhaps take his coloring from her, starting in slowly from this June on. He was waiting to be completed, he wasn't meant to stop the way he was.
    Her name was Dorothy, and she was lovely. You couldn't describe her either, but not for the same reason. You can't describe light very easily. You can tell where it is, but not what it is. Light was where she was. There may have been prettier girls, but there have never been lovelier ones. It came from inside and out both; it was a blend. She was everyone's first love, as he looks back later once she is gone and tells himself she must have been. She was the promise made to everyone at the start, that can never quite be carried out afterward, and never is.
    Cynics, seeing her go by, might have said, "Why, she's just another pretty girl; they're all about like that." Cynics don't know about these things. The way she walked, the way she talked, the little slow smile she had for him as they drew toward one another upon meeting, or the same smile in reverse, going backward as they parted--those things were only for Johnny Marr to see. He had special eyes for her, just as she had for him.
    They had their date always at the same place, outside the drugstore down by the square. There was a little corner of the lighted showcase there that belonged to them--that part where, if you stood before it, the powders and the toilet waters were at your back. Not the part where the boxes of chocolates were, tied up in crimson and silver ribbons. Nor yet the part where the scented soaps were, displayed in honeycombed boxes and looking like colored easter eggs. No, only that far end where the powders and the toilet waters were, where there was a shallow little