Drawing by Claudia Cave Clinton St. Quarterly LO G SEASO sailors still in town, and the black oilcloth shades still rolled over the front windows to be dropped at night.Her mother was afraid.The blackout shades would keep them from being watched from the street. "Hush," she would say, when there was a footstep in the hall, and they would t s u ta e n s d , , w t o ra n n d s e f r ix in e g d, if a th s e in st t e h p e s g w a o m u e ld o c f o s m ta e their way. And she would say, "Don't snap the light on and then off again. They'll t�ink that is a signal to corpe up." Evelyn knew she meant men, that men would think her mother was signalling t d h e e n m , t t h o es c e omm e e u n p w . o If u s ld he th d in id k n s 't h s e ta w y a h s id a whore because she was alone. Like rape, it was a word given to Evelyn early in life by way of warning. Evelyn runs hot water while she puts · I THO U •111111111.--■ the groceries away, starting tea water and getting ready to do the breakfast dishes at the same time.She • . slides the plate and cup under the suds into water too hot to touch, then sits for · a moment with her tea and the evening paper while temperatures regulate. The tea first -there is a suspended moment RAI - BY SHARON LYNN PUGH ��he entrance to her bui lding, Evelyn heft� .i"\.her bag of groceries for a better grip and turns to push the door with one shoulder, making a complete turn to accommodate the briefcase in her hand. As she passes the row of mailboxes, she sees white through the holes in hers , but she doesn' t s top. She goes up the carpeted s tairs , making no sound, key already in hand so she has .no need to set the bag down. The door swings open with the turn of the key and she enters, kicking the paper in with one foot and door shut behind her with the other. This habit of economy pleases her, like doing a secret dance, and she believes she has accrued something from it over the years , small movements saved like small change . She steps out of her shoes and moves silently over the floor to set the bag down and hang her coat in the closet. Eve.lyn grew up on the top floor of an apartment building and learned to be noiseless as a child. "Hush," her mother would say, raising a hand to the level of her eyes as if she were about to salute. "There are people underneath." And Evelyn would try to become a cloud over their heads, as if there were not people up here, too. When she was angry, the worst thing she could do was to stomp her feet and scream. Then her mother would raise her hand in alarm, as if she were holding a stick, and shout, "hush!" but in a whisper, so that it was both softer and more dangerous than the ordinary word. And i E n v g e h ly e n r w la o s u t ld sc r r u e n am to , t a h n e d b s a la th m ro t o h me , d t o ra o i r l. For the rest of the day, the silence in the w a te p a r a e y rt d s m b g e e la n e s t n s w a . o f F u o l o d r r m h E a o v v f e e v ly t i h o n e l , en q n c u o e a is . li e ty o h f a s s ha a t l This was in the forties, after the war, with the tinyards gone from the Portland Park Blocks but the battleships and while it is still too hot to drink -and then ·the dishwater.When it is ready, she will be done with her tea, and this cup can be washed too. And all this time she has not forgotten the white envelope in the mailbox; not for a moment has it vanished from her mind's eye.She has been calculating the m t li a k e i e n n l l i y h t. o h T o a d h v r e e o b e f e it e m s n o b n t e h t i h a n t s g , b a a u g b t o i n ll o it o w r w i a t o d i u s v ld e n r o t c i t s e s e r o simple to predict her mail through the g in r g id b . H y, a s d h s e h me i p g a h u t s h e a d ve fo s r e a e mn o w m h e e n th t e p r a h s e sr name was printed or written by hand.But if there were more than one envelope in the box, the handwritten one might be hidden, so she still might not know for sure. After she has finished the dishes, she will take the key down and see. Evelyn has lived alone for a dozen years now, but it seems longer than that to her.It seems like her whole life.Even when she w.as a chilo, her mother always spoke of •herself as alone, so Evelyn thought th�t she must be alone too. A lie lo v n e e d, in a a n n d u E n v s e a l f y e n w th o i r n ld k , s h t e h r a m t o s t h h e er w b a e s right.But unsafe for whom? h ly o n W o o d h f , t e e h n n e s t r h h s i e e n l k f d s r s in i o t k t f in s a g h s e c a r e lo e n n v e e e f n ro o in m n g a h te e c a r u , c r E h b v il e d in front of a vacant lot, down the street from the apartment house where she lived. She remembers that she was out of · bounds.But only a little.The near edge of the vacant lot was the borde·r, and she was only a few feet beyond that.But her mother, leaning as far as she could out the third floor window, could not quite see her. It was for this reason Evelyn did not have permission to be this far down the i s n tr g ee w t i . tj, S o h u e t w p a e s rm se is v s e io n n a , n a d s c w ou o l u d ld do be no t t h h e c s a e s v e en w , h t e h n irty s - h s e ev w e a n s . s E e v v e e n nte w e h n e , n tw t e h n e t r y e was no one to grant permission, she would do what she was doing now, move a little outwards, unobtrusive, not much, not far enough not to hear the urgent voice when it began calling. "I didn't mean to," she could always say then."I forgot." She sat on the curb alone, watching the cloud formations in the sky, thinking they were pretty, thinking that she· would a ia lw r a th y o s u b g e ht alo fo n r e a li · k c e h t i h ld is , : t I h t o w u a g s h a n p o e t cu so l much for her. She had already learned the meaning of the empty street, the shadows in the small jungle of blackberry vines behind her with the hard dirt path leading to the next block. She did not have permission to walk that path, and indeed, it would be going too far. Looking up, she observed three globes i i n ng th in e to sk s y o , mpe e a th rs ing pe e rh ls a e p . s S , h a e lre k a n d e y w sh s i h ft e would see these pears another time and did not want to forget that she had seen them now. She was also terracing a t p w a e tc e h 'n o th f e d s ir i t d i e n w t a h l e k · a s n e d cti t o h n e c o u f r g b ra th s a s t b h e e r mother called "the boulevard." Evelyn didn't think this was the right name, but she had never heard it called anything else. Here the bo�levard had lost its grass, and she was making a round track in the dirt with a piece of flat wood, smoothing it over and over. With her finger, she drew a line around the outside o ca f v t e h , e a t n r d ac p k u , t w tw h o ich tin w y a m s e s ta h l a c ll a o r w s ly on co it n . She looked up again. There was a N 1 N
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