Page 119 of If Looks Could Kill
Never. The third thing was one specific word in his ditty:To get your gal chop suey.
To getyourgal…?
I shoved a big bite into my mouth so I couldn’t possibly be expected to speak. After I’d swallowed, I changed the subject.
“Mike,” I said, “what will you do when you grow up?”
He patted down his trunk as if puzzled. “I guess I’m not already grown up?”
I smiled. “These mysterious mathematics classes. What’s it all for?”
“For the pure love of math,” he said seriously.
“Oh,” I said. “I see.”
He grinned. “I’m kidding. I do enjoy it, but… I’d like to be an engineer.”
“Oh?” This woke me up somewhat. “You’d operate a train?”
His lips twitched. “I’d design and build trains. And ships. And machines for factories.”
“I suppose such things do need inventors,” I mused. “I assumed they just appeared.”
He grinned. “No, you didn’t.”
“But do you get to wear the striped overalls, is the real question.”
He made a face at me. “Only if I want to.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Did you know,” he said, “some chaps in Europe have been designing carriages that can go on their own, with an engine inside? No horses needed.” He took another bite. “The future will be driven by machines powered by engines. Steam engines. Combustion engines.”
It sounded like a future that would be loud, smoky, and smelly, but I kept that to myself.
“We won’t be so tied to”—he gestured with his chopsticks—“mills powered by streams, nor labor from the muscles of immigrants and horses. I want to be a part of that.”
“To machines.” I held up my glass and clinked it with his. “When I first met you, you were washing glasses in your uncle’s pub. I couldn’t have guessed you had such grand plans.”
“I’ll design a machine,” he said, “that washes and dries glasses for you.”
“If you do,” I told him, “and if it can do plates and silver, you’ll be my aunt’s hero.”
The last bell pepper was gone, the last mushroom devoured. There was no way to stretch this dinner out any further. Mike paid the bill, and we pulled our coats back on, headed for the door, and stepped back out into the bitter cold.
“Now where?” Mike asked me. “The night is young.”
“I think I need to look for Pearl.”
He nodded. “Would you welcome some company?”
“If it’s you,” I told him, then wanted to disappear, I was so embarrassed.
We headed back uptown, back toward the Bowery. Where are you, Pearl? I thought. I can’t stay much longer. I’m running out of time.
But my only reply was the lonely whistle of the Third Avenue El.
“Mike,” I said, feeling some apprehension, “may I stay at your home again? Relegate you to the couch for one more night?”
