The girl sighed: “Don’t! Don’t, Julian!”
As though, you know, he might hit me! Me!
Well, he might! I said: “Careful, young man!”
The girl whispered almost frantically: “Let him go, sir! Please! You
don’t know....”
I comforted her. I said I could take care of myself. She wasn’t, I
fancy, convinced. The way she looked at a man, with those scared black
eyes!
But our young friend wasn’t taking any notice of either of us. He was
busy. All this, of course, happened in a few seconds. The Jew had raised
his hand, slowly, very slowly, and had caught the wrist of my hand on
his shoulder. I felt his fingers round my wrist. Tight.
“Steady, boy!” I said. I’d have to hit him, and I didn’t want to do
that. At least, I told myself I didn’t want to. That young Jew had
strong fingers. He simply hadn’t spoken one word yet. His conversation
was limited to trying to break my wrist. _My_ wrist! Then he spoke. He
said: “You swine!” The girl suddenly pulled at my arm, hard. His back
was to the open doorway, the rain, the gutter. I caught him one on the
chin so that he was in it flat on his back. His tie looked fancier than
ever in the mud, too. The girl sort of screamed.
“All right,” I said. “All right.” Trying, you know, to comfort the poor
kid. She was rushing after her man, but I had my arm like a bar across
the door. She stared at me.