She had arrived healthy and whole, in spite of the fact that Anna Luigui had not returned to the clinic after all. “Who wants a live baby?” she’d said sullenly. “A dead one will suit me just fine.”
Arleen sighed. Anna must love her baby by now. Who would not love such a beautiful little girl? Anna and the baby had been home from the hospital for four days. Charity patients were kept there only the bare minimum of three days, unless there were complications.
It seemed a pity to Arleen that such a tiny baby should have to endure such heat, and . . . yes, neglect. Still, the smaller Luigui children seemed quite attached to the infant.
Yesterday, when she’d gone to bathe the baby, the little girl to whom she’d given the candy bar that first day (she shuddered, the candy-bar episode being something she hated to remember) had come shyly to the door to meet her.
“Our baby’s name is Carmella, Miss Anderson,” she’d told Arleen, the dark eyes shining in the small, dirty face.
Arleen had smiled at her. “That’s a pretty name for a very pretty baby.”
Rose Luigui, tight skirt pulled above her knees as she slumped in a chair, said mockingly, “Ma got it from a comic book. Carmella was some super dame.”
Her mother’s voice screamed at her, “You lie. Always you lie about me. That was your grandmother’s name. Oh, my poor mama, it would kill her if she saw how her little Anna has to live.” Her voice grated. “And with such a bad daughter!”
“Ha!” Rose said, her voice even more mocking.
Anna Luigui began to cry, whiningly, tears rolling down her fat cheeks, making rivulets in the layers of rouge and dirt that caked her face.
She had thus far successfully fought off all of Arleen’s attempts to wash her face. “When I want my face washed, I can do it myself,” she’d tell Arleen fiercely. “You ain’t paid to come here and bully me, and I ain’t letting you do it. I know my rights!”
“You see what a bad daughter I got?” she’d hurled at Arleen. “You see?” She’d glared at Rose. “You get paid back one of these days for how mean you are to your mama. You get paid back!”
Rose had shrugged her way out of the chair. “You make me sick, old lady!” she’d flung viciously at Anna.
Now Arleen pushed open the door of the tenement building. “I think I’ll take care of Neelie first,” she thought. “My morale needs lifting before I tackle the Luiguis. And Neelie’s always so cheerful, although I don’t see how she can manage it.”
Arleen had a genuine liking for Neelie Ryan. She admired her courage and her determined cheerfulness in spite of all the odds against her.
She plodded up the hot, stuffy stairs to the even hotter, stuffier, upper-floor apartments. She carried with her a sack of candy for the Luigui children.
She knew candy wasn’t the answer; that the children needed eggs and meat and vegetables and milk. Lots of good, rich milk. She’d broached the subject to the welfare visitor and had come up against fierce antagonism.
“Would you prefer steak or chops for our welfare clients, Miss Anderson? Strawberries out of season? Perhaps caviar and avocado might appeal to their taste. Air-conditioning, perhaps? It gets quite unbearably hot in Saltboro in June and July.”
Arleen had flushed. “Miss Gibbons, I wasn’t meaning. . . .”
Her answer had been a cold, crisp, “You do your job, Miss Anderson, and let us at the Welfare Department take care of our own. We do the best we can on the funds we’re allotted.”
Arleen grimaced. The candy provided the children with a treat, at least. If it wasn’t enough, at least it was something.
She had never made the mistake of handing Anna Luigui any money, after that first time. She had discovered to her dismay that Anna had taken the money and used it for liquor rather than for the children.
Arleen had been amazed that a woman eight months pregnant could be in any condition to get drunk.
Rose Luigui, dark eyes mocking as always, had told her scornfully, “Ma’s always in condition to get drunk, if she’s got the money. And you gave her that!”
Al Ryan had the window open, but it did nothing to cool the stifling room. Neelie was propped up in bed, looking wan and tired, but her eyes turned toward Arleen when she walked into the room, and the old aliveness still showed in them.
“Why, it’s Miss Anderson. Al, it’s Miss Anderson come to do for me.”
Al, slumped in a rocking chair by the breezeless window, turned listless, bloodshot eyes toward Arleen. It was evident that he’d been drinking heavily. The sour-sweet odor of cheap wine filled the room.
Neelie didn’t let on. She said, affection in her voice, “Al’s been sponging my face and arms with cold water all morning. I tell you, it sure has felt good.”
Al got to his feet, swaying slightly. His eyes were angry, but behind the anger Arleen thought he looked ready to cry.
“Why don’t you tell her I made a few pennies and used them to get myself drunk with, instead of getting you some little thing you might like?” he roared at her.
Neelie said gently, her voice directed at Arleen, but her eyes on her husband, “Al had kind of a rough time this morning. He got up real early and walked clear over to this place on Tenth, thinking they were hiring, but they weren’t. He walked all the way back, too.”
There was savagery in Al Ryan’s voice. “They wasn’t hiring older men!” he said. “I’m too old to live, and I can’t die! I’m no good to anybody, not even myself. I ought to hang myself. That’s a cheap way to die!”
Neelie said quietly, “You’re all I’ve got, Al. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He stared at her for a second, his lips quivering, then turned and slammed out of the room.
“I know Al drinks,” Neelie said slowly, “but he can’t help himself. He’s one of those people who, when they can’t see no way out of something, has just got to do something to try and make the awful feeling in them go away.” Her quiet gaze met Arleen’s. “My Al’s a good man,” she said. “And he’d never do something that would leave me alone. Al would never do a thing like that.”
Outside, on the fire escape, a bedraggled sparrow lit for a second and then flew off. Neelie’s eyes followed the bird. “Oh, my,” she said, “know what I’d like? I guess it’ll sound silly to you, but I’d sure like to see that place in California the swallows come back to every year. Capistrano, I guess they call it. Wouldn’t it be something to be there and see all them birds come back every year to that same place?”
Arleen, bathing the thin arms and shoulders, nodded. “Tourists come from all over just to see it.” Impulsively she added, “Maybe you’ll get to see Capistrano, Neelie. It could happen.”
Neelie nodded happily. “Sure, why not? There’s no law against it, is there? There’s no law saying a person can’t hope. That’s what I keep telling Al.”
Arleen’s upper lip and forehead were beaded with moisture, and breathing was like pulling furnace air into her lungs. If it was this hot in May, what was it going to be like in June and July?
Neelie Ryan, as if understanding Arleen’s thoughts, said, “It’s unseasonably hot for this time of year. It don’t get no hotter than this in full summer.” She smiled at Arleen, as if she were the one to be comforted. “A body gets used to things,” she said. “I expect the good Lord knows some things has got to be gotten used to, so He lets you get used to ‘em.”
Arleen said, with sudden bitterness, “You should have a fan in here. At least it would stir up the air a little. Anything would help.”
She massaged Neelie’s