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Updated: May 9, 2025
It was a Bronx train, full of sagging faces, lusterless eyes, grizzled beards; of heavy, black-eyed girls in soiled white shoes; of stoop-shouldered men, poring over newspapers in Hebrew script; of smells and sounds and glaring light.
At last we were ushered into a room poorly furnished. It was not more than twelve feet square, and in the corner was an apology for a bed. On this was stretched an old man whose face was sunken, whose eyes were lusterless, whose hand was long and thin and bony, and whose voice was attenuated and pitched in a falsetto key.
My hair was faded and rough; my eyes were a pale, lusterless blue. The visitors departed, while I still contemplated my rueful aspect, and Alice and I were alone. "I want some broth, Alice. I am hungry." "How many bowls have you had this morning?" "Only two." "You must wait an hour for the third; it is not twelve o'clock." We were silent.
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