The doctor wanted Paolo upstairs in a bed, and Paolo could not get his foot onto the first stair. The apartment had a narrow sleeping room above the kitchen, reached by a turn so sharp that two men could not carry him abreast. I put his arm across my shoulders. Halfway up, his knees folded. His weight pulled my collar against my throat, and for a moment I thought we would both go backward. Celia braced my heel with her shoe. I got one shoulder under him and carried him the rest of the way.
When I lowered him, he held the blanket away from his swollen ankle as though even cotton had weight. The physician examined him while I waited on the landing. Below me Ada was speaking into the hall telephone, asking someone to tell her employer she would not come. She listened, then repeated that she could not come. When she hung up, she stood with her hand still on the receiver. I had promised to pay a doctor. I had not considered the price of somebody staying beside the bed.
The physician came out carrying his bag. Paolo needed rest, warm food, and another examination if his breathing worsened. He gave his instructions to Ada, not me. I paid the immediate charge with nearly everything in my pocket. Then Ada asked how long I expected her wages to last without her going to work. I started to say that I would arrange matters. She looked toward the empty place where the money had been. 'Arrange them before tomorrow,' she said. She went upstairs without waiting for a promise.
I was washing the depot dirt from my hands when Celia called me. Neri stood outside the apartment with his hat against his coat. He had not pushed past her, but his shoe rested against the sill. 'I came to see our friend,' he said. Celia moved the door until it touched his shoulder. 'He has a doctor.' Neri looked beyond her toward me. In another building I would have understood that look as a summons. Here I dried my hands and stepped into the hall, closing the door behind us.
He wanted to know what Paolo had said. I took his elbow and started him toward the stairs. He stopped at the first landing. 'You carry him home and now nobody else can speak to him?' 'Not here.' He pulled free, hard enough to send my hand against the banister. For a moment neither of us moved. I could hear a kettle through the wall. Then I went down first, making him follow or remain alone outside their door. On the pavement he told me I was spending money I no longer earned.
He was right about the money. By afternoon I was in the storage room behind the banquet kitchen, pulling my share of the serving equipment from the shelves. My interest was not grand: two wheeled racks, covered dishes, trays, and the right to part of the hire charge when they went out. The other owner examined every dent as if I had brought them there that morning. He offered less than half what I had paid. I named a better figure. He shut his ledger. Behind him a rack stood ready for that evening's work.
I wheeled it away from the wall. The plates rattled, and he caught the frame before it struck the door. 'You'll spoil a booking.' 'Then buy it.' He counted the money onto an upturned crate, slowly enough to make me watch each bill. I accepted less than I needed and surrendered the storage key. Outside, my pocket felt heavy for the first time that day. There would be no next hire payment. I had sold the little part of the business that could earn while I slept.
Ada counted what I gave her at the kitchen table. She separated the physician's money from her lost wages and pushed the remainder back. 'This isn't board for you,' she said. I took it. Celia had bought beans and a small piece of meat; I went out for bread and invited Aldo through the porter who knew his rounds. Paolo slept upstairs. By supper the broth had thickened, and Ada set a fourth bowl near the stove. I watched the clock until Celia covered that bowl with a plate. Aldo had never been careless about a meal he had accepted. I put on my coat and went downstairs to look for him.