Don't Talk to Me About the War by David A. Adler Page A

stockings passes the window, and I wonder what she looks like.
    A man walks by in large workman boots and carrying a tool box. He’s walking slowly, so I think either he’s old or the box is real heavy.
    Hey, I could probably write a story like that, about someone who lives in a basement apartment and all he sees from his window are people’s feet and legs. It could be a murder mystery and the killer is caught when the main character recognizes his shoes. I bet Miss Heller would like it. I bet she’d say, “Listen to this!” lots of times.
    Mom and Dad have been in there a long time.
    I think again about that doorman. He had on a blue uniform jacket and blue captain’s-like hat. A hat! Yes! That’s who he is. It’s Mr. Simmons! He doesn’t wear that captain’s hat and jacket at Goldman’s. He must change into them when he gets to work.
    Why did he turn away?
    Maybe he’s embarrassed that he’s a doorman. After all, he told Beth and me he went to college, and he reads a lot, and he doesn’t read one of those picture newspapers. He reads The New York Times.
    At least he has a job.
    I sit there, looking out the window and hope Mr. Simmons wasn’t embarrassed. Dad has told me it’s so hard to get a good job. Maybe that’s why George is joining the navy. That’s a job.
    The white door opens and Mom and Dad walk out, followed by Dr. Kellerman. Dad is holding a small white card.
    “Remember, you have an appointment tomorrow with Dr. Yellin. He’s expecting you.”
    Another doctor!
    When we’re outside the office I ask Mom, “Does he know what’s wrong with you?”
    “Yes, he knows why I can’t see out of one eye, but he wants another doctor to examine me.”
    “Why can’t you see?”
    “I have optic neuritis. One of the nerves in my eye is inflamed.”
    Dad tells me, “It’s not permanent. He says it might take a few weeks, but Mom’s sight will come back.”
    Mom should feel good that her vision will come back.
    At the corner Dad says, “Let’s not go straight home. Let’s go to the diner. It’s just a block away.”
    Mom seems steadier. She walks without Dad’s help.
    We’re not in such a hurry now. Dad points to a real nice-looking building and tells us he sells suits to a man who lives in it. “Imagine,” Dad says, “four suits a year, and always the best we have. He always buys shirts and ties to match, too.”
    Dad has just two suits. He wears them to work. And I don’t have any. Dad says he’ll get me one when I stop growing. Until then, it’s a waste.
    The diner is bigger than Goldman’s, and fancier. There are framed pictures of kittens and flowers on the walls. We take a table near the front, and a waitress gives us each a menu.
    The waitress is an old woman, and she takes a pencil and paper from her apron pocket and asks, “What will you have?”
    Dad looks at the menu and quickly says, “Tommy, how about a hamburger on a toasted roll.”
    “Sure.”
    I look and find steak and potatoes, a roasted chicken platter, and even lamb chops on the menu. Then I see the prices and know why Dad suggested I order a hamburger. It’s a lot less expensive than the other meals.
    Mom and Dad order hamburgers, too.
    The waitress puts the pad away. I guess she can remember our order without writing it down—three hamburgers.
    Dad says, “We’ll have water with that.”
    Mom and Dad wait quietly for the food. They both look real tired.
    On the table just behind us is a young couple, and I think they’re on a date.
    That reminds me of Beth and our Thursday date. I think about her mother and remember she just went to two doctors. Tomorrow Mom will be going to her third.
    “Mom, if this eye doctor knows what’s wrong, if it’s going to get better soon, why do you have to see another doctor?”
    She looks at me, and for the first time I notice her left eye is a bit red.
    “Dr. Kellerman doesn’t know why that happened to my eye. He saw my hand shake. Then he asked me to walk around the