Fall and Rise by Stephen Dixon Page B

star-cast of nyet.”
    â€œTar cast of net?” and I say “Sorry, I meant yep, yep yep, yep yep yep.”
    â€œHey, watch it with your umbrella,” nearly speared, dodging past.
    I look back and see him and then only his banister hand rounding the staircase. “Zeke,” Diana shrieks, “you old son of a Z, where have you been, my big man?” and their lips smack.
    â€œWho was that guy I—” before I’m out of range.
    Outside I don’t know whether to go right or left. I go straight. Wind and cold feel good and clear. Through the park on a path. Man sitting on a bench says “Excuse me but is there any way possible you can help me to get something to eat?”
    Snowing. Covered his hair, shoulders, shoes, bench. Snow’s on the ground. Dog tracks. Someone not long ago slipped a few feet or intentionally slid: Yippee, look at me. Several lampposts away a figure’s cutting across the grass on skis. “By God it’s snowing,” I say, feeling my hair and accumulated crunch.
    â€œI know and I believe I froze,” still with his head leaning over his knees and staring at his feet.
    â€œSeriously?” His eyes close. I look around. Nobody’s around. Snow’s become sleet and light rain. I open the umbrella, touch his hand. “Still warm, almost hot,” holding the umbrella over us. “Maybe that’s a sign of frostbite—the first, only and last. But what do I know about frostbite? That if the affected skin stays hot but you can’t feel it—can you or my touch?” Eyes stay shut. “Then probably is or close and you should get to a hospital for it. Get into some cover at least. Don’t just keep your eyes dry. And gloves. You have to see to yourself. You could also lose your nose.”
    He puts his hands into his jacket pockets and says “Excuse me but is there any way possible—”
    â€œStop repeating yourself.” Rain’s become sleet and then sticking snow and I close the umbrella. “Not that I don’t appreciate that you at least saw to your hands, and your polite tone. No, that sounds flossy and patronizing. But craziness—this is what I’m driving at—isn’t going to get or keep you well. You’ll catch cold. Pneumonia. Don’t let me be your mother. Here.” I take some change out. “All my change, token’s in there too.” I hold it out. It’s already wet from the rain. I open the umbrella and hold it over us. “Take it, I have to go.”
    I try to take one of his hands out but it won’t move. Around the wrist I touch is one of those hospital identification bands with a clamped clasp. I drop the coins into that pocket. Snowing. “Thank you,” he says, body same way.
    â€œYes, I’m a terrific son of a bitch, aren’t I?”
    â€œI own thoughts, sir.”
    â€œThen get cover. Listen, for all the money I shelled out I’ve the right to bark orders. So arf. Arghh arf arf. That means shelter, health, gloves.” Doesn’t look up. “All right, just remember the change is in there and a token, and take it easy.”
    I turn around, lit storm clouds eclipsing the top of Empire State, start out the park way I came in. What’s this? Feel sick, stomach cramp and cold head sweat and chills, rest against a lamppost, try to close the umbrella, can’t, try, too weak to and it drops out of my hand, I didn’t let it go, wind drifts it a few feet off the ground a few feet, lets it go, rolls on its rib tips along the path several cycles, off it to I-can’t-see-where when I hear its handle hit up against a tree trunk—if that’s it. My nose itches and I close my eyes, open my mouth, suck in air, can’t sneeze. Cramps, chills, sweat and weakness are gone. Feet freezing, shoes and probably socks steeped through, turned-up cuffs caught some snow. I empty them. Strange night. Helene, my