The People: And Other Uncollected Fiction
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young man. “If you will call me mister will be fine.” “This afternoon at 5 p.m., Mr. Indian.” “Denks, said Yozip. At five o’clock, Yozip was led to the desk of the Commissioner of Indian Affairs and sat nervously still while the burly man looked him over, particularly at the white feather in his thick hair. He was a heavy man wearing pince-nez. He spat into a pocket handkerchief, brushed his lips, and then addressed Yozip. “Where were you born if I might ask? Are you an American citizen?
the Indian people than I have for either of you. This is my honest answer.” One Blossom grasped her horse’s mane and turned him quickly. “We are running from the blue coats,” she said. “I can run from them but I won’t run from Jozip, and I don’t want Indian Head to run after me.” “Please,” Chief Jozip said, “please don’t tulk anymore on this subject. Let us say we all have affection and maybe love each for the other, but nobody should tulk now—when we are running away from an army of white
rolling down his cheeks. The barber slowly raised the lather until it mixed with the tears. 1943 An Apology EARLY ONE MORNING, during a wearying hot spell in the city, a police car that happened to be cruising along Canal Street drew over to the curb and one of the two policemen in the car leaned out of the window and fingered a come-here to an old man wearing a black derby hat, who carried a large carton on his back, held by clothesline rope to his shoulder, and dragged a smaller
inspected the house from basement to attic. The man offered to buy a child’s fiddle he had seen in the attic, but Dworkin wouldn’t sell. “You’ll get a good price for this place,” the woman said to Zora. “It’s been kept in first-rate shape.” When they were moving out in the early spring, Dworkin said he had always loved this house, and Zora said she had never really cared for it. 1985 A Lost Grave HECHT WAS a born late bloomer. One night he woke hearing rain on his windows and
vision.” All I need is a room of my own. “I hate to see so many women’s lives wasted simply because they have not been trained well enough to take an independent interest in any study or to be able to work efficiently in any profession”: Leslie Stephen to Julia Duckworth. “There has fallen a splendid tear/From the passion-flower at the gate.”—Alfred, Lord Tennyson “There was something so ludicrous in thinking of people singing such things under their breath that I burst out laughing.” The