The Doll

     He never thought of Mary anymore when he delivered the ice.  No one else in the family noticed, but she was alarmed.  Always he had slipped her a wedge of peach or a peppermint round as he took the coins from Father, but one Thursday he simply forgot.  He must be very forgetful, thought Mary, for he hasn’t given me anything for weeks and weeks.

     Still, Mary enjoyed his coming.  She would stand concealed on the other side of the doorway as he hauled the weatherbeaten slabs into the icebox.  By the time his horse clapped onward, she was tired of standing still; but she didn’t allow herself to move until he had left. 

     One Thursday he came unexpectedly early -- almost thirty minutes.  Mary was so busy scrubbing the table that she didn’t hear his horse coming up to the tenement.  When he came in with the ice, she was covered in soap and dust.  He never smiled, but she thought she saw a hint in his face right before she ran into the kitchen.  Since then, she was careful to always stand by the door like a wire doll.

     The ice man hardly spoke English, but it didn’t matter.  Though he was a Greek, he wasn’t filthy.  Perhaps because he worked with ice, he was clean from head to toe; and his dress was decent.  Save for the dark shadow over his jaw, he looked as though he had barely escaped boyhood, though Mary knew he had a wife; once from the window she saw a young woman heavy with child down in the wagon.  Neither the ice man nor his wife were filthy.  Mary didn’t know why mother kept saying that.

     It was summer, and the tenements were so hot that the children gathered in the alleyways through the bright hours of day.  Mary was on her knees watching a fat caterpillar when she heard the familiar claps of the ice man’s horse, even though it wasn’t Thursday.  She stood up and peeked around the brick wall just as his foot went into the door of her building.  The horse was glossy with sweat, continuously nudging a loose shoe on the surface of the street.  Mary left the alley and meandered to the horse.  She tried to pat its nose, but it was too far to reach, so she stood still and watched its head move from side to side. 

     Very soon the ice man came down again, and when he saw Mary he stopped.<o:p></o:p>

     “Ekei einai,” he said with a pleasant tone.  When he came close to her, she was reminded of how small she was.  He wasn’t very much like a boy at all when he was this near her; he only looked young from out the window.

     To Mary’s surprise, he stooped low and put his hands beneath her arms.  He lifted her up and propped her against his side; she had nowhere to put her hands but at the base of his neck.  She looked into his face with muted astonishment, but he didn’t change his expression.  He only watched her features good-naturedly for a moment, then set her down.

     Immediately she scampered through the door of her building and up the stairs.  There were four flights of them, so by the time she reached the flat the horseshoes were receding.  It was too late to catch a glimpse of him through the window, but it was only two days until Thursday. 

     “He may be a Greek, but he’s a good Catholic,” said Mother from the kitchen.  She was stacking the plates as Mary came in, so they didn’t speak for a long moment until the cupboard was closed.  “Look what he made for you,” said Mother as she reached into the icebox. 

     It was a transparent doll, so fragile and detailed that Mary was afraid Mother’s fingertips would melt it.  She reached out slowly to touch it as though conjuring it to life.  Each moment she noticed a new sparkle of the hair, curve of the arm, or glitter of the tiny face.  By the time Mary’s fingertips rested on the doll’s cheek, it was as alive as Mother was.

     “He’ll be a good father,” said Mother with uncharacteristic softness, then handed the doll to Mary and returned to the dishes.  Mary didn’t speak, but silently held the ice until her fingers grew numb.