A pair of new shoes

　　The husky voice startled me and I turned quickly. T he man at the fence was young, hardly twenty, with blon d hair tousled like a little boy's. His clothes were du sty and rumpled, and I eyed him warily. I often saw rag ged, tired, solitary men pass by the house from the rai l yards nearby, men off the freights, men moving about the country, looking for work, my Jack was out there so mewhere, too.

　　"Missus, could I please have a drink of water?"

　　"Come into the yard," I called, and pointed to the enameled cup that hung over the outdoor tap. I had just filled three pails of water for my garden and had set t hem to warm in the sun. The tap still dripped.

　　He drank in great gulps, swallowing slowly, and the n splashed water on his face and ran his hands over his dusty hair and along the back of his neck. "That feels good, " he said, by way of thanks, and stood there, sel f-couscious and awkward, a sudden tenseness coming over him when he noticed the pails sitting in the sun.

　　"Have you any work I can do for you? Weed and water your garden?"

　　Some garden! The bean and tomato plants struggled t o survive in ground that was hard and cracked, and the sparse patch of lawn was no better. What work could I o ffer him? The house required a coat of paint, but paint cost money, and I had none. I made a pretense of lookin g around, before shaking my head.

　　When he dropped to the grass and placed his head on folded arms, I felt his tiredness and despair. A sudden tightness caught at my throat. He could by my son, I th ought. He looks as young as Alice. I knew he must be hu ngry. What could I give him? The ice-box held so little , some milk, a knob of butter, and a few slices of bolo gna for Alice's supper.

　　"Come in out of the sun. Sit on the porch," I said, surprised at the brusqueness of my command. "I'll get y ou something to eat." Emotions had a way of getting mix ed up these difficult days and I couldn't trust mine, j ust as I couldn't bear the shame-faced look of gratitud e in his eyes. As I climbed the steps to the house, I b ecame angry at myself, at my helplessness, at my empty cupboards, at the unrelenting drought, at the whole dar n suffering country.

　　I sliced a loaf of bread with vicious swipes of the knife, jerked open the ice-box for milk, twisted the li d off a jar of home-made jam, as though my frenzied act ions would wipe out the feeling of guilt at offering hi m so little. When I carried the food to the porch, I sa w the boy near the garden, rinsing his shirt in one of the pails. I beckoned to him, left him my scanty offeri ng, and returned indoors.

　　Despite the drawn blinds, the house had trapped the heat and had become an airless box of yellow light. My flowered print dress clung to me in wet patches. On eac h patch, the faded daisies dared to bloom. I dropped in to an armchair and swung my swollen feet up on a hassoc k.