From the Corner of His Eye

imagined himself to be, more complex, more dynamic. Wow.
        He sighed. Tempting, as it was to lie here, gazing down at dead Naomi, daydreaming about a holder and more colorful future than any that he'd previously imagined, he had much to accomplish before the afternoon was done. His life was going to be busy for a while.

Chapter 4
        
        THROUGH THE ROSE-PATTERNED glasswork in the front door, as the bell rang again, Joe saw Maria Gonzalez: tinted red here and green there, beveled in some places and crackled in others, her face a mosaic of petals and leaf shapes.
        When Joey opened the door, Maria half bowed her head, kept her eyes lowered, and said, "I must be Maria Gonzalez."
        "Yes, Maria, I know who you are." He was, as ever, charmed by her shyness and by her brave struggle with English.
        Although Joey stepped back and held the door open wide, Maria remained on the porch. I will to see Mrs. Agnes."
        "Yes, that's right. Please come in."
        She still hesitated. "For the English."
        "She has plenty of that. More than I can usually cope with."
        Maria frowned, not yet proficient enough in her new language to understand his joke.
        Afraid that she would think he was teasing or even mocking her, Joe gathered considerable earnestness into his voice. "Maria, please, come in. Mi casa es su casa."
        She glanced at him, then quickly looked away.
        Her timidity was only partly due to shyness. Another part of it was cultural. She was of that class, in Mexico, that never made direct eye contact with anyone who might be considered a patron.
        He wanted to tell her that this was America, where no one was required to bow to anyone else, where ones station at birth was not a prison, but an open door, a starting point. This was always the land of tomorrow.
        Considering Joe's great size, his rough face, and his tendency to glower when he encountered injustice or its effects, anything he said to Maria about her excessive self-effacement might seem to be argumentative. He didn't want to have to return to the kitchen to inform Aggie that he had frightened away her student.
        For an awkward moment, he thought that they might remain at this impasse-Maria staring at her feet, Joe gazing down at the top of her humbled head-until some angel blew the horn of judgment and the dead rose from their graves to glory.
        Then an invisible dog, in the form of a sudden breeze, scampered across the porch, lashing Maria with its tall. It sniffed curiously at the threshold and, panting, entered the house, bringing the small brown woman after it, as though she held it oil a leash.
        Closing the door, Joe said, "Aggie's in the kitchen."
        Maria inspected the foyer carpet as intently as she had examined the floor of the porch. "You please to tell her I am Maria?"
        "Just go oil back to the kitchen. She is waiting for you."
        "The kitchen? On myself?"
        "Excuse me?"
        "To the kitchen on myself?"
        "By yourself," he corrected, smiling as he got her meaning. "Yes, Of Course. You know where it is."
        Maria nodded, crossed the foyer to the living-room archway turned, and dared to meet his eyes briefly. "Thank You."
        As he watched her move through the living room and disappear into the dining room, Joe didn't at first grasp why she had thanked him.
        Then he realized she was grateful that he trusted her not to steal while unaccompanied.
        Evidently, she was accustomed to being an object Of Suspicion, not because she was unreliable, but simply because she was Maria Elena Gonzalez, who had traveled north from Hermosillo, Mexico, in search of a better life.
        Although saddened by this reminder of the stupidity and meaness of the world, Joe refused] to dwell oil negative thoughts. Their firstborn was soon to arrive, and years from now, he wanted to be able to recall this day as a shining time, characterized entirely by sweet-if nervous anticipation and fly the joy of the birth.
        In the living room, he sat in his favorite armchair and tried to read You Only Live Twice, the latest novel about James Bond. He couldn't relate to the story. Bond had survived ten thousand threats and vanquished villains by the hundred, but he didn't know anything about the complications that could transform ordinary labor into a mortal trial for mother and baby.

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