Mohawk

far too intelligent to be lastingly intrigued by these Mohawk boys. Her mind was not the problem—but what of the heart? Beneath her almost cruel beauty, she had little of the innate haughtiness that might’ve served as a shield, leaving her heart all too approachable. Instead of revulsion, she often felt sympathy, and unfairness always melted her. Her father’s fear on this score came to be personified in young Billy Gaffney.
    The other men in the shop knew nothing of what had taken place between Rory Gaffney and Mather Grouse. The latter sometimes wondered what side they would’ve taken had they known, or even if they would’ve believed. Only the shrewdest saw what finallywas plain—that Rory Gaffney prospered out of all proportion to his co-workers. Somehow he always got the best leather to cut, while the other men spent more time concealing the flaws in theirs. They might’ve resented Rory Gaffney had he ever given any indication he considered himself superior in any way, for democratic assurances counted a good deal among men with very little. For a man with money to put on airs was all right, but not a workingman. Gaffney wasn’t that way. He’d tell a joke and shake a hand and, if it so happened that he prospered, he’d buy a round at Greenie’s. It was Mather Grouse, who prospered as little as anyone, who suffered on this charge.
    If they’d given the matter some thought, these men would’ve been surprised at the animosity they had collectively harbored against a man who had never wronged a single one of them. But when the opportunity arose for them to retaliate—as they saw it—not a single man abstained. It happened one warm spring afternoon, and the huge, ceiling-high windows had been pushed out to allow air to circulate in the stifling, smoke-filled shop. As they worked, the men closest to the open windows peered out wistfully into the bright sunshine. When the high school let out, pretty girls with armloads of books began to pass by below. Occasionally someone in the shop would whistle, but for the most part the men were circumspect, since they were, after all, their own daughters passing below. With older women, of course, it was a different story, and the men hooted enthusiastically, especially if they recognized the woman as the wife of a fellow worker.
    They all knew Mather Grouse’s daughter on sight—the prettiest of all the girls, with the most womanly figure. When they saw her coming, they always nudgedone another and exchanged knowing glances. Mather Grouse, though he worked at a window table, never indulged this afternoon pastime, never encouraged his daughter to stop in to see him. Perhaps this, too, was held against him, because he made the men feel unclean in their desire.
    Though it was rare for any boy to find the courage to walk with Anne Grouse, some followed her progress in cars, circling the blocks, slowing down along the curb, talking to Anne and her girlfriends, hanging out the windows. Usually, she walked with a girlfriend, or alone. No one had ever seen her in the company of a boy whose father cut leather with Mather Grouse, until the afternoon she was spied in the company of young Billy Gaffney, who shuffled along beside her stoically, trying in vain to think of something to say. They walked in awkward silence, Billy scowling at himself yet very happy.
    The men in the shop were also happy. At first there were only a few random hoots, but before long these were accompanied by explicit suggestions, and soon the men were hanging out the third floor window, each offering lewd encouragement to Rory Gaffney’s son, who showed signs of lapsing into neurotic lunacy as the advice rained down upon him. Embarrassed and confused, he didn’t realize that many of the anatomical suggestions were facetious. The more he was jeered and encouraged, the more confused he became, for the advice was varied and he seemed expected to carry it all out at once, despite the fact that none of these suggestions were on his agenda and some required more expertise than he possessed. He had never been in the company of a girl before, and the only advice his father had given him was never to be around one without aTrojan, advice Billy had neglected—and with disastrous consequences, just as his father had predicted, if he had followed the instructions of the men hanging from the windows.
    Anne herself added to his confusion. If she had shown signs of being offended, he would’ve known how to