The staked Goat

couples out walking arm in arm, here and there two men or two women, not arm in arm. I hit the square in three blocks and turned into the drugstore.
    There were maybe ten or fifteen people shopping, dressed up from church, some with bakery or small grocery bags in their hands. Three or four kids squealed. Somebody’s mother told them to be quiet. I walked to the newspaper stand and hefted a thick Pittsburgh Press. I didn’t see any New York Times.
    I made my way to the counter. Two burly guys about my age in sweat outfits and workboots were thumbing through a Penthouse. They smelled pretty ripe, and I had a feeling they wouldn’t be buying it. They had their backs to me when I asked the older man behind the counter for a Times.
    ”Sorry,” he said, ”sold out.”
    ”Maybe you’re saving one. I’m staying with the Sachses.”
    He smiled just as one of the guys said, ”Sachs! That’s the fuckin’ faggot who got killed. Remember, you asked me and I couldn’t remember his name. Sachs, yeh.”
    The old man dropped his smile and got sad and angry at the same time. The two still hadn’t turned around. ”Hey! This ain’t no library. Buy somethin’ or get out.”
    It became quiet around the counter. Still without turning, one guy gave the old man the finger while the other very deliberately dropped the Penthouse on the floor and picked up a Oui and began thumbing through it.
    I glanced around. Most of the men were middle-aged or young and ”professional” looking. I didn’t believe the guys knew that I was the one who had mentioned Al’s name.
    I set my paper on the counter and cut off the old man’s next comment as I turned to face the backs of the two browsers.
    ”Take it back,” I said in a deeper than conversational tone.
    One guy stiffened a little, the other turned around easily, smiling meanly.
    ”Ya say somethin’?” asked the relaxed one.
    ”Yes. I said take it back.”
    The stiffer one spoke. ”Take what back?”
    ”What your friend here just said about my friend.”
    ”Your friend?” said the relaxed one, stiffening a little now himself. ”Whaddaya mean, your friend?”
    ”Sachs. Al Sachs. We went through the service together. I just buried him, and you just insulted him. Now take it back.”
    There was a little buzz behind me. The counterman started to say something, but stopped when I held up my hand.
    ”I ain’t takin’ nothin’ back,” said the formerly relaxed one. His partner stole a quick look at the entrance to the store.
    I looked at the partner. ”Long ways away, that door.” I looked back at the speaker. ”Now, take it back.”
    ”Fuck you,” he said, growing less relaxed by the minute. ”My brother-in-law’s a cop.”
    ”Take it back or you’ll wish he was a plastic surgeon.”
    Speaker wet his lips with his tongue. He searched around for support from behind me. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t find any. His eyes told me he hadn’t.
    ”I ain’t takin’ nothin’ back.”
    ”This is like the schoolyard, boyo. You said something I didn’t like. All you have to do is take it back. But you have to do that.”
    ”You can’t hold us here,” said partner, eyeing the door again. ”That’s like kidnappin’ or somethin’.”
    ”In a minute,” I said, ”it’s gonna be like atrocious assault and battery or somethin’.” I could feel my blood rising for the fight. It showed in my voice. ”Now, take it back.”
    Speaker wet his lips again. He glanced around the crowd futilely a final time. He dropped his eyes and mumbled something.
    ”Louder,” I said.
    ”I take it back! I take it back! Awright, awright, ya satisfied now?”
    ”Yeah,” I exhaled. ”I’m satisfied.”
    Speaker flew by partner who dropped the Oui and followed him outside. A few people talked quietly but nobody laughed. I bent over and replaced their magazines on the rack. I took the shaking Times the man extended to me. I dropped four dollars on the counter, scooped up my Pittsburgh paper, too, and left.
    As I walked back to Dale’s, my spirit was down again. I tried to persuade myself that my macho show was a reaction to the derogatory word speaker had used. Rather than a reaction, you see, to the underlying implication. And the resulting association that I still found insulting and threatening. Yeah, sure.
     
    Dale and I polished off the remaining screwdrivers while exchanging sections of the Times. He tried to camouflage his glances toward the clock, but as they became more