A Stone for Danny Fisher by Harold Robbins

Author:Harold Robbins [Robbins, Harold]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction/General, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
Published: 2007-08-06T23:00:00+00:00

I stood in the hallway outside my door, searching my pockets for my key. It wasn’t there. Nothing was there except the five hundred-dollar bills and a stub of a pencil. Wearily I tried to remember what I had done with it.

It came back to me suddenly. I had thrown it on the table in front of Papa that morning. We’d had an argument. Now I couldn’t even remember what the argument was about. There was light coming from beneath the door. Somebody was still up. They would let me in. I knocked softly.

I heard a chair scuffle inside the room, then footsteps approached the other side of the door. “Who’s there?” a voice cautiously asked. It was my father’s voice.

A lump had formed in my throat when I first missed the key. Now I almost cried in relief. “It’s me, Papa,” I said. “Let me in.” Everything would be all right now.

For a moment there was silence, then Papa’s voice came back heavily through the door: “Go away.”

Slowly the words penetrated my mind. I shook my head to clear it. I was hearing things. My father didn’t say that, he couldn’t. “It’s me, Danny,” I repeated. “Let me in.”

Papa’s voice was stronger now. “I said go away!”

A cold fear was running through me. I banged on the door, leaving bloody imprints from my hand. “Let me in, Papa!” I cried hysterically. “Let me in! I got no place to go!”

I could hear Mamma’s voice. She seemed to be pleading with him. Then I heard Papa again. His voice was hoarse and rough and as immutable as time. “No, Mary, I’m through. I meant what I said. This time it’s final!”

The sound of her sobbing came through the door, then the click of the light-switch. The light under the door had gone out. The sobbing behind it faded slowly into the house. Then silence.

I stood there a moment in shocked, frightened bewilderment. Then I understood. It was over, all over. Papa had meant what he said.

I slowly went down the stairs, feeling lonely and empty. On the stoop again, the night air was cool on my face.

I sank to the steps and leaned my head against the iron railing. I made no sound, but the tears were rolling down my cheeks. There was a burning sensation in my arm. I rubbed my hand along it. My fingers came away wet and sticky. The palm of my hand was cut and bleeding and my right sleeve was torn open. Through the rip I could see a cut on my arm in the dim light. The blood welled slowly into it, but it didn’t matter. It meant nothing to me now, I was so tired. I rested my head against the railing and closed my eyes.

They were closed only a moment when I opened them suddenly. The feeling I’d had earlier that evening came back upon me. Someone was watching me. My eyes felt puffy and swollen, as I peered up the street.

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