He could see tears running down the old man's leathery cheeks.
Even in the dull, grey light he could see those wet streaks. He could see the dimpling, quivering chin, the wet eyes and the old man's sorrowful, lost look.
He hesitated. He had been waiting some time in the cold for the bus. It was due any minute. If he got involved, if he helped that lost old man, he would miss the bus and have to wait another hour. The past day-and-a half had been dismal enough -- did he really want to delay himself by another hour?
Yesterday, he supposed, hadn't been a total waste. Distasteful and frustrating as it was, he had performed a duty. He had at least met family obligations by visiting his younger sister, and regrettably, staying for dinner and spending the night. This part of town is bad enough in the dead of winter, but to have to remain pleasant for his sister's sake and be passive in the presence of that son-of-a-bitch she married! The noise and the smell of that dismal apartment were bad, but his brother-in-law's foulness made it worse. But, as sad as it left him, his visit was all he could do for his sister and he had fulfilled a promise.
The tired squeal of brakes brought him back. As the bus door rattled open he realized what he must do. Feeling the tension of others at the bus stop as they began to press together toward the opening, he turned sideways, ignoring the impatient glances of those behind and moved away from the waiting bus toward the bent figure shuffling nearby. He couldn't get onto that bus and leave that lost old man.
He walked slowly as he approached and circled into the old man's view to get his attention before he spoke.
"May I help you?" he asked. "Are you lost?"
A kindly old negro face looked into his, its brimming, once-dark eyes now greyed with age.
"I can't find Georgie, I think he got lost", the old man whimpered.
"Georgie? Were you with him? Did he bring you here?"
Searching his face confusedly, the old black man hesitated, "No... I think he just got lost... He's little, you know, and I think he just got lost."
The old eyes looked away briefly and returned to him, scanning his eyes, over his face, to the cap and overcoat of his dark uniform.
"Can you help me find him, mister?"
"I'll help you any way I can", he answered, expecting it was probably the old man and not Georgie who was lost. Wondering where to start he asked, "How long has Georgie been gone?"
"It's been a long while... I haven't seen him all day and I'm worried, he's awful little, you know"
"How little is he? ...how old?"
The old man held his hands up, palms about a foot apart, " He's 'bout that long -- nine weeks old, you know. Did somebody call you people to help us find him?"
"No..", he paused, and realizing the old man's confusion, answered, "I'm a Navy officer, not a policeman."
Expecting now that the old man's search was likely for a puppy, he asked, "What color is Georgie's fur?"
"Kinda tan, his momma is a golden retriever you know," the dark old face showed a glimmer of pride, "and her daddy was a thoroughbred."
"Why don't we go back to your home and start over again. Maybe we'll find him more easily."
"All right..." the old man responded.
"Where do you live?"
Looking slowly around, the old man's brow furrowed, "Top floor, front. It's a nice apartment, you know, gets the breeze in the summer."
"But where is it? What's the street number?"
"It's... uh... the number?"
"Yes, do you remember the street and the number of your house?"
"The street? Oh, yes, we live on Barrier Street... North Barrier Street. Moved there in '39."
"Barrier Street? Do you know which direction that is from here?"
The old man's eyes cast about blankly in response. He seemed even more lost. Then, his face flickering in recall, "It's a big green house, dark green, with a big porch!"
"Well, let's ask directions. We'll find which way to take you home -- and we can look for Georgie along the way."
Taking the old man gently by the arm, he moved carefully toward the door of a nearby shop. Opening the door, he stood aside to let the old man into the shop. Stepping over the threshold, the old man looked up and stiffened.
At the rear counter of the tiny shop a pinched face glared at them. The officer pushed the reluctant old figure ahead. He could feel the shopkeeper's eyes boring a hole through him.
"What... can I do for you?" spat the man behind the counter.
"This old man is lost. He says he lives on Barrier Street. Can you tell me which way that is?"
"The nigger part of town starts ten blocks that way!" answered the darkening face with a thumb over a shoulder.
"Ten blocks to the east then?"
The thumb jerked an emphatic cadence. "It's... that... way..! You can't miss it!"
"Thank you."
As he turned away and directed the old man out the door, it crossed his mind that the dolt behind the counter wouldn't know east from up-side-down.
The door closed behind them with a tinkle. They proceeded to the right, past the now vacant bus stop and right again to the east. Not wanting his shuffling charge to fall behind, the uniformed man walked slowly and patiently, pausing as the old man looked searchingly along the gutter, into doorways, around parked cars.
Hoping to redirect his companion's attention, he asked"You live on Battery Street, you say?"
"Yes... uh... No!" The old man paused in mid-stride and looked at him. "Not Battery Street -- Barrier Street!"
"It's this way isn't it?" Pointing, he summoned the old man ahead. "You live there with your family?"
"Why, yes," the old man was moving again, "with my daughter and her family."
"You've been there how many years?"
"Since nineteen-and-thirty-nine. Five years this month, in fact." Watching the wet sidewalk ahead of his feet, the old man began stepping out in purposeful stride. "My daughter's husband got a job at the Navy yard and when they moved here they asked me to come live with them. He's a cook, you know."
The conversation continued a few more blocks under a dark sky threatening more wet snow.
Abruptly, they came to a narrow street running diagonally across their path with several sets of railway tracks on the opposite side. Pausing to reconnoiter, he realized they would have to walk some distance to find a safe crossing. ...if, in fact, they were still on the right track.
"Your house, Barrier Street... Is it over there somewhere?"
The old man squinted and looked right and left and right again. From the right, a switching locomotive was approaching along the tracks.
Just as the officer began to feel thwarted in his good deed, the old man answered, "Why yes, it's just over there a ways."
"Which is the easiest way to get there?"
"Down to that crossing and over." Pointing in the direction of the locomotive, the old man turned and strode ahead single-mindedly.
Deadheading, the stubby locomotive was accelerating as it approached, chuffing and fussing. Passing close by, it filled the air with steam, soot, and cinders. The officer was glad he was in blues and not khakis or whites. Looking up, saw the engineer's pink face and blue-grey eyes looking back. Their eyes met for an instant as the locomotive passed.
Another five minutes' walk took them over what was obviously the borderline. A strange pair from the start, he realized they would likely draw a lot of attention on the other side of the tracks: an old negro leading a white man in a Navy officer's uniform.
A few more blocks and around a corner, "There we are!" the old man chimed. A few more steps and he was climbing up to the broad porch. "Come on up and set a spell. Maybe my daughter can fix something to warm you up."
He paused at the bottom step and then decided somebody might be worried and would benefit from an explanation. Maybe he might learn that Georgie had come safely back.
"Pop, where've you been? We've looked all over for you!" A plump, housewifely negress stepped onto the porch. She took her father's hand. "You're freezing! Where have you been?"
Noticing the officer, the woman turned towards him, her brimming dark eyes searched his.
"Your father was lost," he spoke softly, "Over the other side of the tracks. He... he said he was looking for Georgie."
"Oh Daddy!" the woman sobbed. Arms around her father, she gently kissed him and patted his thin grey hair.
"Yes," came the old man's muffled voice, "He's been helping me look for Georgie. I think he got lost you know."
Another sob, a long hug, and the daughter tried to regain her composure. "Thank you, sir. You've gone out of your way to help my father. I'm going to make him some hot soup to warm him up, could I ask you to join us?"
"No, thank you." Sharing the awkwardness of the situation, he found a ready excuse. "It would be wonderful on a day like this, but I'm traveling and I might miss my connection if I take any more time. Just knowing your father is home safely will keep me warm enough."
Seeing the old man's back disappearing down the entranceway, he quietly asked "Will he find Georgie?"
The woman's face saddened. "Mister, Georgie got run over last week." Looking over her shoulder conspiratorily, she continued, "We just didn't have the heart to tell him. He's eighty-six and gotten like a child in some ways." Her eyes, already moist, were brimming again. "It would break his heart to know that he forgot and left the door open and let the puppy into the street to be run over. We told him that Georgie probably got lost. We even helped him look for it for a couple days and hoped he would finally forget. You understand don't you?"
He sighed pensively. "Yes, it's always difficult to find the best way to break bad news."
After a long and even more awkward pause, "Well, if I'm going to make it at all I'd best be on my way."
Stepping back, the woman straightened and forced a smile, "Sir, if I can't repay you for your kindness to my father, please know that it will always be remembered. God bless you and keep you safe from harm."
"That's all the payment I need, thank you." He turned and started down the steps.
A few strides to the street corner, and as he turned, he glanced back over his shoulder. She was still standing on the porch and raised a hand in acknowledgment. Without breaking stride, he lifted his hand to his cap visor in a brief return salute.
Pakeha