money in her pocket than he
had. He pondered her memory for a moment--she had been his first
musical mentor--then went to switch off the light. He laid down on the
bed beneath fresh cotton sheets and listened to the far-off sounds of
the city--automobiles and trains, mostly--until he fell asleep.

Early in the morning, just after sunrise, Jurgen practiced the viola
quietly for an hour or so. He had no clock, but when he judged, by the
sounds in the street that the time was past ten, he left the hotel with
his viola case under his arm. He spent the day wandering from
street-corner to street-corner in a nearby business district along the
river-front and by late afternoon had earned enough money for two full
meals. He played mostly Stephen Foster songs--everyone knew them and
they never failed to bring smiles. Occasionally a nice old lady would
stop, and blushing, ask whether he knew one or another of the favorite
tunes of some prior season. As often as not, he had never heard of the
tune, but when he did know it, he laid into the instrument with such
vigor that they always left a good fistful of coins in his open case.

At a nearby hash-slinging cafe where the cook had anchors tattooed on
both arms, Jurgen ate breakfast. The waitress wore silk stockings
beneath a soiled uniform with pink and white stripes--and kept a pencil
behind each ear, both of them dull with their ends chewed. Jurgen
reflected with some amusement that his description could fit the people
as well as the pencils.

The next several days passed in much the same manner. Each evening,
rather than hastily becoming a regular at any one cafe, Jurgen
preferred to try all of the nearby places in the hope of finding the
most comfortable of the lot. On Thursday evening he saw a small sign
he had never noticed before, though he had walked down the same street
several times. Neatly lettered by hand in blue upon a white ground--it
said simply "Calcutta", with a downward pointing arrow. Jurgen
descended the dark stairwell, passed one steel door tightly closed with
a padlock, and found the next door unlocked. The same name was painted
on the door at eye level. He pushed it open and walked in, thinking he
might have found a restaurant a bit more exotic than the typical run of
cafes in the neighborhood. The lighting was dim, the decor dark and
spare. The place was lined with booths near the door, but opened into
a space taken over by a checkerboard ti