Evening star., 1941-06-29
II Short Story Complete IN This Issue

IT WAS 1ne thing, Max thought, to see
rockets that were not signals of distress,
- flares that lighted the whole countryside
without making it target for bombs,
1t was late, but the streets were gay with
lighted windows. the sky twinkled with the
colored stars of Roman candles, and young
couples laughed together on their way home
from the fireworks. AS Max passed private
homes, radios blasted away full force. This
was not Rumania No fear of being imprs-
oned for the program one listened to in this
country, the land he had loved before ever
seeing it!
He knew exactly what he was going to do.
First see about becoming an American citi-
zen. Then start his pet shop. He had little
money Enough for beginning
There would be animals of all kinds. Chip
munks on little whirling wooden wheels.
Turtles Love birds. Canaries. Monkeys
In America it was only necessary to have
your dream and be willing to work, and you
achieved it. There was nothing impossible
about dreams here. Not in this land.
1t was pleasure, after long day of hiking
and occasional lifts just to sit under tree
and study the maps. You didn't have to pay
for them. They were passed out freely at any
gasoline station with some CHEEKY word. like
skip it., or ''okay, boy, if you offered your
profuse thanks.
This morning his cheap suitcase had fallen
to pieces and now the paper bundles were
awkward and heavy. There was the fine set
of chessmen ebony and boxwood; a huge
old silver watch made by his own great
grandfather; his spare shoes; odds and ends of
clothes; sheets of music. And his fiddle
Finally Max realized that it was getting
late. 1t was time to find place to spend the
night - one that wouldn't cost anything, if
possible; such as haystaCk. He quickened
his pace, realizing that he was still some dis
tance from the outskirts of town.
Now stores no longer lined the streets.
Max was in factory district Perhaps he
could curl himself up in the corner of some
boiler room and keep warm. In this country
it would be all right. He came to a handsome
monolithic building with many glowing win
dows, through which he could hear the whir
of machinery. There was high wire fence
around it, but presently he found gate.
He pushed, and it swung ajar.
] HE gatekeeper was sitting in his little
brightly lighted cubicle, doing over his radio.
Max crossed the empty yard without dis
turbing him. There was main entrance to
the building, but he felt too humble to use
that. If he went around back somewhere, he
might find stokers who would let him curl
up beside the furnaces.
He was following the high concrete wall,
looking for another entrance, when search
light suddenly flashed full in his face and
voice barked out words of command.
At once, by trick of habit, Max was no
longer in America, but in the ear-ridden
places of the old country. He was trying to
escape - always escape, escape. He did here
as he would have done there, shrinking into
the shadow of great buttress.
There was shot. 1t clipped the chilly air
like the crack of a whip. He ran madly along
the wall, clutching his violin under his arm.
losing some Of the other parcels.
Now it was too late to stop and explain.
There were other shots. The gateman was
rousing himself But Max was past him, and