Fall 1962 • Vol. XXIV No. 4 Fiction |

He and the Cat

Take it to a lawyer. That's what my friend told me to do. Now, I had never had occasion to have anything to do with lawyers. Mention of lawyers always brought to my mind pictures of courts, arrests, police: terrifying pictures. Although I was in trouble, I wondered why it should be a lawyer who would help me. However, my friend gave me the address. And from that moment my problem loomed larger. It turned in my mind. On the night before my visit to the solicitor, my heart was full of feelings of hurt. My soul fed on fire and scalding water. I'd tell the lawyer; I'd tell him everything that had gnawed inside me for several days. I went up the stairs of the high building. Whenever I met a man I imagined that he was the lawyer and all but started to pour out my trouble. On the landing I met a boy with a man's head and face, and rather large ears and lips. I told him I had come to see Mr. B., the lawyer. Very gently, he told me to go into the waiting room and wait my turn with th

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