It was raining that morning, and still very dark. When the boy reached the streetcar café he had almost finished his route and he went in for a cup of coffee. The place was an all-night café owned by a bitter and stingy man called Leo. After the raw, empty street, the café seemed friendly and bright: along the counter there were a couple of soldiers, three spinners from the cotton mill, and in a corner a man who sat hunched over with his nose and half his face down in a beer mug. The boy wore a helmet such as aviators wear. When he went into the café he unbuckled the chin strap and raised the right flap up over his pink little ear; often as he drank his coffee someone would speak to him in a friendly way. But this morning Leo did not look into his face and none of the men were talking. He paid and was leaving the café when a voice called out to him: “Son! Hey Son!” He turned back and the man in the corner was crooking his finger and nodding to him. He had brought his face out of the beer mug and he seemed suddenly very happy. The man was long and pale, with a big nose and faded orange hair. “Hey Son!” The boy went toward him. He was an undersized boy of about twelve, with one shoulder drawn higher than the other because of the weight of the paper sack. His face was shallow, freckled, and his eyes were round child eyes. “Yeah Mister?” The man laid one hand on the paper boy’s shoulders, then grasped the boy’s chin and turned his face slowly from one side to the other. The boy shrank back uneasily. “Say! What’s the big idea?” The boy’s voice was shrill; inside the café it was suddenly very quiet. The man said slowly: “I love you.” All along the counter the men laughed. The boy, who had scowled and sidled away, did not know what to do. He looked over the counter at Leo, and Leo watched him with a weary, brittle jeer. The boy tried to laugh also. But the man was serious and sad. “I did not mean to tease you, Son,” he said. “Sit down and have a beer with me. There is something I have to explain.” Cautiously, out of the corner of his eye, the paper boy questioned the men along the counter to see what he should do. But they had gone back to their beer or their breakfast and did not notice him. Leo put a cup of coffee on the counter and a little jug of cream. “He is a minor,” Leo said. The paper boy slid himself up onto the stool. His ear beneath the upturned flap of the helmet was very small and red. The man was nodding at him soberly. “It is important,” he said. Then he reached in his hip pocket and brought out something which he held up in the palm of his hand for the boy to see. “Look very carefully,” he said. The boy stared, but there was nothing to look at very carefully. The man held in his big, grimy palm a photograph. It was the face of a woman, but blurred, so that only the hat and the dress she was wearing stood out clearly. “See?” the man asked. The boy nodded and the man placed another picture in his palm. The woman was standing on a beach in a bathing suit. The suit made her stomach very big, and that was the main thing you noticed. “Got a good look?” He leaned over closer and finally asked: “You ever seen her before?” The boy sat motionless, staring slantwise at the man. “Not so I know of.” “Very well.” The man blew on the photographs and put them back into his pocket. “That was my wife.” “Dead?” the boy asked. Following....

That narrator is excellent. Thanks for posting this Carson McCullers story.

This is a beautiful reading, thankyou. Captures the melody of the writing.

Beautiful story, beautifully read.

I read this story and a few more Carson McCullers short stories last night . I thought this was a profound- weird short story in the style of the great Russian writer Anton Chekov . To be sure LOVE has deeper than " True Romance " meanings.