His sister-in-law comes screaming out of the kitchen, shouting "Murderer! Murderer!"

His nieces and nephews come in frightened. They kneel by their father. The fourteen year old looks up and says, "Uncle . . ."

He turns his back on them.

The knuckles of his right hand throb and his heart kicks in his chest. The streets are quiet. He can hear the thin scream of a siren way off in the tenements but the streets where he grew up where he has lived all his life are quiet.

Up and down these city blocks, where he knows every stoop and every wire or picket fence enclosing small front yards, every statue of the Virgin Mary with her arms extending blessings, every concrete bird bath, every little garden--up and down these city blocks street lights cast small pools of yellow against dark houses.