The drive to the Bronx through the now tranquil night was a vivid contrast to the earlier commotion, when the fire forced them from their apartment. They stood on the sidewalk paralyzed, until the police offered to take them to a homeless shelter. They turned onto Avenue D and the normally bustling street was deserted. Not even the ghosts of immigrants past lingered in remembrance of their struggles to escape the crushing burden of poverty. They took Houston Street to the East River Drive and the lights from across the river in Queens flickered tauntingly, another mouth of the cruel urban giant, slumbering until dawn aroused its appetite to devour its citizens. There was almost no traffic and it only took a few minutes to drive uptown to the Willis Avenue Bridge. The occupants of the police car were too distracted to notice the decay of the relic of nineteenth century style bridge construction, that was now out of favor with a people who had become immersed in impersonal sleekness. The hum of the tires on the rusting metal roadbed sang them across the bridge to an unknown land.

Peter had lapsed into a listless state, oblivious to where he was. When they came off the bridge Beth looked out the window, curious to see why Peter was so apprehensive about the Bronx. The streets didn't seem more uncivilized than parts of Manhattan. There were a lot of run down tenements and public housing, but they looked a lot better than much of Detroit. They drove a few blocks and turned onto a two way street that definitely reminded her of Detroit. They turned again onto a broad avenue, but she couldn't read the street sign. The avenue got wider and they passed a park that seemed peaceful in the concealing darkness. They stopped at a red light and she saw a massive stone monstrosity of the type that government once erected to impress its people with the myth of its enduring power. The granite giant, modeled after a characterless cube for architectural style, reminded a nation that just completed a world war that they had substance and were here to stay.

Beth thought that most government structures were dated without being old, obsolete without being antique and formal without being splendid. She remembered from her art history course at M.S.U. that one of the defining characteristics of a culture was its buildings. She idly wondered why governments didn't build pyramids, since that was one of the most imposing forms that man created. Then she concluded that they would take too much space at the bottom and not provide enough at the top. She wondered if they could be built inverted and suddenly realized that after being burned out of her home and heading towards a homeless shelter, she was sitting in the back seat of a cop car, thinking about pyramids. The weirdness of the situation made her giggle.

Peter didn't react, but Officers Corrado and Warren turned and regarded her strangely. "I'm glad you still have your sense of humor," Coro said. Officer Warren's glance was suspicious, as if he expected her to become hysterical and burst into tears at any moment. She commented placidly: "I was thinking about pyramids." Coro looked at Kareem, who arched his eyebrows, as if to say 'she's losing it.' Beth guessed they assumed she was freaking out and said reassuringly: "This is the first time I've been to the Bronx, and when I saw that huge government building I wondered why they didn't build pyramids instead." "How do you know it's a government building?" Coro asked. "It's too big to be a bank and no one else would put up a monument to corruption like that, so it has to be a government building." "Why do you say corruption?" "Those palaces of power were built at the expense of the people and everybody involved profited from it." "I didn't know that," Coro said.

Beth turned to Officer Warren. "What street is this?" "I'm not a tour guide, lady," he growled. "I just wanted to learn more about where we're going." "Next time, book a trip with a travel agent." She decided not to ask any more questions and tried to read the street signs. They stopped for a red light and she saw that they were on the Grand Concourse. It was a broad, almost elegant roadway that must certainly have caused the destruction of acres of woodland to allow Bronx citizens to motor from one end of the borough to the other. Officer Warren checked the street sign and cursed: "Shit. I came too far. That's 165th Street. We're going to 151st Street." He made a U-turn at the corner and headed back the way they came. Before she could see much more of the Concourse they turned onto 151st street. It was too dark to see anything clearly in the faint glow from the streetlights. They pulled up in front of a peeling brick building that was as grim as a jailhouse. Vagrant light peeked from cracks in the fading black paint on the windows. The door was a mottled, metal portal that hinted of squalor within.

Officer Warren shifted into park, then said not insincerely: "Here we are folks. I'm sorry for your troubles. They'll take care of you inside." "Are you coming in with us?" Beth asked. "There's no need, ma'am. They know what to do." Beth clutched Coro's shoulder. "Will you wait for us, in case there's a problem?" Coro took his cue from his partner. "Don't worry, ma'am. They'll help you. That's why they're here, for emergencies." "I understand that, but we'd feel a lot better if you were outside, just in case they don't have room for us." Coro didn't know what more he could do, so he said: "Why don't you take your family in now. You'll see, it'll be all right." He reached back and opened the door. Peter got out mechanically, carrying Jen. Beth carried Andy. They stood bewildered, uncertain of what to do. As the car drove off, Coro waved and gestured for them to go in. He said to Kareem: "I feel sorry for them. They lost everything." "I've seen worse." "Do you think they'll make it?" Coro asked. Kareem shrugged: "You can't be soft and survive in this world. Despite all the security that money buys, disaster is always nearby." Coro looked back and saw them still standing there forlornly wrapped in their blankets, until he couldn't see them anymore.

Peter didn't seem inclined to move, so Beth headed for the door and he followed. She opened it and walked into a dimly lit room. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw bundles of what must have been people sleeping on the floor. There was a battered metal desk near the door and a man was hunched over it, snoring away. She said: "Sir. Can you help us?" When he didn't stir she shook his shoulder. "Sir. Can you help us?" He still didn't respond, so she shook him again, harder. He straightened up and said groggily: "What do you want?" "We were burned out of our apartment. We need a place to sleep." He was an older black man with mottled skin and inflamed eyes. A sign on the desk said he was Mr. Givens. He pointed to an empty corner and said grumpily: "You can park there." Beth was shocked. "We can't sleep on the floor." "Take it or leave it. You can sleep on the street for all I care."

Beth was taken aback by his indifference and turned to Peter for support, but he just stood there passively. She realized that it was up to her and asked politely: "Don't you have any beds?" "This ain't a shelter," The clerk snarled. "The police officers told us they were bringing us to a shelter." "I don't care what they told you. This ain't a shelter." Beth knew she couldn't get impatient. "Then what is it?" "It's an emergency assistance center. You come here if you ain't got anyplace else...." "We don't have anyplace else." "Yeah, well if you qualify, they'll find someplace for you." "Can you do it now?" "Nah. I don't do admissions. You'll have to see a social worker in the morning." "What do we do until then?" "Sleep on the floor, or get out. It's up to you, but no more talking. You'll wake the clients."

Beth realized that she wasn't getting anywhere with the cranky clerk and led them to the empty corner. She made a nest with the fire department blankets for the exhausted kids and they promptly fell asleep. She put her blanket on the floor and sat down. Peter sat next to her and she covered them with his blanket and slumped against the wall. The stale smell of sweat, the rank odor of unwashed bodies and gassy carbohydrate emissions filled the air. The sounds of snoring, moaning, coughing and the thumping of shifting bodies further assaulted the senses. Peter whispered shakily: "What are we going to do?" She already knew that his high-strung nature was not ideal for stress situations. She didn't see any alternatives. "We can't do anything until morning, so let's get some sleep." Relieved of the burden of decision, he leaned against her and dozed off. Beth sat there, wide awake, thinking about their situation. She couldn't come up with any answers, but she was determined to take care of her family, no matter what happened and finally nodded off in an uneasy sleep.

Several hours later Beth was yanked out of her uneasy sleep, when the lights went on abruptly and a harsh voice yelled: "Time to get up." A tall, thin black man in a blue security guard uniform walked down the row of sleeping families and prodded them with his foot, repeating over and over: "Time to get up." When he reached Beth, she said loudly: "Don't you kick me." He stared down at her belligerently: "Then get your ass onto a bench. There's no more sleeping now." He glowered down at her, daring her to defy him. Beth saw that everyone else was getting up. They were shuffling like the living dead to a row of benches that she hadn't noticed when she came in during the night. She slowly stood up, gently shook Peter and said to the guard who was towering over her: "We're getting up. There's no need to be nasty." "Then get moving. I don't take no shit from you people." "What do you mean, 'you people'?" "Homeless," he sneered. "We're not homeless," she protested. "We had a fire last night and...." "Don't matter to me. Get your ass on the bench." Beth tried to remain calm: "The police officer who brought us here told us to speak to a social worker." "Then take a seat. They'll call you." "How will they know who we are?" "They'll know."

Beth realized that she wasn't going to get anywhere with the obnoxious guard. She shepherded Peter and the children to the bile green plastic benches that were stained from slovenly use. She wiped some kind of glutinous substance from the bench with a corner of her blanket, sat down and surveyed the room. It was painted institutional green to conceal the emissions of distressed people. It looked more like a disreputable lawyers office, or a seedy bookie joint, than a site that provided human services. Small family groups, mostly single mothers with children, huddled together dejectedly. The children were spiritless, as if they had been squashed by whatever event brought them to this dismal office. About half of the families were black and the other half Hispanic. There was one other white family besides hers and she heard them muttering in Russian. Solitary men, mostly black, sat apart from the families, restless, fidgeting, coughing, twitching, showing all the signs of strung-out junkies. Everyone looked as if they were being ground down by relentless forces. Beth made a mental vow not to let it happen to her family. Then she looked at Peter, who was staring apathetically into space, and put her arm protectively around him.

Jennifer leaned over and whispered: "When are we going home, Mommy?" "I don't know, sweetheart. We'll just have to wait." Andy looked at her sadly: "I'm hungry." "I know, honey. We'll get something to eat soon." They sat there for an hour without anything happening. A disturbance started at the other end of the room and the nasty guard escorted a cursing black man outside. The guard came back in and Beth said: "Excuse me, sir." He looked at her blankly. "Yeah?" "When will we get something to eat?" "Talk to the social worker." "When does he get here?" "It's a she and she'll get here when she gets here." "My children are hungry." "You white folks think you're special?" he asked irately. "You gotta wait like everybody else." Beth controlled her temper. "I don't think we're special. I'm just trying to get some information." "Well I already told ya. You gotta wait for the social worker." He walked away, completely unconcerned with her problems. It started to dawn on Beth that they may have fallen into a system that was not susceptible to courtesy and reason.

She peered around the room and noticed that some of the people huddling on benches were looking at her, but she couldn't detect any animosity, jut remote curiosity. A few of the families had obviously been there for a while, judging by their attempts to organize meager possessions, but they were barely animated. A heavy-set black woman, wearing lots of gold jewelry, walked in and announced in a surly voice: "Breakfast will be distributed in fifteen minutes. Clients line up against the wall. When you're finished, dispose of your garbage in the plastic garbage bags that are provided. Remember, sleeping isn't allowed on the benches." The clients rose and formed a line against the wall. Beth took Jennifer with her and joined the line, leaving Andy with Peter. The heavy-set woman went by and Beth called her: "Excuse me, ma'am." The woman turned: "What?" "When can we see the social worker?" "Later." "Do you know what time?" "You wanta eat?" the woman growled. "Yes." "Then keep quiet and wait."

Beth knew it was futile to get into a confrontation and nodded compliantly. The woman stalked off and Beth leaned against the wall. "That lady's mean," Jennifer whispered. Beth agreed, but didn't want to add to their problems. "Sometimes people can be mean, but I don't want you to say anything about it, unless we're alone." "Yes, Mommy. I'm hungry. Do you know what's for breakfast?" "No, but we'll find out soon." The tall, thin, young black woman with close-cut gelled hair, standing in front of her, turned and said: "That was smart, not givin Ms. Waller a excuse to hassle ya." "I figured I'd talk to the social worker, not her." "She be the social worker." "Her?" "Her." Beth was horrified: "She doesn't seem too concerned with our problems." "She look down on us, cause we homeless." "But she's supposed to help us." The woman smiled gently: "A lotta folks look down at us, cause they think they're better. Don't matter to them who we are, only that we're poor. I'm Kiesha. When you finish your breakfast, we get acquainted. I'll tell you what be goin down here." "Thanks. I'm Beth. I'm worried about this place." "You just be cool an you be all right."

The line started to move, so Kiesha turned away and Beth followed her. A fat, Hispanic man sat behind a desk, doling out food from black plastic garbage bags. He handed Beth two packets of dried cereal, two small containers of milk, two plastic spoons and two slices of pre-buttered white bread. "There are four of us," Beth said. He looked at her suspiciously: "Where?" She pointed at Peter and Andy and he gave her two more servings. She brought the food to Peter and Andy, who obviously had hoped for something better. "Is that all we get?" Andy asked. "Maybe we'll get something else later. Right now, if you're hungry, eat your breakfast," Beth said. They hadn't eaten since dinner the night before, so they quickly consumed the spartan repast. When they finished, Beth collected the remains and dumped them in the omni-present black garbage bags. She went back to their bench home and wiped the spilled milk and smeared butter with the empty cereal packet. She turned to Jennifer: "Stay with your father and Andy." "Where are you going?" Jennifer asked in alarm. Beth pointed to where Kiesha was sitting. "I'll be there. Call me if you need me."

Kiesha smiled and cleared a place on the bench for her. Beth sat down and confided: "Last night I had a home. Now I have this." Kiesha nodded: "Shit happens, but you gotta be strong. This ain't no nice place." "Tell me about it." "Folk come here when they ain't got no place else. The staff calls us clients, but they don't care about us. All they want is to get us out of here before the lawyers for the homeless show up." "Can they help us?" "Nah. They talk a lot, but they only here 'til they make friends while fightin with the city. Then they get good payin jobs and forget about us." "Isn't someone supposed to help us?" "You on your own, missy. You gotta learn to take care of your family." Beth took a deep breath. "I get the picture. How do you get out of here?" "You stays here 'til they place you somewhere." "How long have you been here?" "Me and my kids been here since before Christmas. They takes us somewhere else to sleep sometimes. A bus comes at one or two A.M. and takes us to some shelter, then brings us back in the morning." Beth concealed her shock: "How come you're not depressed like everyone else?" "I can't afford no wallowing in misery," Kiesha said determinedly. "I gotta look out for my kids."

Beth now could see clearly that she was in for a struggle. "How does this place work?" Kiesha smiled approvingly. "First you waits 'til the social worker calls you and opens a case file for your family." "How long is the wait?" "'Til she think you be humbled enough." Beth was already digesting this bitter pill: "Then what happens?" "Once you be registered, she give you the rules and put you on the placement list for a family shelter." "How long does that take?" "They in no hurry. They glad if you leavin here in disgust so there's one less family in the system. They give you three meals a day from government surplus food and hope you be gone." "What if you don't have anyplace to go?" "They make you suffer for bein needy, then they ships you to some welfare motel here in the Bronx, where no one see your condition." "Why do they send you there?" "Nobody from the media come to the Bronx, unless there be a big fire, or the cops shoot some black man." "That sounds awful." "It is, missy. Listen. After you see the social worker, you move your family over here and we can look out for each other." "Sure. See you later."

Beth waited for hours without being called. At one o'clock, the fat, Hispanic man who served breakfast served lunch: some kind of processed cheese on packaged white bread, a container of milk and an undelicious apple, all extracted from black plastic garbage bags. Jennifer ate without complaining, Peter ate in a daze and Andy only whined for a moment. The family was adapting to unpleasant circumstances. They waited for several more hours, then the social worker finally called: "Harmon" and Beth went to the desk. "My name is Ms. Weller and there are forms for you to fill out before we can review your case." "I've been sitting around doing nothing for hours. I could have filled out the forms while I was waiting," Beth said. Ms. Weller scowled: "You're not here to tell us what to do. If you want assistance, you'll keep your opinions to yourself. You can always take your family and go somewhere else." Beth cursed herself mentally for unnecessarily provoking the social worker. "No thank you. Can I have a pen?" "You really should be prepared." Beth wisely didn't respond.

The forms were obviously designed to be as confusing and personally discomfiting as possible. College and employment applications weren't as prying. All the questions about financial and family resources required an answer, or the applicant would be rejected. Beth answered everything, even when she didn't know what she was doing. She finished and brought the forms to Ms. Weller. "Have a seat now. We'll call you." On her way back to her bench she saw Kiesha smiling encouragingly and felt a little better. She waited patiently for another two hours until she saw Ms. Weller putting on her coat. "Excuse me, Ms. Weller. Are you going to help us before you leave?" Her answer was indifferent. "There's not enough time to open a case file today. You'll have to wait until tomorrow." "But that means we'll have to spend another night here." "You're not obligated to stay here," Ms. Weller said abruptly. She closed her coat and flounced out.

Beth stood there helplessly, but decided not to argue. Kiesha came to her and led her to her bench. "Don't do no good get upset. You wasn't getting outta here today anyhow." "Why not?" "They want you to get worn down by the system, so you don't give them trouble. You just take it easy and be patient. They serve dinner at six o'clock, then we gotta get off the benches and sit on the floor." "That's so dehumanizing," Beth said. "That's what happens when you be poor. They make you pay for it." "We're not poor," Beth protested. "We lost our things in a fire," "Don't matter how you get here, they treat all of us the same, like dirt." "I've got to make sure that my family doesn't get destroyed by this terrible experience," Beth said. Kiesha patted her affectionately: "That's the spirit, missy. You be strong for your family and they gonna survive this mess."