Nat waves from the other side of the store, in the section with large plastic containers of nuts and dried fruits and candies. I bring Luuk and Daan over to introduce them.
“This is my friend Natalie. It’s her family’s store.”
Luuk shakes her hand. “We are dazzled.”
Daan grabs her other hand. “We must sample everything!”
Nat laughs. “That’s going to be hard.”
The two men go off to decide what they want to buy, and I tell Nat what happened last night.
“You were dreaming again,” she says simply.
“I was not. I was wide awake.”
“You thought you were awake.”
Now I’m getting mad. “I know I was awake. You weren’t there.”
Nat puts on a plastic glove and reaches into a huge jar labeled ULTIMATE MALTED MILK BALLS. She knows these are my favorites. They are practically as big as tennis balls and filled with milk chocolate, like a regular malted milk ball but on steroids. It’s totally a peace offering.
Of course, just as she hands it to me, a voice says, “Oh, great. None for me?”
Nat sighs and hands hers to Gus, who’s just arrived.
He looks at her. “Are you sure about this?”
Nat says simply, “I don’t need it.”
“Well, I don’t need it either,” says Gus, popping the whole thing in his mouth. Which is as gross as it sounds.
That’s the moment Luuk and Daan come back. I try to introduce Gus, who cannot speak coherently with the giant malted milk ball in his mouth. He pushes it over to one cheek, which makes him look a little like a demented hamster.
Luuk pretends not to notice.
Daan nods. “Are those the ultimate malted milk balls?” He scribbles them on their list.
A woman behind the counter gestures to Luuk and Daan.
“We’re next!” says Luuk, and rushes off.
I tell Gus about the knocking. His eyes widen.
“Dude, I’ve seen this movie.” (The candy has melted enough for me to make out what he’s saying.) “If it was me, I’d get out of there and never look back.”
The fact that someone else has finally said what I’ve been thinking hits me a lot harder than I thought it would. I’m finding it hard to catch my breath. I can feel a dampness under my arms.
Nat must have noticed that I’ve broken out in a sweat.
“First of all,” she says, pushing Gus in the chest, “it’s not a haunted house. It’s an apartment. And it sounds like only one room is haunted.”
I look at her.
“I mean, if it was actually haunted,” she adds quickly, “which it isn’t. Because ghosts aren’t real.”
“I dunno,” Gus says. “I saw this special on the History Channel where they brought all this equipment into a haunted castle and they were scientists and everything. They couldn’t explain what they were finding.”
“Those shows are all fake,” Nat snorts. “I’d like to know what sort of scientists they were.”
“All I know is they were wearing white coats,” Gus insists. “And it was on the History Channel, not Syfy.”
I sigh. “Gus, the History Channel also has those pawnshop shows where people just happen to show up with incredibly valuable things they found in their garage. It’s all scripted.”
“It is?” Gus whimpers. “I always thought—”
“Everybody knows all those shows are hyped,” Nat adds. “Especially the ones that claim to prove ghosts are real.”
It always calms me down when Nat argues, because she’s so persuasive. At school, she’s the one who makes the best points about the books we’re reading. Right now, I want to believe that she’s right. I mean, it just isn’t logical. Right?
“What about the knocking?” Gus persists. “How do you explain that?”
Nat reaches into the jar and offers Gus another malted milk ball. “Just because we don’t know why Danny heard what he did doesn’t mean there isn’t a logical explanation.”
The malted milk ball has temporarily distracted Gus as Nat knew it would. Just then Daan and Luuk come up, their basket filled to overflowing with bags of dried fruits, candies, and some of the prepared foods from the deli section.
“These are some of the best stuffed grape leaves I’ve ever had!” exclaims Luuk, licking his fingers.
“Just some of the best?” a booming voice demands. “I’m disappointed! Usually people say they are the best they’ve ever had!”
I smile when I see the imposing form of Sammy Haddad, Nat’s grandfather. Whenever I see the word “jolly” in a book, I think of him. It’s hard not to.
He’s impossible to miss. He’s over six feet tall, with a big strong chest and a belly to match, usually under a brightly checked shirt. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him frown except when he’s pretending to be mad or acting exasperated because a customer hasn’t found the cheese he’s given her to taste “the best she’s ever had.”
Sammy has been the face of Haddad’s since he was Nat’s age, probably.
My dad likes to talk about having “people skills,” meaning the ability to talk to people and make them feel at ease or charmed. Usually when he’s talking about it, it’s in the negative (“That kid’s mother is severely lacking in people skills”). But I think Sammy might have invented people skills. He’s talking to Luuk and Daan like they’re old friends. The way he’s shaking both their hands you’d think they were buying thousands of dollars’ worth of food.
“If you treat your new customers like this, I can’t imagine how you treat your old ones!” Daan says. “I feel like family!”
Sammy leans down to them conspiratorially. “I treat my old customers better than family. Some of my family I don’t like so much. I love all my customers!”
This is followed by his trademark laugh, which is so deep, it seems to come from all over his body.
Sammy has known so many of us since we were babies, and he remembers everyone’s name.
Luuk, who is pretty good in the people skills department himself, is about to charmingly answer him when someone calls for Sammy.
“Please excuse me,” Sammy says. “I’ll be right back! Be good! And if you can’t be good, be careful!”
Another laugh, which we can’t help but join in, as corny as Sammy is. He’s got signs all over the store saying things like YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE CRAZY TO WORK HERE…BUT IT HELPS! And A WAIST IS A TERRIBLE THING TO MIND!
The thing is, he really thinks the signs are funny. As he passes, a dad holding a baby yells, “Why can’t I be more like you, Sammy? You get so much joy out of life.”
Sammy answers, “You want to be more like me? An overweight old guy with glasses and bad feet? I’d rather be a handsome young man like you, but I’m stuck with what I’ve got, so I might as well make the best of it!”
The customer who asked for him has come back to the neighborhood for a visit and of course had to buy something at Haddad’s. This happens all the time. The people want to reminisce, talk about all the changes in Brooklyn, and just let Sammy know how happy they are that no matter what, Haddad’s is still here.
Sammy looks into the stroller. “Don’t tell me this gorgeous creature is your granddaughter?”
“Yes, this is Paloma,” the white-haired woman says.
“Please. You’re far too young to have grandchildren.”
The woman shakes her head, laughing. “Oh, Sammy, you’re too much!”
“I know!” Sammy says. “My doctor says I need to lose thirty pounds!”
They hug, and he returns to us.
“Lovely people,” he says. “Used to live around the block years ago.”
To be honest, Sammy thinks all of his customers are lovely people. Although it’s funny, because he doesn’t run the store anymo
re; his kids do. Not that he made them do it. Sammy is very proud that he didn’t force his kids to go into the business. Both his daughter, Marie (Nat’s mom), and his son, Michael, went to college and business school because they wanted to take over the family business one day. Of course, that doesn’t stop Sammy from coming in every morning and acting like he still runs things.
He turns to Daan and Luuk. “I thought I heard an accent. I’m guessing…you’re Dutch?”
“Very good!” Daan says, beaming.
“We carry Vanderdonk chocolates, the best in Amsterdam, yes?” Sammy says, not waiting for an answer. “And of course, when it comes to Edam…,” Sammy calls out to the woman at the cheese counter. “How many cheeses do we have from Holland?”
“Six or seven,” she reports.
“But of course you don’t want that!” Sammy says, laughing. “You can get that any time at home!” He checks their basket. “Hmm…good, good. But wait!”
Nat is grinning and gives me a look. I mouth the words “Thirty-seven types of olives,” and she giggles. It’s only a matter of time before Sammy mentions his pride and joy. “No olives?”
Luuk and Daan exchange glances.
Daan bows. “We were overwhelmed with the choices!”
Sammy has led them over to a rectangular chrome showpiece holding canister after canister of gleaming olives.
“I don’t blame you! We have…” Sammy pauses, beaming. Here it comes. “Thirty-seven different types of olives! You can’t walk out of here without trying some of them!”
Ten minutes later, having been subjected to a lecture on the differences between kalamata and Greek olives, and having sampled more than a dozen, Luuk and Daan have made their decision. They look a little overwhelmed.
Sammy has that effect on a lot of people.
As they head to the cash register, Sammy turns to us and makes sure we try his newest batch of olives from the South of France.
Sammy tells us they are “right off the boat!”
They are delicious, but I’m not sure I could tell the difference.
“So what are you young people up to today?” he asks.
Before I can stop him, Gus says, “We were just talking about how Danny’s apartment is haunted.”
I thought Sammy would laugh like he always does, but instead he rubs his chin.
“Haunted, you say? That’s serious business. Tell me about it.”
Nat looks like she’s going to explode. “Jidoo!” That’s the Lebanese word for grandpa. “This is one of your jokes, right?”
Sammy looks down at her. “You know, Nat, not everything is a joke.”
“Please. I can’t believe you are serious!”
Sammy looks pretty serious, though. “Look, if it was Gus, I’d just laugh, because Gus is a prankster.”
Gus looks a little hurt, but also a little proud.
Sammy looks over at me. “But this is Danny. He’s a very sensible boy.”
Nat snorts. She’s seen me in the lunchroom.
Sammy shrugs. “I mean, as thirteen-year-old boys go. He doesn’t make stuff up.”
“I guess that’s true,” Nat admits.
There is an older couple by the registers. They see Sammy and wave. He waves back and yells, “Good to see you again!”
He gestures to us to follow him. “Too many distractions out here. Come, come, come.” He leads us to a small office in the back of the store. I haven’t been here in ages, since we were little and my mom would drop me off to play with Nat while she shopped.
There’s an old battered couch, and some file cabinets and a desk that looks like it’s from a movie from the sixties, with an old desk lamp on it. On the wall is a framed announcement from an old issue of the local paper. The headline proclaims that Sammy is being named the president of the newly formed Brooklyn Heights and Cobble Hill Merchants Association.
Sammy points to the cabinets. “We used to keep all our records there. That was before computers. Now they’re old and rusty. Like me.”
Gus flops down on the couch and I join him. Sammy goes behind the desk and pulls out a chair on wheels with torn vinyl armrests. He eases into the chair carefully, making an “oomph” noise as his butt hits the seat. My dad has started making that noise when he sits down, I notice. I guess that’s what happens as you get older.
Nat is standing warily by the door.
“Darling, close the door,” he instructs her. “And join your friends.”
Nat comes over and sits on the arm of the couch. It’s sagging already, and I think there is no way she’s going to sit between us, all squeezed together.
“So tell me about this ghost,” Sammy says, smiling.
I can’t believe a grown-up is actually taking this seriously.
“It’s not really a ghost, exactly,” I begin. “More like a presence. I don’t know. Weird things are happening.”
“When did this start?”
“Jidoo! You’re not telling me you actually believe in ghosts?” Nat practically screams.
“A little respect for your jidoo, Nat,” Sammy says gently but firmly. “I’ve lived a few years more than you on this planet, so maybe you should listen instead of talk.”
Nat crosses her arms. “You always brag about how good I am at school, how smart I am. Well, in science we learn to trust in what’s real, what can be verified. Ghosts aren’t real. Everybody knows that.”
“Science doesn’t know everything,” Sammy says. “I was watching a show on TV last night—”
“On the History Channel, right?” Gus breaks in.
Sammy shoots him a look. “The History Channel? That’s nothing but nonsense. No, this was on public television. With real scientists. I think it was called Mysteries of Science.”
“But—”
“Nat, darling, let me finish. We don’t know a lot of things. Scientists don’t even know why nine out of ten people are right-handed. Did you know that?”
“No,” Nat says, “but that’s different.”
“And the bumblebee!” Gus says. “Scientists say the way it’s designed it shouldn’t fly, but it does!”
“That’s different,” Nat says. “Just because something can’t be explained doesn’t mean it’s supernatural. There’s an explanation for all the things that have been happening to Danny.”
“You think they’re all coincidences?” Sammy asks her. “Or that he’s dreamed it up because he wanted the room for himself?”
“That’s one answer,” Nat says.
Sammy turns to me. “Well, Danny, what do you think?”
I’m quiet for a minute. We can hear all the noises of the bustling store outside: cash registers, numbers being called out, people chatting. In this normal, everyday world what I was feeling last night seems kind of silly. I look at Sammy’s kindly face peering down at me and the words tumble out.
“All I know is that these things are happening. I mean, when I talk about it, it sounds stupid, and if any other kid was telling me about it, I’d think he was nuts. So…I just don’t know.”
Sammy reaches out and pats my arm with his huge calloused fingers. I look down and see a lifetime of stocking shelves, counting out change, and shaking his customers’ hands.
Sammy looks straight into my eyes. It’s a little unnerving. “Young man, I’ve lived in Brooklyn my entire seventy-nine years. I’ve worked at this store since I was younger than my granddaughter the genius here. And let me tell you, I’ve met all sorts of people and heard all sorts of stories. And after all of that, I have come to one conclusion.”
He pauses.
“If I know anything, I know this—there are ghosts in Brooklyn.”
A loud slapping noise breaks the silence. I don’t know what it is at first, then realize it’s Nat, face-palming. “Jidoo, how can you say that?”<
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Sammy turns to his granddaughter and emits another low, rumbling chuckle. “You know, sweetheart, I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.”
Gus swallows hard. “Have you ever seen one?”
Sammy smiles. “Me? Not really. Well, maybe I’ve known a few merchants who’ve disappeared with my money without delivering my order, but I’m not sure they count as ghosts.”
Nat shakes her head. “You’re only encouraging him.”
Sammy brushes some crumbs off his pants. “I’m not exactly an expert on this. I know your tayta claims she’s been visited by her late mother. You know what I say?”
“That you believe her?” I ask.
“No, I say if it is true, better her than me!” Sammy says, and laughs so hard at his own joke he starts to cough.
“There are no such thing as ghosts. They’re just stories,” insists Nat.
“Well, stories had to come from somewhere,” I say.
Sammy nods in approval. “Good point! For example, did you know where ghouls come from?”
“Sure! From the cemetery!” says Gus loudly, the way he does in school when he completely misunderstands the question. I have to admire his confidence, but I wish he’d think a little harder.
Sam nods patiently. “Well, yes. But I mean originally.”
“Let me guess,” Nat says, like she’s been here before. “It’s an Arab word.”
“Yes!” says Sammy proudly. “My little genius.”
Nat reddens. “I’m not a genius. I just know when you ask that question the answer is always the Arab people, algebra, our numerals, coffee….”
“Those were all from the Arabs?” Gus asks.
“Arab culture,” Sammy gently corrects him. “And ghouls, while perhaps not as helpful as what Nat talks about, are from Arab traditions too.”
Now Nat and I lean in, as if somehow the ghouls were listening.
“In Arab folklore, ghouls were demons who lived in the desert who could take on any form,” Sammy continues. “They especially like eating children, drinking their blood. They can even eat the dead, which is how we tend to think of them today.”
The Ghost in Apartment 2R Page 6