“Something bad need only happen once.” The nun reached out and took her hand. “Calm yourself, my child. No one will hurt you now.”
They stood together under a streetlight for two or three minutes.
At the sound of footsteps, they turned; the priest stepped from the shadows.
“Nothing,” he said. He wiped some dust off his authoritative hands.
“I’m sorry,” Allison repeated once again. “I don’t know what got into me.”
“I wouldn’t concern myself, my child. It’s very dark and every sound echoes, no matter how slight. It’s certainly understandable that you’d become frightened.”
“Where are you going?” asked the nun. “If it’s near, you can walk with us.”
“No, thank you. I have to go uptown to Eighty-ninth Street. I’ll hail a cab, but I’d appreciate it if you could wait with me until one comes. I’m still a little unnerved.”
“Of course,” said the priest. “We’ll stand on the other corner.”
They crossed the street and waited for several minutes, until a taxi stopped.
“Thank you again,” Allison said. She stepped into it.
“Don’t mention it,” replied the priest. “Just stay off dark streets.” He closed the taxi door.
She turned and looked out the back window. A car was coming toward her, partially illuminating West Twenty-sixth Street. She watched the car’s progress, until it had reached the corner. Seeing nothing, she laid her head back on the poorly upholstered seat.
“Eighty-ninth and Central Park West, please.”
The cab jolted forward.
She lifted her head once again and peered out the dirty back window. The priest and nun were walking slowly up the block. She smiled, thankfully, but the smile quickly faded. She was furious with herself. Silly! Cowardly! Paranoid. The epithets ran quickly through her head. She couldn’t believe how she’d just acted. She had to get control of herself. The tactile strangeness. The sensation of footsteps. The headaches.
All nonsense.
She promised herself it wouldn’t happen again. And she promised herself, she’d say nothing about it all to Michael.
4
“Damn, it’s hot,” she cried, as she emerged from the confines of the tiny kitchen.
She hustled down the corridor carrying two round porcelain bowls. Cautiously, she set them on the dining table, blew on her singed fingers, lifted the lids to check the condition of the vegetables, then stepped back, surveyed the fruits of her considerable labor and realigned the mirrored settings at either end of the white tablecloth. She lifted two long-stemmed wine glasses and placed them next to a tear-shaped decanter and a bottle of French wine, finest vintage, that had been selected earlier in the day according to Michael’s strictest instructions.
Quickly noting the time on the grandfather clocks, she squeezed her hands nervously, scurried back into the kitchen and re-emerged with a hot plate. She skirted the end of the table, placed it on a portable bronze heater, applied a match, and stood back to admire the bright blue flame that shot up to singe the bottom of the metal casserole. She was satisfied. There was still more to do, but she was beginning to create some order out of the previous two hours’ chaos.
The doorbell rang. She jumped up and quickly glanced once more at the clocks. They read nine-thirty; Michael was half an hour early. How could he have done this to her? He’d never been early for anything in his life.
“Coming!” she shouted.
She ran to the mirror and straightened her pants suit. Not that it needed straightening, but a woman surprised is a woman unkempt, and the first thing a woman invariably does, whether the feelings of dishevelment are illusory or not, is to check her clothes and makeup. She tossed her hair, frowning slightly at the sight of a few loose ends, and placed the dangling crucifix inside the top of her jacket. The bell rang again.
“I’m coming, Michael!”
She grabbed the latch, pulled the chain guard, started to turn the knob, and then stopped. Michael hadn’t rung the front buzzer. How had he gotten in? Maybe one of the neighbors had been coming through the door at the same time. With a quick twist, she opened the door.
“Chazen’s the name, Charles Chazen,” said the little man. There he stood, all five foot six of him, slight of build and substance, with an elongated head and comically unmatched features emphasized by thinning gray hair that curled over his ears, an enormous pair of warped bifocals, which sat precariously on the bridge of his sharply-pointed nose, and sunken, but ruddy, cheeks that smacked of an Irish background or an extreme and constant state of embarrassment. The rest of his face was a composite of lines, crags, and crevices, all appropriately aged and asymmetric. But though it much resembled a prune, the immediate smile was ingratiating.
“I’m your neighbor in 5B,” he said.
Mr. Chazen was dressed in an old gray suit that was frayed around the edges and creaseless. The top two buttons were missing, as were the buttons on his sleeves, though the threads still remained. In his lapel was a shriveled flower.
“This is Mortimer,” he said, nodding to the green and gold parakeet that sat on his right shoulder.
“A most sagacious bird. Extraordinary. Unfortunately, he cannot speak a word of English, so if you’re not proficient in the language of the species, I’m afraid, you will miss a stimulating exhibition of erudition.”
“I…uh…” she stammered. “I’m afraid I’m not.”
“Tut, tut, my dear. In good time I shall teach you. It’s quite simple, you know.” He paused, glanced at the bird and continued. “I trust you like birds?”
“I do.”
“He’s from Brazil. Ever been there?”
“No.”
“I hear ’tis a lovely country.”
“Yes, I have also,” she said; she shifted unsurely in place.
Chazen stood erect, almost at attention. His left arm hung at his side, while his right arm hooked in front of him, forming a cradle in which sat another animal, a silly-looking black and white alley cat with limpid green eyes and the most frazzled, unkempt coat she’d ever seen.
Chazen held up the cat.
“And this is Jezebel and she speaks perfect English,” he announced. He looked into the cat’s eyes. “Say hello to the nice lady, sweetheart!” The cat said nothing. “Come on.” Still nothing. “Well, she’s not been too talkative tonight. Perhaps she has a bit of indigestion.”
Allison stood nonplused. She’d expected Michael, but, instead, here appeared a strange man with his mini-menagerie, a cat and a bird, her upstairs neighbor.
“My name’s Allison,” she said.
Mr. Chazen smiled broadly and extended his hand. “Glad to meet you. Yes sirreee. Glad to, glad to.” He chucked the cat under the chin. “Aren’t we? Of course we are, my little angels.”
The cat sneezed.
Chazen frowned. “Is my little baby catching a nasty cold?” He felt the cat’s nose, then each of her paws; satisfied, he wiped the look of parental concern from his face and smiled at Allison once again.
“Yes, I’m happy to know you too,” she said, while extending her hand to join Chazen’s. “I was wondering when I was going to meet some of the neighbors.”
“Oh, yes. I’m sure.” The little man bounced into the apartment with the animals. “Come, my children,” he said affectionately. He had a funny little walk, Chaplinesque in manner, his feet pointed in opposite directions, his legs stiff and extended, his body swaying from side to side. All that was missing was the black bowler, a set of tails, and a cane.
The cat bobbed merrily in his arm as he walked, her head mimicking the movement of his body. She seemed comfortable; she’d obviously been carried like this many times before.
“What a lovely apartment,” he said, scurrying about like a bargain hunter at a rummage sale. Within moments, he�
�d examined every piece of furniture in the room. “Mortimer finds the décor stimulating,” he added, after a brief discussion with the bird.
“Thank you,” Allison rejoined.
Chazen wobbled to the fireplace, quickly examined it, then turned his attention to the grandfather clocks, which he studied judiciously.
“Magnificent timepieces,” he said. He ran his eyes along the mantelpiece. It was covered by cameos and ferrotypes. He reached out, nabbed one, and held it up. “Herbert Hoover,” he declared. “A noble President.”
As far as she knew, she had neither a picture, nor a cameo of the man. Curiously, she walked over and looked at the antique.
“It doesn’t look like Hoover.”
“Of course, it does. Unquestionably so.” He nodded, then, oblivious to the fact that she’d claimed ignorance of its presence, added, “I admire your patriotism. I remember the man distinctly.” He puffed his chest proudly. “I shall go to Korea,” he said. “Got him elected.”
“That was Eisenhower.”
“Eisenhower? Was it?” He pondered momentarily. “I guess it was. Funny, I thought it was Hoover. Now what did Hoover say?”
Allison shrugged.
“Ask not what your country can do for you, ask…”
“No.”
“No?” He wrinkled his brow and challenged, “Who said that?”
“Kennedy.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
He glanced at the parakeet. “Hoover must have said something!”
“I’m sure he did.”
“What could it be?” he asked himself.
Allison smiled. “Give me liberty or give me death.”
“That’s it,” he screamed. “A great man.”
She shook her head incredulously.
He returned the cameo to the mantel, roamed to the center of the room, listened to some rapid commentary from Mortimer, then leaned on the couch and rubbed his chin. “My dear, your taste is exquisite. I should like you to help me redecorate my apartment someday.”
She protested. “Thank you, but I can’t accept the credit. Most of this was here when I arrived.”
“Tut. Tut. Immodesty is not a virtue when one’s abilities are genuinely laudable. Aristotle said so.”
She laughed. If Aristotle had said so, it was probably right. But then again Aristotle had said that the earth was the center of the universe.
Chazen continued to move about the apartment, displaying an intense curiosity about every object within reach, re-inspecting everything a second time. Suddenly he stopped.
“Oh,” he said in a self-reprimanding tone, “I’ve interrupted your dinner.”
She looked at the exquisite table setting. “No,” she corrected, “I haven’t begun yet.”
“That’s reassuring! I would feel so contrite if I had barged in. Ingestion and digestion must progress without the interference of idle chitchat. Don’t you think?”
“Why yes,” said Allison. “I’m waiting for a gentleman to join me for dinner. His name’s Michael,” she continued, trying to think of a way to politely induce her neighbor to leave.
“You’re married?”
“No.”
“Engaged?”
She shook her head.
“Ah, just friends,” he concluded. “But friendships often blossom into bliss.” He smiled. “Definitely so!”
She frowned. She hadn’t heard such corn in years.
Chazen continued to smile broadly, as he walked around the table. He studied several of the bibelots with the aplomb of an antiques expert. Then he sat down at the head of the table.
“Thank you for offering,” he bellowed.
“Offering?” she responded, not quite knowing what he was talking about.
“Oh, yes, yes. I know when someone’s going to offer me a chair. From experience. I’m no youngster, you know. So I merely saved you the effort by thanking you in advance.” Chazen paused, petted the cat, then continued. “I’ve been meaning to pop in for the last three days, but between this and that I first had the chance now.”
“I’m so happy you were able to find the time.”
“So am I,” Chazen declared, adjusting his un-adjustable bifocals. “I so love new neighbors. I like the old ones, too. But new neighbors are so much fun. They remind me of my first apartment back in the twenties, or was it my second back in the thirties? Well, whatever. It was so long ago I really don’t remember accurately, but I had so much fun with the new neighbors.”
“Can I offer you anything?” asked Allison, interrupting the confusion. “Some wine or food?”
“Oh, no, it’s way past my mealtime and at my age I must keep a careful regimen.”
“And the animals?”
“They eat with me.”
She stifled a laugh. She couldn’t believe the conversation. But he was entertaining and she immediately felt a pleasant affection for him. She sat and petted Jezebel’s neck; the cat purred.
Chazen smiled contentedly. “Mortimer likes his stomach rubbed,” he declared.
Allison reached over and caressed the bird’s breast.
“A hedonistic bird.” Chazen giggled, his cheeks reddening. “Hedonism and sagacity. A rare combination in any animal, human or otherwise.”
“I would suppose,” Allison surmised.
“So would I,” announced Chazen. “So would I.”
Allison smiled, bemused.
“Do you know any of the other neighbors?” she questioned.
“Of course,” he answered. “I know them all, such nice people, except…” He motioned Allison to lean in, so that he might whisper in her ear. “Well, there’s a priest on the floor with me, who belongs in a mental institution! Crazy as a loon!” The old man looked up at the ceiling, as if he were repentant for having uttered such an insinuation. “God forgive me,” he begged. “But he’s really nuts. Sits in his apartment all day looking out the window.”
“The rental agent mentioned him.”
“She did?”
Allison nodded. “He was watching us as we were leaving the building.”
“I see.” Chazen paused. “But don’t worry, he never comes out and he’s very quiet. Well, anyway, there’s that apartment 4A!”
“Who lives there?”
“No one. That’s the point. They’ve never rented it. And it really is nice. Now all the rest of the people are quite pleasant and I…no, wait, I almost forgot those two women on the second floor. There’s something evil about them. Worthy of damnation!”
“That’s a harsh judgment,” she cautioned.
“Oh, tut,” he responded.
“Excuse me?” questioned Allison, not quite knowing the meaning of his remark.
“Tut! Tut! Never you mind. Evil, I said.”
She was duly chastened. She sat back in her chair and waited for his next revelation.
“Now what was I talking about?” puzzled the old man. “Let me see.”
“The neighbors?” suggested Allison.
“No, it was something else. Before that. No. Ah, marriage. That’s it marriage! Never indulged myself. Confidentially, I’ve always been somewhat afraid and suspicious of women. No offense, my dear.”
“I’m sure none was intended.”
“No, no, of course not. Let me see. Yes, I must admit that I have some terrible foibles. When I was just a child, my mother, the dear soul, tried…”
She glanced over at the clocks, while he continued to drone like a broken record. It was already ten, time for Michael’s arrival. But she knew he’d be late as usual. This annoyed her. Couldn’t he have come on time to rescue her from this discourse on Chazen’s life history?
The old man spoke dramatically. Each momentous event of his life was announced with a humph in his voice and a barrelin
g of his chest, produced to allow a great intake of air, so that he might continue without pausing to breathe. Fortunately, she heard very little. Her mind was elsewhere and his voice encouraged her stupor.
Sometimes in the midst of his dissertation, she rejoined the flow of words. She again looked at the old grandfather clock to the right of the mantel. She couldn’t believe that she’d been listening for forty-five minutes. And she’d heard almost nothing. There was some stuff about the Bronx, a few parables about the Depression, a list of his life’s accomplishments, and a survey of the numerous jobs he’d held over the years. But not much else. She was concerned. What if the old man asked her to comment on the highlights of his life. It would be impossible and she could never face him again. Then she thought that that might not be so bad, if speechmaking was his favorite pastime.
“So, you see, my dear Allison, Jezebel and Mortimer are my only true companions. Sure, Mrs. Clark in 4B is an attentive acquaintance, but only they can truly sympathize or should I say empathize. I share my most intimate moments with them, and as you can well guess, there are many intimate moments in the old man’s life.”
He sat back and smiled. His story was finished. He looked at the clock. “My God,” he murmured, “it’s well past their bedtime. Do you know that lack of sleep ruffles a cat’s fur and curls a bird’s feathers?”
“You live and learn,” said Allison a little sarcastically.
“How true! How True! Well now, I had only intended to stay for few minutes, but I’ve gone and jabbered on for an hour. How selfish of me! Anyhow, I know you have to prepare for your friend, so I’ll be going.” He lifted the cat off the table. “I’ve enjoyed this little chat. It’s a shame Jezebel wasn’t more talkative. Maybe next time.”
“I’m sure,” she said.
He stood and walked to the door. “You needn’t help me out. I’ll do just fine. If you ever need anything or any help, just knock on my door at any time.”
“Thank you for the offer,” she said, as she followed him.
“Tut, tut, don’t mention it. It’s my pleasure.”
“Mr. Chazen, there is one thing. Might I use your phone in an emergency? The telephone company still hasn’t installed mine.”
The Sentinel Page 4