January slipped her fingers under Shrimp’s wrist to take her pulse. “It’s slow,” she observed.
Shrimp pulled her hand away. “I don’t want to play games.”
January began to cry.
13. Shrimp, in Bed (2026)
“You know?
“I’d like to see it working again, the way it was meant to. That may sound like less than the whole revolution, but it’s something that I can do, that I can try for. Right? Because a building is like … It’s a symbol of the life you lead inside it.
“One elevator, one elevator in working order and not even all day long necessarily. Maybe just an hour in the morning and an hour in the early evening, when there’s power to spare. What a difference it would make for people like us here at the top. Think back to all the times you decided not to come up to see me because of these stairs. Or all the times I stayed in. That’s no way to live. But it’s the older people who suffer most. My mother, I’ll bet she doesn’t get down to the street once a week nowadays, and Lottie’s almost as bad. It’s me and Mickey who have to get the mail, the groceries, everything else, and that’s not fair to us. Is it?
“What’s more, do you know that there are two people working full time running errands for the people stranded in their apartments without anyone to help. I’m not exaggerating. They’re called auxiliaries! Think what that must cost.
“Or if there’s an emergency? They’ll send the doctor into the building rather than carry someone down so many steps. If my hemorrhaging had started when I was up here instead of at the Clinic, I might not be alive today. I was lucky, that’s all. Think of that—I could be dead just because nobody in this building cares enough to make the fucking elevators function! So I figure, it’s my responsibility now. Put up or shut up. Right?
“I’ve started a petition, and naturally everyone will sign it. That doesn’t take any effort. But what does is, I’ve started sounding out a couple of the people who might be helpful and they agree that the auxiliary system is a ridiculous waste, but they say that even so it would cost more to keep the elevator running. I told them that people would be willing to pay for tickets, if money’s the only problem. And they’d say yes, no doubt, absolutely. And then—fuck off, Miss Hanson, and thank you for your concern.
“There was one, the worst of them so far, a toadstool at the MODICUM office called R.M. Blake, who just kept saying what a wonderful sense of responsibility I have. Just like that: What a wonderful sense of responsibility you have, Miss Hanson. What big guts you have, Miss Hanson. I wanted to say to him, Yeah, the better to crush you with, Grandma. The old whitened sepulcher.
“It’s funny, isn’t it, the way we’ve switched round? The way it’s so symmetrical. It used to be I was religious and you were political, now it’s just the reverse. It’s like, did you see The Orphans the other night? It was sometime in the Nineteenth Century and there was this married couple, very cozy and very poor, except that each of them has one thing to be proud of. the man has a gold pocket watch, and the woman, poor darling, has her hair. So what happens? He pawns his watch to buy her a comb, and she sells her hair to get him a watch chain. A real ding-dong of a story.
“But if you think about it, that’s what we’ve done. Isn’t it? January?
“January, are you asleep?”
14. Lottie, at Bellevue (2026)
“They talk about the end of the world, the bombs and all, or if not the bombs then about the oceans dying, and the fish, but have you ever looked at the ocean? I used to worry, I did, but now I say to myself—so what. So what if the world ends? My sister though, she’s just the other way—if there’s an election she has to stay up and watch it. Or earthquakes. Anything. But what’s the use?
“The end of the world. Let me tell you about the end of the world. It happened fifty years ago. Maybe a hundred. And since then it’s been lovely. I mean it. Nobody tries to bother you. You can relax. You know what? I like the end of the world.”
15. Lottie, at the White Rose Bar (2024)
“Of course, there’s that. When people want something so badly, say a person with cancer, or the problems I have with my back, then you tell yourself you’ve been cleared. And you haven’t. But when it’s the real thing you can tell. Something happens to their faces. The puzzlement is gone, the aggression. Not a relaxing away like sleep, but suddenly. There’s someone else there, a spirit, touching them, soothing what’s been hurting them so. It might be a tumor, it might be mental anguish. But the spirit is very definite, though the higher ones can be harder to understand sometimes. There aren’t always words to explain what they experience on the higher planes. But those are the ones who can heal, not the lower spirits who’ve only left our plane a little while ago. They’re not as strong. They can’t help you as much because they’re still confused themselves.
“What you should do is go there yourself. She doesn’t mind if you’re skeptical. Everybody is, at first, especially men. Even now for me, sometimes I think—she’s cheating us, she’s making it all up, in her own head. There are no spirits, you die, and that’s it. My sister, who was the one who took me there in the first place—and she practically had to drag me—she can’t believe in it anymore. But then she’s never received any real benefit from it, whereas I—Thank you, I will.
“Okay. The first time was at a regular healing service I went to, about a year ago. This wasn’t the woman I was talking about though. The Universal Friends—they were at the Americana. There was a talk first, about the Ka, then right at the start of the service I felt a spirit lay his hands on my head. Like this. Very hard. And cold, like a washcloth when you’ve got a fever. I concentrated on the pain in my back, which was bad then, I tried to feel if there were some difference. Because I knew I’d been healed in some way. It wasn’t till after the meeting and out on Sixth Avenue that I realized what had happened. You know how you can look down a street late at night when things are quieter and see all the traffic lights changing together from red to green? Well, all my life I’ve been color-blind, but that night I could see the colors the way they really are. So bright, it was like—I can’t describe it. I stayed up all that night, walking around, even though it was winter. And the sun, when it came up? I was on top of the bridge, and God! But then gradually during the next week it left me. It was too large a gift. I wasn’t ready. But sometimes when I feel very clear, and not afraid, I think it’s come back. Just for a moment. Then it’s gone.
“The second time—thanks—the second time wasn’t so simple. It was at a message service. About five weeks ago. Or a month? It seems longer, but—Anyhow.
“The arrangement was, you could write down three questions and then the paper’s folded up, but before Reverend Ribera had even picked up mine he was there and—I don’t know how to describe it. He was shaking her about. Violently. Very violently. There was a kind of struggle whether he’d use her body and take control. Usually, you see, she likes to just talk with them, but Juan was so anxious and impatient, you see. You know what he was like when his mind was set on something. He kept calling my name in this terrible strangled voice. One minute I’d think, Yes, that’s Juan, he’s trying to reach me, and the next minute I’d think, No, it can’t be, Juan is dead. All this time, you see, I’d been trying to reach him—and now he was there and I wouldn’t accept it.
“Anyhow. At last he seemed to understand that he needed Reverend Ribera’s cooperation and he quieted down. He told about the life on the other side and how he couldn’t adjust to it. There were so many things he’d left unfinished here. At the last minute, he said, he’d wanted to change his mind but by then it was too late, he was out of control. I wanted so much to believe that was true and that he was really there, but I couldn’t.
“Then just before he left Reverend Ribera’s face changed, it became much younger, and she said some lines of poetry. In Spanish—everything had been in Spanish of course. I don’t remember the exact words, but what it said, basically, was that he couldn’t stand losi
ng me. Even though this would be the last heartbreak that I’d ever cause him—el último dolor. Even though this would be the last poem he’d write to me.
“You see, years ago Juan used to write poems to me. So when I went home that night I looked through the ones I’d saved, and it was there, the same poem. He’d written it to me years before, after we first broke up.
“So that’s why when somebody says there’s no scientific reason to believe in a life after this one, that’s why I can’t agree.”
16. Mrs. Hanson, in Apartment 1812 (2024)
“April. April’s the worst month for colds. You see the sunshine and you think it’s short-sleeve weather already and by the time you’re down on the street it’s too late to change your mind. Speaking of short sleeves, you’ve studied psychology, I wonder what you’d say about this. Lottie’s boy, you’ve seen him, Mickey, he’s eight now—And he will not wear short sleeves. Even here in the house. He doesn’t want you to see any part of his body. Wouldn’t you have to call that morbid? I would. Or neurotic? For eight years old?
“There, drink that. I remembered this time and it’s not so sweet.
“You wonder where children get their ideas. I suppose it was different for you—growing up without a family. Without a home. Such a regimented life. I don’t think any child—But perhaps there are other factors. Advantages? Well, that’s none of my beans-on-toast. But a dormitory, there’d be no privacy, and you, with all your studying! I wonder how you do it. And who looks after you if you’re sick?
“Is it too hot? Your poor throat. Though it’s little wonder that you’re hoarse. That book, it just goes on and on and on. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m enjoying it. Thoroughly. That part where she meets the French boy, or was he French, with the red hair, in Notre Dame Cathedral. That was very… What would you call it? Romantic? And then what happens when they’re up on the tower, that was a real shockeroo. I’m surprised they haven’t made a movie of it. Or have they? Of course I’d much rather be reading it, even if… But it isn’t fair to you. Your poor throat.
“I’m a Catholic too, did you know that? There’s the Sacred Heart, right behind you. Of course, nowadays! But I was brought up Catholic. Then just before I was supposed to be confirmed there was that uprising about who owned the churches. There I was standing on Fifth Avenue in my first woolen suit, though as a matter of fact it was more of a jumper, and my father with one umbrella, and my mother with another umbrella, and there was this group of priests practically screaming at us not to go in, and the other priests trying to drag us over the bodies on the steps. That would have been nineteen-eighty … One? Two? You can read about it now in history books, but there I was right in the middle of a regular battle, and all I could think of was—R.B. is going to break the umbrella. My father, R.B.
“Lord, whatever got me started on that track? Oh, the cathedral. When you were reading that part of the story I could imagine it so well. Where it said how the stone columns were like tree trunks, I remember thinking the same thing myself when I was in St. Patrick’s.
“You know, I try and communicate these things to my daughters, but they’re not interested. The past doesn’t mean anything to them, you wouldn’t catch one of them wanting to read a book like this. And my grandchildren are too young to talk with. My son, he’d listen, but he’s never here now.
“When you’re brought up in an orphanage—but do they call it an orphanage, if your parents are still alive?—do they bother with religion and all of that? Not the government, I suppose.
“I think everyone needs some kind of faith, whether they call it religion or spiritual light or what-have-you. But my Boz says it takes more strength to believe in nothing at all. That’s more a man’s idea. You’d like Boz. You’re exactly the same age and you have the same interests and—
“I’ll tell you what, Lenny, why don’t you spend tonight here? You don’t have any classes tomorrow, do you? And why go out in this terrible weather? Shrimp will be gone, she always is, though that’s just between you and me. I’ll put clean sheets on her bed and you can have the bedroom all to yourself. Or if not tonight, some other time. It’s a standing invitation. You’ll like it, having some privacy for a change, and it’s a wonderful chance for me, having someone I can talk to.”
17. Mrs. Hanson, at the Nursing Home (2021)
“Is this me? It is. I don’t believe it. And who is that with me? It isn’t you, is it? Did you have a moustache then? Where are we that it’s so green? It can’t be Elizabeth. Is it the park? It says ‘July the Fourth’ on the back, but it doesn’t say where.
“Are you comfortable now? Would you like to sit up more? I know how to. Like this. There, isn’t that better?
“And look—this is that same picnic and there’s your father! What a comical face. The colors are so funny on all of these.
“And Bobby here. Oh dear.
“Mother.
“And who is this? It says, ‘I’ve got more where that came from!’ but there’s no name. Is it one of the Schearls? Or somebody that you worked with?
“Here he is again. I don’t think I ever—
“Oh, that’s the car we drove to Lake Hopatcong in, and George Washington was sick all over the back seat. Do you remember that? You were so angry.
“Here’s the twins.
“The twins again.
“Here’s Gary. No, it’s Boz! Oh, no, yes, it’s Gary. It doesn’t look like Boz at all really, but Boz had a little plastic bucket just like that, with a red stripe.
“Mother. Isn’t she pretty in this?
“And here you are together, look. You’re both laughing. I wonder what about. Hm? That’s a lovely picture. Isn’t it? I’ll tell you what, I’ll leave it in here, on top of this letter from …? Tony? Is it from Tony? Well, that’s thoughtful. Oh, Lottie told me to be sure to remember to give you a kiss for her.
“I guess it’s that time. Is it?
“It isn’t three o’clock. I thought it was three o’clock. But it isn’t. Would you like to look at some more of them? Or are you bored? I wouldn’t blame you, having to sit there like that, unable to move a muscle, and listening to me go on. I can rattle. I certainly wouldn’t blame you if you were bored.”
Part III: Mrs. Hanson
18. The New American Catholic Bible (2021)
Years before 334, when they’d been living in a single dismal basement room on Mott Street, a salesman had come round selling the New American Catholic Bible, and not just the Bible but a whole course of instructions that would bring her up to date on her own religion. By the time he’d come back to repossess she’d filled in the front pages with all the important dates of the family’s history:
NAME RELATION BORN DIED
Nora Ann Hanson November 15, 1967
Dwight Frederick Hanson Husband January 10, 1965 December 20, 1997
Robert Benjamin O’Meara Father February 2, 1940
Shirley Ann O’Meara
(born Schearl) Mother August 28, 1943 July 5, 1978
Robert Benjamin O’Meara, Jr. Brother October 9, 1962 July 5, 1978
Gary William O’Meara " September 28, 1963
Barry Daniel O’Mear a " September 28, 1963
Jimmy Tom Hanson Son November 1, 1984
Shirley Ann Hanson Daughter February 9, 1986
Loretta Hester Hanson " December 24, 1989
The salesman let her keep the Bible in exchange for the original deposit and an additional five dollars but took back the study plans and the looseleaf binder.
That was 1999. Whenever in later years the family enlarged or contracted she would enroll the fact faithfully in The New American Catholic Bible the very day it happened.
On June 30, 2001, Jimmy Tom was clubbed by the police during a riot protesting the ten o’clock curfew that the President had imposed during the Farm Crisis. He died the same night.
On April 11, 2003, six years after his father’s death. Boz was born in Bellevue Hospital. Dwight had been a member of the Teamsters,
the first union to get sperm preservation benefits as a standard feature of its group life policy.
On May 29, 2013, Amparo was born, at 334. Not until she’d mistakenly written down Amparo’s last name as Hanson did she realize that as yet the Bible possessed no record of Amparo’s father. By now, however, the official listing had acquired a kind of shadow of omitted relatives: her own stepmother Sue-Ellen, her endless in-laws, and Shrimp’s two federal contract babies who had been called Tiger (after the cat he’d replaced) and Thumper (after Thumper in Bambi). Juan’s case was more delicate than any of these, but finally she decided that even though Amparo’s name was Martinez, Lottie was still legally a Hanson, and so Juan was doomed to join the other borderline cases in the margin. The mistake was corrected.
On July 6, 2016, Mickey was born, also at 334.
Then, on March 6, 2011, the nursing home in Elizabeth phoned Williken, who brought the message upstairs that R.B. O’Meara was dead. He had died peacefully and voluntarily at the age of eighty-one. Her father—dead!
As she filled in this new information it occurred to Mrs. Hanson that she hadn’t looked at the religious part of the book since the company had stopped sending her lessons. She reached in at random and pulled out, from Proverbs: “Scorn for the scorners, yes; but for the wretched, grace.”
Later she mentioned this message to Shrimp, who was up to her eyebrows in mysticism, hoping that her daughter would be able to make it mean more than it meant to her.
Shrimp read it aloud, then read it aloud a second time. In her opinion it meant nothing deeper than it said: “Scorn for the scorners, yes; but for the wretched, grace.”
A promise that hadn’t been and obviously wouldn’t be kept. Mrs. Hanson felt betrayed and insulted.
19. A Desirable Job (2021)
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