Caraliza

by Joel Blaine Kirkpatrick

  It suddenly seemed too somber to show mirth in this particular room. She was looking into the darkest corner, beyond Papa's box and saw a stain on the floor that unnerved her, stopping the giggles. It was a water stain. But none of the room looked leaked, except above the window, and that seemed repaired, those stains above the window were very old, so was the stain on the floor. The shape of it unnerved her. It looked to her to be exactly what she would leave if she sat in her shorts there and peed the floor. The unease left her as suddenly as it appeared and was nearly forgotten as well, Shelly did laugh looking at the bum marks in the water stain in the corner, until she reached to move the box and spied just behind another, lighter, water stain. The print of a hand; partial, but a hand. No larger than her own hand.

  This was the room where the two teenagers died. They cowered in this corner.

  Shelly reached to move the box and the scraping of the wood on the floor chilled her. Her breath was the only sound in her ears before, and the scraping made a low sound like a voice. She paused and turned to look back into the room from that corner. No one was inside the building and she knew it perfectly well, but the scrape on the floor made her think she was no longer alone in the room. She felt someone was watching, beyond the middle shelf.

  “You are absolutely daft, Shelly. I will not find you a boyfriend so you can learn photography!” her aunt Dannie laughed into the phone. “We can meet for dinner at 6:30 if that is all right with you, Mom's making the cornbread we love. I told her to make two batches because you were coming along.”

  “I love that stuff! Who else is going to be there tonight?” Shelly asked. “There are more than enough photographers in this tribe, someone will find me a guy who doesn't already have a boyfriend.”

  “Oh, that's tacky. You won't find anyone who will help you with that attitude. Not after the junk you pulled on the cutie you should have married last year!” Dannie laughed. She knew it was a perfectly awful subject to bring up with her niece.

  “You forget, he got to marry the boob he got pregnant while we were planning our wedding. Or does pre-infidelity not rank as a flaw in the honeys you drag around?”

  “If you wanted any real help, Tiddles, you just lost it from Auntie. Bye now. Get out of that shop on time or I'm sending the ghosts to kick you out.”

  “Oh, hey! That reminds me,” Shelly said. “you guys won't believe what I found up the stairs today when I realized I needed a Ken doll with a camera accessory kit.”

  “Tell us when you get here, won’t you? You have two hours and you usually can't tie your shoes in two hours.”

  “Oh, ha ha,” Shelly groaned. The accusation was well placed. She was known as the creepy, kooky, perpetually late Reisman.

  The invitation to Sareta’s for dinner was a cherished honor. Second eldest of the clan, Grandma Sareta married Papa’s eldest son, after his first wife and child died in the outbreak of typhoid in the slums, in the early twenties. Her family abandoned the same Ukrainian village the Reismans had fled, and the two families knew each other well. She came to the shop many times as a young girl, and always hoped someday she would join that family; Papa had two fine sons, the youngest was her age. But the youngest was lost in the horrible outbreak of disease as well, and the oldest Reisman son lost his dearest loves the same year. Sareta would come of age and be wed into the family at last, but to the son who was many years older than she.

  Shelly would not be late, her Grandma Sareta would not stand for it, and she was nearly finished for the day at the shop besides. The inventory was completed and she brought down Papa's chest as well. She wanted to keep it in the studio until the Waterbury arrived, and then she would have an opening ceremony for it. She was right on time at Grandma's. Her mom and her aunts were already there, and it pissed her off they were already talking about her and the shop. She could hear their laughter as she came up the walk to Grandma’s front porch and she hesitated at the door, not wanting to be surprised by their subject.

  “Dannie says you asked her to find you a boyfriend today?” Her mom asked in shock, soon as Shelly’s nose came in the door. Her mother's sisters lost their composure and Shelly had to endure their abuse until the dinner was all set. They were still tweaking her when Grandma Sareta took the hands of her daughters to either side, and began to sing the prayer. It was magical how the silence came down over the table as the first note was sung. It was just as magical that the laughter began again, at Shelly's expense, the moment the last note of the prayer died away.

  “If you preferred a man who wasn't gay, you got proof the last one wasn't!” and they roasted her alive until she gave in to laugh with them. She had never told a soul, but she did not grieve for the loss of the unfaithful groom, she was relieved to be rid of him.

  “So tell us what comes into the shop now the junk has been taken out?” Grandma asked her at last, to change the subject. Shelly gave her a thankful, if somewhat suspicious smile; the talk would turn to prying questions now, she needed to be on her guard.

  “I have a photo of Papa Reisman now, with the studio behind him. The morning light was luscious in that room.”

  “Ooh, I would love to see that. He was dead some five years before I was wed to his son. There are only eight or ten photos of the man himself and can you imagine, he made his living with cameras!” Grandma replied. “Is it one you have seen passed around or is it a new photo someone has been hiding from us?”

  “I've never seen it. And with all the questions about why the windows were left when the alley was closed, this photo answers them. Papa love the light, it was stunning. It must have broken his heart when it got shut out. I bet he couldn’t bear to brick up those windows,” Shelly told them.

  “So, ok,” Aunt Dannie began, and everyone stopped to listen. “I do have a kid in my class, about your age, he is so cute it makes you want to undress.” The other sisters took up a pack howl and hooted at Shelly. They were such nasty women, she thought; no wonder all their husbands abandoned them every Thursday night like this, just to get some peace without them. Through the uproar, Dannie continued,

  “I might introduce you to him cause, and get this, Sis, he actually told me he is a member of one of the oldest photographing families in New York!” and the ladies enjoyed a good laugh at that.

  Only one other family tried that claim.

  “What's the kid’s name?” one of them asked with mirth.

  “Bryant. His name is Evan Bryant!” Dannie gushed.

  “Never heard of them at all!”

  Suddenly the cackling started, and the ladies forgot the reason his name was even mentioned, as they set about discussing his family’s history, and if his claim to fame could even be real. If you sold pictures in New York City, your last name had to be Reisman - it was said by the clan. The Reismans never acknowledged the Bryants even used cameras.

  Dinner was no less wonderful than any other time Shelly was invited. It was a rare treat for any grandchild to sit at Grandma Sareta’s on those traditional Thursday nights. Shelly seemed to be the most often invited. She was after all making a bit of history herself with the family building, such an endeavor to restore it, and such a secret! It was hoped she would drop some hints. When she spoke up and asked about the famous Waterbury, it got particularly quiet at the table. She was after the prize.

  “Oh, you’re not gonna get that!” one of her aunts taunted her. “That wing of the family will cut off their arms before they deliver the blessed Waterbury.” Grandma Sareta nodded her head and said some of them could use the surgery much higher up and they would be much improved, and the group lost their composure again. But she winked over at Shelly and assured her,

  “I will call Beth again tomorrow and demand she should get off her posterior and bring you that heirloom. Papa's studio is incomplete without it and she knows it. It should be there on the night you open the doors again. She is only hesitating because she is eldest, and that is a hard honor to relinquish.”

  The ladies laughed go
od-naturedly. It was well known, the firmest hands and the strongest wills in the family sat tonight at opposite ends of this table. Sareta and Shelly.

  “Please tell me you’re opening a day care!” Aunt Tess yelled to Shelly at the end of the table. “Headless ghosts! And - babysitting! That will bring clients from Philly just for the novelty!”

  It happened at last; the ghosts were mentioned again.

  “Wow, hey guys, I forgot. You won't believe what I found above the stairs today!” Shelly shouted above the others. They were not much interrupted so she shouted again. “I found a hand print on the floor, like a stain, behind Papa’s treasure box,” and the table was suddenly as silent as during the prayer.

  “The box was really there?” one of the aunts asked.

  “I've always thought the box was just a story, like the ghosts we keep telling ourselves about,” another piped up.

  “Oh, the box is real, and beautiful. He must have worked on it for weeks.”

  Shelly raised some eyebrows when she told them of the other stain she found, the one which looked sort of like someone peed the floor there. No one thought she was trying to be funny and she did not say how unnerved it made her feel. She was famous for her lack of terror and did not want her reputation tarnished. Grandma got some very serious looks when she entered the conversation.

  “Two young lovers were said to have died in that room. It is what drove Papa to his deathbed. It killed him for two years because of what he let happen up there. The story is real enough. And he believed there were ghosts because of it.”

  “I swear, I nearly pee myself just walking in the shop!” and the titters started again at what Aunt Audrey said, “How you spend hours there alone Shelly, I don't honestly know. Whatever you are designing, if it advertises ghosts, people are gonna get their money's worth in that place.”

  That concluded the subject of the studio. They spent the rest of the time catching up on their gossip and happily trashing everyone else in the clan. They even finished the meal without a public discussion of Shelly's need for a man, and she was really grateful for that. But the subject remained in their eyes as they talked about everything else possible, yet winked at her each time they caught her glance.

  As all the goodbyes were being said much later that evening, Dannie pulled her aside, and whispered, this Evan fellow, was almost too cute to pass up. He displayed a thoughtful, dreamy quality, which meant he would have little to say. A quiet man was prized among the Reisman women. Lips were for kissing and saying, “yes” at the appropriate times, but the women governed the clan. Dannie was going to send him over to the studio in a few days and let Shelly decide for herself, and no, she was not going to tell him why he was going!

  To Shelly, the thought of having help from a Bryant was just the sort of offense that would be delicious to inflict upon her family. The uproar would be deafening and she would love every agonized complaint they would shout at her. She relished her role as the Reisman who would get her way over many injured foes, and she was sure Grandma Sareta thought it a wonderful talent. Grandma was one of her strongest supporters, always saying, if any Reisman could love the shop the best, it was her granddaughter Shelly.

  Shelly waited impatiently two days for the mystery Bryant photographer named Evan to drop by the studio. The lack of an appointed time kept her distracted and unable to concentrate on any other work; she started at least three tasks, and nothing was under control. Having almost given up, she was not expecting him to wander around the building by the alleyways. She first noticed the very top of his head as he passed under the windows in the studio. She suspected it was simply a workman returning for some tool or unfinished task, though it seemed a bit oddly done.

  This flash of brown hair was not merely walking through the alley but jumping a bit at nearly every window. When the hair jumped round to the back she waited for a knock from the tiny porch, and the knock did not come. Annoyed that, whoever it was hadn’t the good sense just to come to a door, she hurried out the back way herself, and caught only the tails of him going into the other, darker side alley. She was in no mood to chase anyone, they might too easily be caught and she did not know all the neighbors. She might be catching a kook instead of the Evan she was expecting. So, she stood on the porch and waited. The wait produced neither a kook, nor any other person. No one came around the back again at all. Stomping back through the spoiled work in the studio, Shelly made her way into the shop, and around the belongings, still waiting to be organized, and stomped out the door in the front.

  There was still no person there on the walk to be let in, or asked to go away instead. There was however, a person across the street, with a beautiful camera on a stand, and that person was waving furiously for her to move from his view. He was viewing her Reisman Portraits, and she felt it would be a better mannered person who would think to ask before shooing her from the front of her own place. Shelly marched across the street, directly in his view every step. He seemed more amused than she wanted him to be. It was much more fun to annoy people who were annoyed when you did it.

  “You know that place is on the historical registry?” Evan said to the young woman glaring at him. Glaring did not bother him in the least; she did not have any pepper spray in either hand so he felt safe to piss her off.

  “We own it, Stupid. Duh, it’s been on the registry for fifty years.”

  “Who are you, the owner?” Evan said and stuck his hand out. Shelly refused it and that made him smile.

  “Shelly Reisman. Yes, I’m the owner! What do you think you are doing?”

  “Well, first-” Evan said, and withdrew his hand, (he lowered his eye to his camera and seemed to wait for her to get the hint - she was still in his way) “-I’m going to take a picture of this beautiful building on the public historical register, then I’m going to walk across with you and find out why you wanted me over here today.”

  He was still looking for her to move. But, she spied the camera he was using and the sight of it held her fixed in her steps. Finally giving the camera a good look she did not realize he was still speaking to her. The camera was a Waterbury. She had only seen the Reisman Waterbury a few times and this one in front of her was its near twin, just a bit darker in the wood stain. It was glorious to see.

  “Uh, you can’t take this picture until you teach me what you know,” she mumbled without hearing herself at all.

  The Waterbury seemed to glow in the sunlight and its brass fittings were spotlessly polished. This was a treasured camera. It was a hundred years old and looked fresh out of the egg. Then she realized what she mindlessly told the fellow with the camera, and he had the very good sense to avoid any type of reply. She just turned around and walked back across the street and into the shop to fall to the floor in mock sobs at her goobishness. He was finishing the exposure and Aunt Dannie was right, he was too cute to be on the loose. His voice was soft and very deep; she could imagine the music it would make if she listened quietly against his chest.

  Shelly answered the door when he knocked, as thought the previous meeting only occurred in a nightmare, which he was having. She took his offered hand this time and welcomed him into the shop. Oh, she noticed he owned a Waterbury, those were such wonderful instruments, he could set it over there and she waited hours to meet him and, and, and the goobishness was creeping back. She almost asked him if he had a girlfriend, but was still enjoying a tiny bit of self-control.

  Evan did not say much this time.

  He just stood and drank in the interior of the famous old shop. He really was not paying any attention to the owner now at all. It was a very good ruse; she was insulted. But he already knew the color of her eyes, and that one little freckle, by her nose, was just where he liked it. What he noticed, nearly before anything else, her shoes were tossed the moment she walked back in the door. She was deliciously barefoot. They were both extremely good at summing up their targets and at the same instant - they were planning their second date.

 
This was already the first.

  “Shelly? Your aunt is my photography instructor. She told me I might like a chance to meet you and see this old place. You’re renovating for some kind of re-opening?”

  “Yeah, but she’s gonna drive you bats with questions, so I’m not telling you squat that you will blab to here and back,” she smiled at him. He really likes my smile, she thought to herself.

  “Well, I’ve heard a lot about this place from my folks, and this is a real treat. But why did you want me to drop by? How did you know my family’s history?”

  “Oh, that?” she fought for some plausible justification for the invitation. And the goobishness was completely in the way.

  “Shit,” she explained. “Just follow me. I’ll show you and then you tell me,” she turned before he saw her blush and walked slowly to the stair in the rear.

  They enjoyed the fact the stairs in the back were so intimate. It was a nice walk up. There was no reason whatsoever they did it shoulder to shoulder, but it was nice. When Shelly opened the storeroom door and Evan stepped in, she felt a chill up her spine, which took the pleasant trip up the stairs and soiled it. Almost bolting the room, she gasped and when he turned around she almost made it worse by rushing to him. There was a sensation she had never felt and did not enjoy at all. Her entire life she wished to roam this wonderful old building with abandon, and now she could not make her feet move. The room was menacing and it made her eyes water. Evan’s reaction made her apprehension worse; she could not make herself enter the room.