“This is to help Shelly, and I won't tell you anything. She can't know and you have to promise.”
“How long do I get to think about this? This is not going to be easy.”
“If I hang up without your promise, I go somewhere else. You are the quickest way to what I need, but you aren't the only way. I just don't have a few days,” he paused - his emotions became apparent. “I don't know how much time I have to help.”
“I'll make you feel worse than you do already. Shelly is lost without you. Whatever you are doing, it has taken my niece lower than I have ever seen her. She loves you, that shouldn't be damaged and you are very close, Evan. You are so very close to ruining her. That fucking building is the only thing she can continue with and she is working like a dog to hide from the hurt you caused. Do any more, little shit, and I will do a lot more damage than a ghost, and I will proudly stand over your corpse for the photos.”
“Then you need to give me your word Dannie, and you have to leave me alone the moment you do.”
She was amazingly quiet.
Evan winced as he waited for her simple refusal. She was pissed he turned Shelly away and had broken her heart. But Dannie agreed. He exhaled the breath he was holding.
“What do you need me for?” she snapped.
“I need into the photo lab at the university, in about an hour, faster if you can. I need it all afternoon, alone.”
“If this doesn't work out, you're-good-as-dead,” Dannie cooed again. Pleasure or pain, she had a limited group of talents.
“If this does not work out, you'll be second in line to do me in.”
“Hurry your ass up, Evan. I will only wait for you half an hour.”
He stood that afternoon at the computer screen, watching the image process into natural colors, as it was scanned and inverted from the negative. The black and white tones of the exposure were liquid. They looked painted. Not wanting to spoil the surprise of seeing her again as she was, he chose a very small portion of the image, to enlarge it on the screen, and see how much detail would be lost in making such a large print.
The dancing girl wore a delicate little pendant, on a chain about her neck. It flashed brightly in a way he overlooked on the negative plate. It was very interesting, and Evan wanted to see what it would look like in the finished print. As he began to zoom the area around the shining bauble, he lost his composure. What he saw on the screen was not possible.
It shook his hands to zoom the image another time; he could already read the small, engraved letters, and see the links of the chain. He zoomed the image a third time, and there was a single dark hair caught in a few of the links of the chain. It was not possible in any way under Heaven to take such an image, and Evan was thunderstruck in its beauty.
The pendant merely was an engraved tin, with the name Yousep upon it. The answer to her joy was written there, and she had the boy bound to her, with nothing more than a trivial mark she could wear. Yousep was her ecstasy.
Evan was having trouble with the stirring power of what he saw. Still disbelieving, he began to move around the image to see this miracle complete. Her eyelashes cast shadows upon her closed eyelids. Her lips were full, but dry. She had a single freckle upon her nose. The points of her breasts cast the barest of shadows; there were fine tiny hairs just below her navel. Only the tips of her toes touched the ground, and barely enough to bruise the few blades of grass where she stood.
He wept as he tried to find any part of the image that would not enlarge to any size he wished.
The Reisman Waterbury captured this girl as if she were made whole again inside the glass. Not a breath of her was hidden or distorted. Evan was still shaking as he sent the image to the largest photo printer in the lab. Yousep’s girl was seconds from being released into the world again from the simple glass plate.
Evan did not stop shaking even ten minutes later as he placed the finished photo onto the wall, and stood back to the middle of the room to see it. She was breathing for him. There were no words to describe the beauty of her smile, the jubilation it shared.
He looked at the photo until he had to wipe his eyes to keep them dry, so he could see. The affect on his heart was astounding; she gave him her joy, and caused him pain that he could not take her hand. The sunlight upon her skin made her glow, and she cast no shadow upon the ground. There were no shadows in her fingers, underneath her arms, inside her thighs. She became the light she rose to greet. And Evan wanted to hear her speak, but -
His heart gently began to admit that his eyes were lying, not to hurt him, but protect him from the truth. The image told the truth, but only as much as a heart could accept. Some truth was hidden, and Evan was confused his heart would know this. His eyes agreed, the truth must not hide in the glow of her skin. He must know her. The image changed as his eyes revealed what the heart knew deeply from the first moment.
She was not perfect; it was not possible that she be perfect. Her beauty was the truth, but only part. Her beauty was so powerful, because her torment was so horrible to see. And Evan began to see it. It brought more tears and caused sorrow he could barely endure.
It became truthful, the image before him, about her hair, flowing to meet the billow in her hands. It was dirty. The fingertips the hair caressed were seen now as battered and raw. Evan felt a tear fall to his cheek as he saw the billow behind her, as it was, her filthy, tattered dress. His heart tried to soothe him, he desired to see no more, but his heart asked him to see, she was bruised, everywhere her body could endure a cruel blow, it had been given.
And then Evan wept himself to his knees; the angel was starved.
He could count every rib; her fingers were thin and frail. Her lips, cracked, and her eyes deep, dark underneath. He could not look and find a single sign of kindness, or comfort, she had none of them. She was no longer living, but surviving, and the work to survive was taking strength she no longer had. Yousep’s angel had no wings to flee her torments, and they were tearing the heart out of Evan she had torments to flee. He wept for an hour at the horror she endured, to feel just one fleeting moment of freedom. Yousep had given it to her, and she gave it back to the camera, forever. She died.
There was a spirit loose in the Reisman Portraits, desiring the murder of this girl remain utterly secret. Shelly would be the price paid if they revealed what deeds had been done to Yousep’s angel.
Evan did not know how much time he had to find a way to help Shelly. She never told him what was being done in the renovation, he was not sure the building would allow any changes to be made. He only knew one way to find out, because Dannie could not be asked again. Difficult as it might be to ask her family to help him, while he continued to be cruel to her, Evan was convinced it must be done.
He phoned Grandma Sareta and asked her if she would be willing to hear his explanations. She would be quieter help now than any other Reisman he could ask. She would be more understanding of his needs and his haste. At least, he hoped just she would understand, because he would have to tell her all the truth and hide nothing, but only after she told him what was begin done in the building, if she even knew herself.
Sareta explained she knew more than he expected. Shelly poured out her heart after he turned her away when she phoned. She was changed because of Evan, and not the building, Sareta was sure of it and did not like it. If Evan did more to hurt her granddaughter, he would regret it deeply - the second warning he received from a very serious relative. Evan begged to be given the chance he needed. She told him to come over that very night.
“I need to know why you are so convinced you are right, and we are all wrong. We can end this by taking the building down.”
“You cannot do that to her,” Evan pleaded.
“We can, Evan. She can be happy with you again, and she will recover. The building alone cannot be her life; you cannot make her think it is.”
“She is already convinced it is her life. I was not part of this until after she drove every one of you crazy to
let her have her way. You cannot stop the renovation; you have already consented. Your word will be broken to her, and it is a price the family cannot pay.”
“What proof then do you have we should let it continue. You know what is in there, what it can do.”
“I can show you with a single image. You will understand.”
“The girl? Yousep’s girl?”
“Yes. Please Sareta, I have it with me and will show you why I am convinced. But I must know what is being done. It is the only way to know if Shelly can be helped by what I find.”
The renovation was explained to Evan. The entire tear-out work was complete. There had been no sound from the building as wood was splintered and boards torn up. The relief to Evan’s heart was immediate, and Sareta could see it in his eyes. Some terrible dread was passed, avoided. There was to be digging in the garden at the back for a basement space, which would contain all the equipment the small bistro would require. But it was not to be done for a week. Other things needed to be readied in the crawl spaces before they could risk the foundations.
Evan was distressed, it gave him so little time, and Sareta put her gaze directly into his and demanded he tell her the things he promised to tell. She knew nothing more she could say, she knew nothing else about how the work was progressing and Shelly was being as distant as Evan had been. He agreed, and he lifted the small, flat art case at his feet to the table, and placed it in front of Sareta.
He was silent as she opened the case and looked with surprise at the image he brought. She gave precisely the emotion he expected, tears and amazement at the joy she was seeing. But he remained silent as the moments passed and Sareta’s eyes drank in all the beauty it would give, before it began to tell its hidden truths. She was overcome before he closed the flap and hid the image from her eyes, giving her heart some peace.
“It is not this girl who troubles the building. If she haunts there, she haunts something other than us. It cannot be Yousep. I can’t believe it’s Menashe, but he troubles me, Sareta. Shelly is bound to the building by this girl’s love. This you should want, because I want it Sareta. This is why the shop is still standing. It must be allowed to have this; this is why the family still exists.”
“Then what is there inside, that tried to kill you, Evan?” Sareta asked as she recovered her voice and her thoughts. “It cannot be safe, even for her.”
“It isn’t, because the spirit is the murderer of the two children. It has the secret it must keep. Do anything else but come near the secret and it will leave you alone. She’s fine and working if I stay away, I am seeking the secret; Shelly is not. If I come near her again, at the wrong time, we are lost. Do you understand what I need to do?”
“You need in the shop, alone, don’t you Evan?” she asked him with a smile.
He was braver than she ever understood.
Dannie said he was hurting, as Shelly was hurting. Dannie said if he asked, he should be helped because somehow, they could be together again, and the building would not try to harm them when he was able to return.
“Yes, I’m sure I will need inside, and Shelly cannot know I am going in. Can that be done?”
“Of course, Evan, but when? How will I know when?”
“I have hours of research to do. This secret has left clues; it must be possible to find clues. I need every clipping the family has ever saved, and I have to go to the archives and see what else I can find. A week is not much time.”
Sareta did not understand why a week was all that he could use, what did the digging in the back mean to him. His explanation made her shudder; the only time he saw Shelly’s grandmother display a hint of any fear. He showed her another image from the small case.
“This must be Yousep. See, he is planting roses. Shelly told me the windows in the rear, and the garden were to bring light and life back to the studio.”
Sareta took the image from Evan and caressed the edges, and her face showed sadness he knew must be deep. This was the boy and she knew him, barely any memory at all, but the photo stirred that memory. She had seen him a few times; she was but a youth, visiting the shop with her family.
“Those are the eyes I remember. Only his eyes in my heart this entire time. This was in Papa’s chest?” she smiled.
“Yes, with many more. They will all be shared and cherished, but this image has more power than stirring your memory, Sareta.”
Evan reached across the table and took her hands in his. His hands were very strong and very warm to her.
“The police did not look in the freshly dug garden, because Papa produced a photo of Yousep planting roses. The soil was newly turned, by the making of the garden. They never looked to see what else might be buried behind the shop because no one even thought they should look.”
The sudden thought Yousep and the girl might lie together behind the tiny porch made Sareta weep with new grief, and Evan held her hands as long as she would let him.
“If what you say is true, they may be buried right at the bottom of the step,” she said in a weak voice.
“Yes, they might. We cannot let Shelly dig there until we have help from the authorities,” Evan tried to reassure her.
“Why the police?” Sareta asked confused.
“Because if work crews find remains, then Shelly is shut down, for how long we can’t even guess”
“Why do those poor children scare you to find them? You should wish to find them; they should be laid properly to rest.”
“Something else doesn’t want them found. I want him first.”
At the Times archive, Evan read the first article he could find, which spoke of the terrible incident in the shop, and realized it might have been the one Shelly kept from the chest on their first opening. But this article said Papa was already unable to work, just days after the disappearances. Why did he pay for work on one of the front windows in the shop, just a few weeks later? Why do any work on a useless window anyway?
Evan was more troubled now by the fact of the doubled receipt.
Normal activity should have died away altogether, for a much longer time than just a few weeks, as his grief progressed, and his family tried to pick up the loose ends of his life. Had the window been damaged in the break in? Why take several weeks to repair if it had? Papa found the shop in disarray, not broken into. Was that just flowery reporting of the era, or was the shop not broken into after all? Would a grieving man waste money on needless work, would a craftsman take the job, knowing the man and his pains?
The New York Times, Thursday, July 21,1919
MURDER IN JEWISH SLUMS
Clues, there have been few. Two youths: a boy and a girl, missing since Tuesday night last. The street where the crimes are reported, the same street where a month before, another disappearance, also with no clues. This event in the old Reisman Portraits, under the gaze of the city’s finest, has the Jewish slum community in an uproar.
The owner of the shop, Menashe Reisman and his family have asked all those who knew the murdered clerk to comfort his family, the loss of their only son. The last name of the family given only as Kogen, no more can be said to identify the youth, a request of the New York City Police Department, who need no further embarrassment in this neighborhood before the public make an outcry of foul.
Seen by only three living persons, the identity of the missing girl cannot be determined, no kin is known to notify. Neighbors cannot help authorities prove whether one person or two is indeed missing; another fact embarrassing the police force, in their second search now for clues to a crime they have become desperate to solve.
This paper has found that at least four persons have been in the interrogator’s rooms at the precinct offices. No one has yet been charged with the crime.
Only these facts are known to be reported by the witnesses: the two youths were in hiding in the shop until such time as they could escape with the help of the police. The missing boy’s parents have testified they knew the boy was protecting the girl, but have not ide
ntified the person or persons who were known to be of harm. They have told this paper that the persons already questioned, none of them were the person who should be sought. The owner Mr. Reisman found his shop in disarray, and the two children gone, when he opened for business the next day. He also declined to say which person the police should seek.
Mr. Reisman’s family say due to grief, he is no longer well and able to work.
Evan found more than twenty articles in the newspaper archives which were related in any way to the family during that terrible year. He was amazed it had been so much in the news and he made copies of every one. Sareta would not gather any clippings for him; too many mouths might tell Shelly that questions were being asked about the past. Shelly would guess it was Evan. He had to rely on the struggle in the archives. But he also found nearly ten more articles in the years before. Papa Menashe was a newsworthy fellow, long before the Reisman Portraits became legendary, and haunted, and he became a shadow of himself.
The effort in the archives was desperately tedious and painful. He found newsprint he could hold, or he could see the scans of the pages, but they provided no system to tell him where he could look to find the name Reisman, or the reports of the case, it was not possible with documents of that era. Evan could only read as fast as his eyes could see the pages. When he begged an archivist for any hint of how to better do the job, he was told he could go to the police archives and see reports from the precinct which existed there those years ago. They would be microfiched, but there would be fewer documents to see in that archive. The newspaper reporters on the case would have been watching for police reports to hint there was any news to write again for the paper. Dates of the reports would tell him, within a day or two, which paper would have something to find. Evan realized the reports would tell him if the garden were ever disturbed in the investigations at all. It took him two precious days to get the permissions he needed, and he lied that he was writing a book on an unsolved case. What he found, opened a door which was heaven sent.
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