The Way of Beauty

by Camille Di Maio

  “Thank you, Celeste,” said Alice. She felt like she would buckle under the worries of today. “I’ll comfort him. I know how to. That looks like you should see a doctor.”

  Celeste left without another word, and Alice closed the door behind her. She remembered that her parents were at another show. She couldn’t remember the name. William had gotten a ticket for her, too, but it had slipped her mind when she ran off to Emmett’s. She gripped the roll of film in her pocket.

  But as urgent as it was to get back to the darkroom, she didn’t think it would be safe to go tonight. In fact, it frightened her to ever go back again, but she didn’t have the money to get the film developed elsewhere.

  Opa threw a spoon across the room at the window, leaving a hair-thin crack. His arms flailed about, and no amount of cooing and whispering could make him recognize her.

  Celeste was right. Alice had been noticing how much worse he was getting, but she had been too preoccupied to do anything about it.

  A simple phone call to William would solve everything. She had no doubt that if she asked him to help put Opa into a proper facility, he would not only do it but also pick the finest in the city.

  But she couldn’t ask that of him. She couldn’t let her feelings for him be confused with what he could do for her family. For now, they would have to make sure that one of them was always with Opa, until the end.

  Alice guarded the film all night, a sleepless night, letting it out of her sight only when she had to shower. The next day she finished her shift at the newsstand and looked for Bertie.

  She found him over by the women’s lounge, showing some tourists the pencils into which he’d carved a miniature scene of Penn Station. He rolled the six sides of the pencil slowly, revealing how the shape of the station unfolded as he turned it. They were amazed. Although he’d asked for only three cents for his handiwork, one of the women slipped her diamond-adorned hand into her purse and pulled out two quarters. She bent her knees in order to speak to Bertie at eye level.

  Alice was impatient to talk to him but couldn’t interrupt his little transaction.

  “I’ll take four,” the woman said.

  Bertie’s eyes grew wide. “I don’t have any change for you, miss.”

  “No change needed. You are not charging nearly enough, if you ask me. Are you here often? I may send a friend over to see these. She’s a writer, and I think she’d find these delightful.”

  “I’m here every day, every night, miss,” he said. He grinned in the way that Alice knew would have been irresistible to women if polio had not stolen everything else from him.

  “Every night? Why, where do you sleep?”

  “Wherever that is, I won’t be sleeping tonight. I’ll be lying awake thinking of that beautiful smile of yours.”

  He’d avoided her question. Alice knew that he moved every evening, pretending to hide from the stationmaster, even as Bertie’s residency was well known and quietly accepted.

  The woman stood and put her fingertips to her mouth and giggled. “Aren’t you too funny? Here is another quarter just for making me laugh today. I’ll send some friends to find you.”

  Bertie tipped his hat as she walked away.

  “You scugnize,” said Alice. “If you were a proud man, you would reject that charity. But you actually encourage it.”

  He kissed the three quarters and put them in his shirt pocket. “You’d better believe it. This will keep me in cigarettes for weeks.”

  Just as well. Emmett had seemed to be his regular tobacco donor in all the weeks that she’d known him. And now he was . . . now he was gone.

  “Bertie,” she whispered, sitting down next to him. She pulled an envelope from her purse and handed it to him. “Can I trust you to hold on to this? Don’t open it and don’t tell anyone about it unless I don’t return.”

  “Return from where?”

  “I have an errand to run. Don’t ask me what. I’ll be back here at—” She checked her wristwatch. It would take several hours to develop the film and dry it. “Seven o’clock. If I haven’t come and found you by then, please give this to my parents.”

  “I don’t like this, Alice. I don’t like this at all. What are you up to?”

  She felt tears come on and dabbed her eyes with a wrinkled handkerchief.

  “I think Emmett is in trouble, Bertie. I’m going to try to help him somehow.” She broke her own resolve and told him everything that she’d witnessed the other day. His usually jovial demeanor turned to concern.

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “I know.” She blew her nose. “I’m scared for him. For me.”

  Bertie looked down at the wheeled board that served as his legs. “I’d give anything to go with you, Alice, but I’m afraid I’m no help.”

  “Just give this to my parents if you don’t see me by seven. It’s Emmett’s address. I hope those men haven’t come back.”

  “Don’t go there just to develop the film, Alice. Here.” He took the three quarters from his pocket and put them in her hand. “Take this. Go to a studio. Get it done right.”

  She returned them. “It’s not just the money, Bertie, although I thank you for that. I don’t have any idea what is on the film. But it was something important enough for him to risk everything for, and I can’t have other people seeing it until I know what it is.”

  He nodded. “Right enough. But you stay safe. Try to get out of there as fast as you can. I’m not sure my heart can take worrying about you for so long.”

  She kissed his head. “I will.”

  “Now go.”

  It was only a few short blocks to Emmett’s apartment from the other side of the station, but Alice’s feet felt like lead, and they seemed to be the longest blocks she’d ever walked.

  In order to keep herself from going mad, she paid keen new attention to every detail she passed. The cigarette butts that lay strewn on the concrete. The very old woman walking the very small dog. The bicycle leaning against a crumbling brick wall.

  Anything, anything to keep her from worrying about Emmett.

  When she finally arrived, she didn’t need the key for the first door, as the mailman was just leaving. He held it open for her, and she mumbled a thank-you. She climbed the stairs, and as she arrived on the landing on Emmett’s floor, she paused. There was a rustling coming from down the hall, and it sounded as if it was coming from his apartment.

  She tiptoed a few inches and then a few more until she was able to see that his door was wide open.

  Her first thought was to flee. It could be those men again. But then, it could be Emmett. She froze, alert for any sound. And then heard a rough female voice.

  “Well, he didn’t leave much of value, did he? Go ahead and throw away those cushions. Ain’t nothin’ can be salvaged from those. Keep the cups, ’cept for the one with a crack in it. Can’t get nothin’ from that.”

  Alice let go of a breath. She approached and tapped on the door. “Hello?”

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m looking for Emmett Adler.”

  “Who?”

  “Emmett Adler. The man who lived here.”

  She peeked in. Little had changed in three days, save for the disarray being somewhat righted.

  The woman continued to look confused, so Alice explained, “The man with the blond hair and blue eyes. About so tall?” She raised her hand a few inches above her head.

  “Yeah, that’s the one. Didn’t go by that name. Not the last name, at least. It was Fischer. But now that I think of it, it might have been Emmett. Emmett Fischer. Yeah, that sounds right.”

  Then where had Adler come from, and why had he lied to her? Alice felt desolate at the idea that he hadn’t confided in her. That he’d deceived her.

  Could she believe anything he’d ever said?

  “Do you know where he’s gone?” she asked the landlady.

  “I don’t know nothin’ ’cept some man came by and said if I found—let’s see, what was i
t—some film canister, I was to hold on to it and he’d come by and check in for it.”

  “Emmett would come by?”

  “Ain’t you hearin’ what I’m saying? No. The boy is on his way overseas or somethin’ like that. That’s what the man said. The man’s gonna come by next Tuesday in case I find what he wanted. Offered to pay good money for it, too, but I ain’t seen nothin’ like that. Shame. Sure could use the cash.”

  Alice ran her hands through her hair. None of this made sense.

  “Have you cleaned out the darkroom yet?”

  “The what? Speak up, girl. You’re too quiet.”

  Alice pointed to the door. “The bedroom in there.”

  The woman shook her head. “Nah. Been in there, though. Bunch of junk and god-awful-smellin’ jars of somethin’. I’m coming back for that tomorrow. Gotta bring buckets. Don’t know what he was doin’ with that stuff. Don’t think I can sell any of it.”

  Alice opened her purse and pulled out eight dimes and two nickels. All she had on her. “I am—was—am his friend. Do you mind if I can be alone in here for a bit?” She held the coins in her hand and held them out.

  The landlady shrugged. “Not sure there’s nothin’ in here worth all that. Hurry up. I gotta get new people in here as soon as possible.”

  “Yes,” agreed Alice. She wanted to get the woman out of there. She would need a few hours in the darkroom and didn’t want to worry Bertie. “I want to be alone to remember—to remember the times we shared here.”

  That was not far from the truth, although the thought of it was likely to make her cry again. She could not look at the shredded sofa where they’d shared their love and slept in each other’s arms.

  What had it all meant if it hadn’t been truthful? What had she given away to someone who gave her nothing?

  The woman took the money and closed the door, saying she’d be back tomorrow. Alice surveyed the room, gingerly picking up pieces of the torn photographs that had once graced the walls. They were mere fragments—a half a face here, the top of a tree there, and nearly a whole scene with a bridge. Separate, they were nothing, but together, they were the remains of what had once been.

  She placed them all in her purse. And set about her work.

  Alice had come prepared. She arranged a thick blanket around the window to block the light and took out a Zippo to help her see in the absence of the red bulb that had shattered. She rearranged the equipment—the enlarger, the chemicals, the bins—back into their proper places and set about to work. She cut the negatives into five-frame strips and slid the first image into the enlarger.

  All Emmett had on hand were eight-by-ten pages, so she adjusted the settings to fit the page.

  The light from the Zippo did little, so her eyes strained as she peered at the images. But she pressed on in near darkness, taking each frame one by one through the steps. When they were finished with their final bath, she drew them out with the tongs and pinned them to the string that she’d rehung across the room. As she pinned the last—the eighteenth—to dry, she huddled in a corner and wrapped her arms around her knees.

  Maybe Emmett had his reasons. Maybe he’d really been trying to protect her. It was all so much to take in.

  She didn’t know what to believe.

  When someone began banging on the door, she jolted awake, unaware that she’d fallen asleep. A chill ran through her body.

  Had the men returned? Emmett? The landlady?

  A fist pounded again. She looked around for somewhere to hide.

  “Alice!”

  It was her father.

  She let go of a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

  “Alice!” he shouted again. “Are you in there? I’ve brought the police.”

  She lit the Zippo and looked at her wristwatch. It was nearly nine thirty. Bertie must have found her parents and delivered the note in which she’d told them exactly where to find her. If she hadn’t returned, it had meant that she’d run into trouble.

  How worried they must have been.

  “I’m here!” she called as she ran out of the room. She opened it to find five people there. Angelo. Vera. Bertie. And two officers.

  They were quite the ragtag bunch, her father with his crutches, Bertie with his board. She could only assume that the policemen had carried him up.

  But it was her mother’s face that she looked into. Her mascara had streaked down her face from tears, and they sank into each other’s arms.

  “Alice, we were so worried about you. What happened?”

  She held her mother close before pulling back and telling them as much as she knew.

  They all walked into the darkroom, the policemen leading the way. Alice pulled the blanket from the window, and the string of pictures revealed the story that Emmett must have wanted to tell.

  Rallies with Nazi sympathizers—by the looks of it, twenty thousand of them, gathering at Madison Square Garden on Forty-Ninth. Swastikas as much as three stories high hung from the ceiling as people cheered for the speakers onstage. An enormous banner of George Washington hung incongruously in the middle of all of them.

  Could there really be so many people right here in New York who were sympathetic to the monster overseas?

  “The Bund,” said one of the officers. “This was a few years ago. Your friend has been involved for a while if he was at that event.”

  “What is the Bund?” asked Alice.

  “A group of aspiring Nazis. You had to be of German descent to join. But their goal was to make life under the Reich seem attractive to Americans. So we could all live under it someday.”

  “You said had. Are they not around anymore?”

  “They’re not as visible. I think they officially broke up last year.”

  “But they still meet privately?” she asked.

  “We’ve heard so, though they’re much harder to locate. Looks like your friend here had no problem finding them. You have to know people.”

  Did Emmett know people? And what side did that mean he was on?

  While the initial photographs of the crowds were shocking, it was the remaining twelve that everyone homed in on.

  These were personal. Photos of men talking over whiskey and cigars, laughing, strategizing. Maps laid out on tables before them. Documents in folders on tables.

  But two showed where a folder had been opened and two handwritten letters were shot at odd angles, as if Emmett had been in a hurry. The last picture showed the shadows of two men as if they were hovering over the letters.

  Emmett, presumably—and who? Someone who was trying to stop him?

  “Can you read those, Vera?” asked Angelo.

  “I’m sorry, darling. My German is limited to everyday things. There are few words I can make out.”

  “We’ll have to take these, miss.” One policeman stepped forward and addressed Alice.

  “Of course.” She nodded, still in disbelief over what she was seeing.

  As far as it looked, Emmett had attended a rally.

  But anyone from the public could do that.

  He’d been invited into a meeting.

  He’d have had to know someone. They’d have had to know him.

  He’d taken a look at private documents.

  And now he was missing.

  Either Emmett was a sympathizer. Or he was a spy.

  But the photographs did not show anything that might tell her all that she really wanted to know.

  Where was he?

  The policemen took the pictures and exchanged information with the Bellavia family. The prints would be passed along to higher authorities, of course, but if Alice had any questions, she could get in touch, and they would see what they could find out for her.

  She was the last one out, and she locked the door for what she hoped was not the last time.

  Even while knowing that it was. She felt with that deep certainty of women’s intuition that Emmett was not coming back to her.

  They spoke little on the walk
home. Bertie had gone on ahead, returning to Penn Station in spite of Vera’s promise of a freshly cooked lasagna if he came with them.

  “And disappoint my date?” he asked. “I left a dame waiting for me over by the ladies’ lounge.”

  Bertie always said such things, though they all knew it not to be true. He belonged to the station and the station belonged to him, and he never seemed to want more.

  Vera stepped ahead of Angelo and looped her arm through Alice’s. “Darling, I can’t even imagine what you must be feeling right now. And we will have to sit down and talk about it. But there is something you must know before we get home.”

  “What?” she asked with no enthusiasm. The only thing she wanted to know was where Emmett was. That he was safe. And that he loved her.

  But she might never have that chance.

  “William is there. And he wants to talk to you.”

  “What do you mean, William is there?”

  She hadn’t looked at a calendar in days, but she did a quick calculation in her head. Of course. He was supposed to be arriving home from his trip today.

  “I don’t know about that, Alice, but his timing could not have been better. He showed up a few hours ago and helped me make the noodles while we waited for you to come home. And then when your father came home instead and told us about the note you gave to Bertie and Bertie’s fear that you were in danger, he offered to stay with Opa so that I could help find you. Oh, he wanted to come. He is terribly worried about you, Alice. Why don’t you run ahead?”

  William was as good a man as was ever made, and she did love him. But to not know where Emmett was felt like she’d inhaled a poison that was slowly burning her up inside. She couldn’t fathom seeing gentle, caring William while this darkness swirled in and around her.

  But Alice did as her mother suggested. As she approached, she saw the doors to their building flung open and William’s blue car parked in front. A white ambulance had pulled alongside it, blocking the street, and she saw two men in white outfits rush through the doors carrying a stretcher.

  “Opa!” she called. William followed behind them and pulled Alice into his arms.

  “Alice, sweetheart, you’re all right. I’ve been so desperately worried.”