by Paul Zindel
exclaimed, “Oh, do let’s ride the carousel!” She rushed down a small hill and across a field. Within minutes, Miss Applebaum had us on the Central Park carousel,whichisveryfamousandveryreal.
“Isthiswhatyoumeantbytherollercoaster?”Henryasked.
“Oh, heavens, no,” Miss Applebaum said, sitting atop a white-and-silver
woodenhorsethatwentupanddownasthecarouselspun.“Therollercoasteris
entirely different.” Miss Applebaum laughed, and then grabbed the reins as though she were riding a horse at Belmont. Her homburg hat flipped up and downaswewentaround.
Riding the carousel brought back memories of my mother taking me to the carouselwhenIwaslittle.Ofcourse,thatwasalongtimeago,beforeeveryone
thoughttheparkhadbecomeadangerousplace.BackthenIusedtosingalong
with the music. My favorite songs were “Rock-a-bye Your Baby,” “Georgie
Girl,”and“RaindropsKeepFallingonMyHead.”Thecalliopewassoloud,we
couldn’t even talk to each other, but it was clear from Miss Applebaum’s sparkling eyes she was very much, joyously, alive. She was the most alive personI’deverseen,wavingtoHenryandmeonourhorses.Myhaircrackledin
thewind.Butitwasstrange,too.IguessIhadneverdreamedthatonedayI’d
endupridingacarouselwithoneofmyteachers.
When the ride was over, Miss Applebaum jumped off her horse and called,
“Hurryup!IwantyoutomeettheFiddlerontheHoof!”
“Youmean,FiddlerontheRoof?”Henryasked.
“No—Hoof!”MissApplebaumrepeated.
MissApplebaumdarted downapromenade thatwaslined withsnowfences
setuptostopanyseriousdriftingthatmightcomeduringthewinter.Therewere
statues on both sides of us now as Miss Applebaum cried out, “Oh, there’s Columbus! And there’s Shakespeare! There’s Robert Burns, and Einstein!”
TherewasonegeniusaftertheotherasMissApplebaumturnedfromlefttoright
withherbigbriefcaseswinginginherhandlikeabell.“Thatmandiscoveredthe
NewWorld!And he wrote Hamlet!Andthisgentlemanwrotesymphonies!And Schiller was one of the greatest German poets that ever lived! Aren’t they wonderful!” she cried. She let out a particularly enthusiastic cry whenever she passedascientist.“Oh,there’s Morse!HeinventedtheMorseCode!Andthere’s Newton with his laws of motion! And Madame Curie with her radium! Isn’t it fantastic!Doesn’titmakeyourheadspin?Justspin!”
Miss Applebaum was showing us a whole new world here that Henry and I hadneverreallyseen,evenwhenweusedtogotosomeoftheverysameparts
ofthepark!
A statue of Mother Goose marked the beginning of another section of the park.
MissApplebaumdashedstraightonwardnow,rightbyAliceinWonderland
sitting on a toadstool and Hans Christian Andersen reading a story to a bronze duck.Asusual,Henrykepthiseyesgluedtothegroundseeingotherthingsfrom
his perspective such as a fallen notice about a lost dog handled by an agency called “Sherlock Bones.” Farther on there was an empty bandshell. Then more hot-dog stands. Another commercial was being filmed from a van with a sign announcing “JACKIE’S LOCATION SHOOTING.” Beyond that, we finally
glimpsed children and full-grown men standing at the edge of a shallow pond sailingtoyboatsofallkinds.Mostofthemhadsailsoverthreefeethigh.There wasaminiatureradio-controlledtugboat.Andatinysubmarine.Onlytwoofthe
boatswerenormalsmallonesownedbyordinarykids.
“Thisismyfavoritespot!”MissApplebaumcalled,rushingupagrassyknoll
toabenchandspinningjoyously.“TheLandoftheChildren,Icallit.TheLand
forChildrenofAllAges!”AtleasttwocolliesandaSchnauzernowseemedto
notice Miss Applebaum, but every other living soul just seemed to be busy
having fun. We heard a violin. Miss Applebaum turned. “That song is from
Camelot!”shesaidhappily,andweranafterhertowardamanplayingaviolin andaccompaniedbyaportablestereo.Themanlookedaboutninety-sevenand
woreatuxedowithasoiledfrillywhiteshirtandfancybowtieasthoughhewere
playingforaking.Hisviolincasewasopenonthewalkwayinfrontofhim,and
all sorts of people and kids sat around listening and eating ice cream from a stand called the Ice Cream Cafe. Some would walk up and put a dollar in the case.MissApplebaumkepttellingusthiswasthefamousFiddlerontheHoof.
Betweennumbers,MissApplebaumhurriedusuptotheoldmanandintroduced
us,whilehesmokedathincigar.
“Oh, maestro, I want you to meet Henry and Zelda,” she beamed, floating a dollarintohiscase.
“Hello,”Isaid,smiling.
“Hello,”Henrysaid.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the maestro said, shaking our hands. Then, he tookabigpuffonhiscigarandturnedtoMissApplebaum.“Wouldyouliketo
hear‘TalesfromtheViennaWoods’?”theFiddlerontheHoofasked.
“Oh,yes!”MissApplebaumnodded.
Asheplayed,MissApplebaumhadusretreatupthegrassyknolltothebench.
“Isn’t it enchanting? Isn’t it just enchanting?” Miss Applebaum said. “This bench!Thisspot!Thisisthemostwondrousplaceintheworld!Fromhere,you
can see everything beautiful. Everything! Do you know what I mean?” she asked.
“Yes,”HenryandIsaid.“Weknowwhatyoumean.”
Wehadtoadmitthis was theprettiestplacewehadeverseeninthepark.Not only were there the Fiddler on the Hoof and toy boats and children catching crawfish and beautiful statues, but there were babies and rabbits and water fountains and clowns and magicians. All sorts of happy people! Other parts of theparkwereniceenough,butitwaseasytoseewhyherewasaspecialplace
forMissApplebaum.
“Thisiswhereallofcivilizationcomestogetherand means something!”Miss Applebaum exclaimed. “Where it means something important! Profound! The
best of all the spirit of the world that has ever existed triumphs here and lives on,”shesangout.Thensheopenedherbriefcaseandtookfromitahugebagof
apples.Inaflash,shewasonherfeetrunningabouttheboatpondpassingout
freeapples.HenryandIjustsatonthebenchandwatched,bedazzled.Itwasat this moment that I happened to turn my head and notice a tremendously long ditchandalotofconstructionmenandmachinerynotveryfaraway.Theywere
digging a trench that looked like a very long grave, and it was headed straight towardMissApplebaum’sfavoritebench.WhenMissApplebaumcameback,I
askedherwhattheyweredoing.
“Oh,they’relayinganewwaterpipe,”shesaid.
“Oh,”Isaid.
“Whentheyfinish,theparkwillbeasgoodasnew.”
“Isee,”Isaid,butsomehowtheonlyimageIcouldthinkofwasagrave.
“Do you mind if Henry and I leave now?” I asked Miss Applebaum. “I told mymotherI’dhelphercleanthehousetoday.”
“Ofcourse,”MissApplebaumsaid,standingupimmediatelyandclosingher
briefcase.
“Wedon’t really havetogo,”Henrysaid.
“Yes,wedo,”Isaid,givinghimanangrylook.
“Butwha
tabouttheCentralParkrollercoaster?”Henrymoaned.Thistime,I
really did kickhim.
“Oh, yes—we must go on the roller coaster,” Miss Applebaum cried out, dartingoff.
We ran after her across a roadway and west, past another section of the construction. A wire fence had been put up, but there was one spot where we wereabletogoslipthroughandclimbupaslopeoverlookingalargelake.
“Oh, there’s the Angel of the Waters,” Miss Applebaum shouted. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
WhenwereachedMissApplebaum’sside,wecouldseewhatshewastalking
about. There was a sign proclaiming Bethesda Terrace and a very large ornate fountain.Watersquirtedoutatallsortsofanglesfromthebaseofatremendous
wingedangelsuspendedbyfourcherubs,andallthewaterfelldownwardintoa
circularpool.Aswehurriedtowardit,MissApplebaumtoldusaboutthestatue.
“Itismeanttobeanangelwhooncevisitedaverytroubledearthandbrought
magicalwaterstohealeveryone.Thisisanangelofmiracles!”
“I thought we were going to the Central Park roller coaster,” Henry
complained,likeacompleteinfant.
“We are! We are!” Miss Applebaum assured him. “It’s right next to the fountain!”
Myheartbegantobeatnervously.
“Idon’tseearollercoaster,”Henrysaid.
“Justholdyourhorses,”MissApplebaumlaughed.
Shemarchedusrightpastthefountain.Agentlebreezeblewsprayacrossour
faces.Itwascooling,andIcouldn’thelpwishingtherewasarealangelonearth who had come down with a fountain of healing waters. It was a lovely, comfortingthoughtevenifitwasunscientific.
Just past the fountain was a tremendous lawn sloping upward. Rosebushes
wereplantedinformaldesigns.Therewasarising,dazzlingterraceconsistingof beautifulstaircasesandintricatelycarvedarchways.Studentssatattheedgeof
the lake reading. Painters worked on canvases. Photographers snapped away.
There were beds of late-blooming marigolds. Miss Applebaum rushed up the stairsononeside.“Here’stherollercoaster!”shecalledouttous.“Here’swhere yougeton!”
IlookedatHenryandIcouldseeevenhewasworriednowthatthemoment
wasathand.
At the top of the stairs, Miss Applebaum darted out onto the lawn. We followedher,andbythetimewereachedher,shewassittingonthegrassand
hadsetherhatandbriefcaseonastump.
“Hurry!Liedown!Therollercoaster’sabouttoleave.Hurry!”
Itwascrazy,butHenrymademedoasshesaid.Allweweredoingwassitting
ontopofagrasshilloverlookingthegreatfountain.
“Don’tweneedaticket?”Henryasked.
“No!”MissApplebaumshouted,stretchingherselfout.
“MissApplebaum...”Itriedtospeak,butcouldn’tquitefindwords.
“Herewego!”shecried.
Andthenshedidit.
Shebegantoroll.
Sherolledandsherolledandsherolled.AndIheardherlaugh.Shelaughed
assherolledoverandoverandover.
AndthenHenrybegantorollafterher,shoutingtome,“Comeon!Comeon!”
SothenIstartedrolling.
It was only seconds before all three of us were rolling and laughing, rolling down,down,downontheCentralParkrollercoaster.
7
Idon’tagreewitheverythingZeldasaidaboutCentralPark;therefore,I’m
drawing a map so I can introduce more of a reality factor. Reality factors havealwaysbeenmyjobwhenZelda sublimates andtriestopaintanything betterthanitreallyis.Itwasauniqueexperience,havingMissApplebaumshow
us her statuary and favorite botanic haunts, but it’s my duty to put things into better perspective. These additional reality factors are: 1) Zelda told you I was wearingawackysweatshirt,butshedidn’ttellyoushewaswearingabluesuit
jacketwithsixpiecesofgaudycostumejewelrystuckonit.Shewearssomuch
jewelry, you’d think she was always opening at Radio City Music Hall. 2) By thetimewehadleftCentralPark,ZeldaletMissApplebaumbuyheroneMilk
Duds,oneFrescalemonsoda,andafrozenchocolate-coveredbanana.Itwasn’t
that she was taking advantage of Miss Applebaum, but Miss Applebaum
insisted. Besides my first Fudgsicle I had one salted pretzel, one Clark bar, a second Fudgsicle, and a small Sugar Daddy. I mean, Miss Applebaum just
pushedthestuffonus.WesawMissApplebaumbeginningtowheezeagain,so
we let her buy us the stuff so she could rest while we ate. Also, when we left MissApplebauminfrontofherapartmenthouse,shementionedDr.Obitcheck
was coming over in the afternoon to give her another treatment, and we knew whatthatmeant.
ZeldaandIwenttoschoolonMonday,anditwasstrangethatneitheroneof
usmentionedMissApplebaum.Zeldawouldexplainthatphenomenonbysaying
thatwehad“thanatophobia,”whichmeans“thefearofdeath.”Zeldalovesthe
word“thanatophobia”andtheonlyreasonIlearneditwasbecausesheusesitin
almosteverybookreportshewrites.ButZeldaandIeachhaveadifferentkind
of fear about the Grim Reaper. For the most part, Zelda is worried about the regular death that happens when you grow too old. I’m worried about death cominginmoreuniqueways,butIdon’tletitreallyhangmeup.Forinstance,
myworstfearisthatwhenI’mwalkingdownastreetsomeone’sCrazyEddieair
conditionerisgoingtofallonme.OtherfallingobjectsIwatchoutforarelarge cranes, bricks, planks, pianos, and pennies. Some kid once told me that if someonethrewapennyoffathirty-storybuilding,itwouldgainenoughspeedto
sink four inches into a passerby’s brain. There are other passing thoughts of
dangerIhave,suchaskeepinganeyeouteverytimeIpassasewer.Alotofkids IknowgotovisitDisneyWorldinFloridaandcomebackwithbabyalligators,
andthentheygetboredwiththemandflushthemdowntheirtoilets.Also,some
peoplelosetheirpetpythonsandiguanasandyouneverknowwhatdrain-pipe
they’regoingtopopoutof.I’venevertoldthistoanyonebefore,butsometimes
justbeforeIgotosleepIwonderifwhenIdie,Ishouldbecrematedorburiedin acasket.TheonethingIknowis,Idon’twanttobesealedupinanornateurnor have my body preserved in a cement crypt like Nat King Cole or Marilyn Monroe.Ihateallthosemodernhigh-risecemeterieswithallthebodiesstacked
incubiclesduetoescalatingrealestateprices.It’sbadenoughthatwehaveto
live in fairly small apartments when we’re alive. And I have very special feelings about what I want my casket made of, if I don’t choose to go up in smoke.Iwantitmadeofthecheapestwoodsothatitwilldisintegrateasfastas possible.Ihavethistheorythatthesoonerallmyatomsarereleasedbackinto
the world, then the sooner I will drift around and become parts of other living things. Parts of me could end up in raspberry bushes, trout streams, weeping willowtrees,andallsortsofpleasantthings.Icouldbeswallowedbyenergetic
fishandmunchedonbygood-naturedcowsandotherdomesticanimalsandthen
start moving all over the place in unusual bloodstreams and lymph nodes.
Eventually,Icould
betransferredovergreatdistancesandbecomepartofsteaks
and vegetables eaten by people in Westchester, Liverpool, or Bombay. My
atomscouldbebouncedandtransformedbybaldeaglesandmunchingchildren
and chirping chickens and devout priests. I could become part of famous governors,brilliantwriters,andbenevolentpresidents.Icoulddrifttothemoon and Uranus and back again! Sometimes, after I’ve drifted off to sleep, I even dreamthatallmyatomsandmoleculeseventuallycouldmeetupwitheachother
againintheexactcombinationoftheoriginalspermandeggthatmademe,and
thenHenryMaximilianLednizwouldbebornagain.Whichisasgoodatimeas
anytotellyouaboutmyberserkparents.
1TheDakotawhereJohnLennonwasshot
2CentralParkWest
3Mostdrugsellers
4DanielWebsterstatue
5Mostdogwaste
6Mostratsononerock
7CentralParkSouth
8Mostgarbage
9Copsdressedaswomen
10Boringcarousel
11Mostmuggers
12Mostbums
13Ugliestplayground
14Zelda’sapartment
15Myapartment
16MissApplebaum’splace
17MissApplebaum’sfavoritebench
18FifthAvenuesnobs
AsIalreadytoldyou,mymotheristheFreudianOctopusandmyfatheristhe CockaloonyBird.Mymotherhasherpsychoanalyticpracticeinanofficein26G
in the same building where we live. She sees all her patients there. The only thingis,isthatmymotherisnuttierthananyofherpatients,soIcan’tbelieve people actually pay money for her to treat them. And my father is one of the mostself-centeredpeople I’veeverknown. Actually,bothmy parentsareonly
really interested in themselves. It’s the Eighth Wonder of the World they ever gottogetherenoughtohaveme.TheFreudianOctopushidesoutinherofficeall
day and the Cockaloony Bird is constantly commuting to Princeton, where he teachesequationswheneverhehasto.Usually,hetellsusabouthowengrossed
he is in reading the latest mystery novel like Death Wore Pantyhose, and he stops at New Jersey Turnpike rest areas to devour whole chapters. My parents