An Orphan's Tale (9 page)

On the screen the camera zoomed in on Oscar's father. He was sitting on a wooden chair, sideways, showing no interest in his grandson. Danny recognized him as having the face of the young man who had thrown the boy toward the ceiling. He was very old and he wore round silver sunglasses and a khaki windbreaker. The collar was turned up and buttoned across his throat. On one side of his neck there was a bulge of skin—a goiter like a hand grenade—and Danny gagged on his milk, felt some of it come through his nose.

“He looks like death,” Mrs. Mittleman said. “I asked you not to take his picture.” She handed Danny another napkin and left the room.

“Here's your answer,” Mr. Mittleman said. “I'm not worth anything until I sell.”

Charlie imagined a movie about the Home, with Sol going around the country to see all his old boys. The movie could tell the story of his last trip. Charlie saw Sol calling each of his boys, but they all gave excuses. There would be flashbacks to the boys when they'd been kids at the Home, and when they'd been starting out in life with their families and jobs and Sol had helped them.

Charlie imagined the film playing in theaters, with the proceeds going to save the Home. There could be a kid in the movie with a camera who turned out to be the guy who decided to make the movie about the Home in order to raise the funds to save it. But Jerry the waiter would be the only one who would agree to see Sol. The flashbacks and cross-country scenes and scenes of the Home could alternate with the nine races at Hialeah, and at the end of the ninth race—Charlie leaned forward—when Sol and Jerry were laughing at what a good time they'd had, and in the middle of a big crowd pressing to the payoff windows, Sol would be struck down with a heart attack.

“What?”
Charlie said, aloud, and he stood. The camera was moving up and away and Charlie couldn't find Sol's face in the crowd. He stood next to Danny and touched the boy's hair, lightly.

“The boy thinks you're special,” Mr. Mittleman said. “You shouldn't disappoint him.”

The lights were on and Danny felt dizzy. He remembered how good he had felt on the hill a few hours before, when things were beginning. “I told you to come have your chicken,” Mrs. Mittleman said. “It's warm.” Mr. Mittleman unhooked the screen, then put the projector away in a closet and told Charlie he was going back to work. When he was gone Mrs. Mittleman sighed and said he'd be up all night. She asked Charlie what she should do about him.

When Danny opened his eyes he heard ringing and smelled smoke. He thought of Larry and the other boys puffing cigarettes in their secret hideout. The inside of his mouth was dry from the chicken. Mr. Mittleman sat at a desk across the room, looking directly at him.

“Good morning,” Mr. Mittleman said.

Charlie was on the telephone, telling a man that he knew what a big step it was to buy a house. “But let me put it this way,” he said. “If I came up to you in the street and handed you a five-thousand-dollar bill, would you tell me you needed time to think it over?”

Danny rested in a corner of the easy chair. His back was damp from perspiration. The last thing he remembered hearing was a discussion between Mr. Mittleman and Charlie about a piece of property. Charlie had asked Danny to pay attention—to memorize Mittleman's words.

Mr. Mittleman picked up the phone on his desk. “Abe, this is Max. Listen to my boy Charlie. He's giving you the deal of a lifetime.”

Mr. Mittleman hung up. Danny stared at a wall of photos—houses, with prices, tacked to corkboard. He went over the things Mr. Mittleman had explained.

Charlie was listening, then smiling. He told the man to come in the next day and settle the details with Mr. Mittleman.

“I don't know why we bother with the houses,” Mr. Mittleman said when Charlie had hung up. “They take up so much time, and for what? It's all cats and dogs.”

Charlie looked at Danny. “You feel okay?” he asked.

“I'm all right,” Danny said, and found that he was saying something he'd been half thinking when he awoke. “I wish you were still married.”

“Me too,” Charlie said.

“Wonderful,” Mr. Mittleman said to Danny. “Tell me, when you grow up, what do you want to be—a Jewish mother?”

“Lay off,” Charlie said. “He's had a long day, coming all the way from the city to find me.”

Mr. Mittleman shrugged. Danny stared at the photo of John and Jacqueline Kennedy on the desk. “In all our years of marriage,” Mr. Mittleman said, “the most important thing that ever happened to us was John F. Kennedy's death.”

“Come on,” Charlie said, starting to pull Danny from the chair. “We'll get you to sleep.”

Danny pushed Charlie away. “I'm okay. Leave me alone.”

“It was an experience we could share,” Mr. Mittleman said. “We made a scrapbook together.”

“You look so tired,” Charlie said to Danny.

Danny glared at Mr. Mittleman. “High borrowing reduces cash flow,” he recited. “Depreciation not only develops a cash flow which is not taxable but it helps develop losses to offset other income. The important thing is to enhance proceeds and postpone taxes. Rabbi Akiba said, ‘The more flesh, the more worms. The more possessions, the more worry….”'

“Hey!” Charlie shouted, the tip of his nose in Danny's face.
“Hey!”

“I'm sorry,” Danny said, blinking.

Mr. Mittleman seemed puzzled. “Tell me-how old did you say you were?”

“I'll be thirteen soon.”

“I don't believe you.”

“I told you to lay off,” Charlie said.

“We should go over this before you sleep,” Mr. Mittleman said, opening a book. “We have a good profit on the property, but if we sell, we want to avoid tax, right? What to do—we mortgage the property and sell it subject to the mortgage, taking back a second mortgage for you for the remainder of the purchase price. You don't mind, do you? You'll have the cash from the first mortgage in your pocket and you can take installment reporting to avoid having cash this year.”

“Whatever you say,” Charlie said.

Mr. Mittleman closed the book, put it aside, and picked up a folder. “You shouldn't worry, young man. It's very Jewish to be a landlord. It's a tradition.”

Then Charlie and Mr. Mittleman talked about the project Danny remembered hearing them talk about earlier—buying land for a shopping center, near the George Washington Bridge. Mr. Mittleman said the property was zoned residential now, but that he had assurances, and that it would cost Charlie eight thousand to pay for the assurances. Mr. Mittleman looked at Danny and spoke for his benefit. “Where land is bought at residential prices and rezoned for commercial purposes,” he said, “the benefits are extraordinary. Your friend is into a good thing. The land costs are low in relation to the cost of improvements, so that we have wonderful depreciation built right in—” He turned a loose-leaf book around, for Charlie to look at. “Here are the figures.”

Charlie waved him away and spoke to Danny. “Come on.”

“You should look at them,” Mr. Mittleman said.

Charlie winked at Danny. “What for? I told you a hundred times—I'm a counter, not an accountant.”

“So?”

“I believe in money, not figures. You know that.” He went to the door, and Danny followed him. “I keep all my money tied up in cash.”

“It's one way to do business,” Mr. Mittleman conceded.

Charlie switched on the light at the top of the stairs and entered the room. From the other side of a large double bed Danny heard a metallic sound, then saw a head rise up. “It's only me, darling,” Mrs. Mittleman said. She wore a pink flannel nightgown. “I heard you coming and I remembered that I forgot to see if the cot was underneath your bed. It must be in the cellar.”

“Forget it,” Charlie said. “We'll sleep together-like old times at the Home, right?”

“But wouldn't you both be more comfortable—? I can get it myself. It won't be a bother….”

The room impressed Danny as having been decorated not for a son but for a daughter. The bedspread was robin's-egg blue, and the curtains, at the far end of the room, were white with blue trim. The furniture was made of shiny blond wood, and the only item that seemed meant especially for Charlie was a modern black leather easy chair. Charlie opened a closet and took out a bridge chair, unfolding it and setting it beside the bed. “Danny can use this for his clothes tonight. We'll get him some new ones soon. I'll make room.” He went to his desk, marked the item on a list.

“But it won't be any trouble.”

“Just leave us be, all right?” Charlie said sharply, and Mrs. Mittleman backed toward the door. “I told you before that I didn't like you nosing around in here. I take care of things.”

“I didn't mean to interfere,” she said. “Wouldn't I do the same if my son brought a friend home?”

“You don't have a son.”

“I just wanted you and—” she hesitated, then spoke coldly “—your friend to be comfortable.”

“You meant well,” Charlie said. “You always do.”

Mrs. Mittleman left, and Charlie cursed. “Shit,” he said, “why does she get to me? Why do I let her—?”

Danny sat on the chair, unlacing his shoes. “What's depreciation?” he asked.

“I'll explain tomorrow—it'll be easier when we can look at real buildings.” He sat at his desk. “I have some things to do first, so you get to sleep now.”

Danny slipped out of his shirt and climbed into bed. The sheets were cold and smooth. He pulled the cover to his chin. He dozed, then woke, and he watched Charlie at his desk, writing. He was glad he hadn't fallen asleep completely; he remembered now to say the
Shema
to himself:
Hear O Israel the Lord Our God the Lord is One…
. Then he reviewed the things he'd learned. He wanted to be able to keep all the sayings he'd memorized in his head at once, but he wondered if there would, after a while, be enough room. He thought of getting out of bed and writing in his notebook, but he decided that it might scare Charlie if he did.

When the lights were out and Charlie was in bed, Danny spoke. “I'm glad I was right—that you do buy and sell land. I think I can help you.”

“I'll bet you can,” Charlie said, but he was drifting off to sleep.

“I think I know how you can get a lot of money.”

“You impressed Max with what you memorized—that's something.”

“I mean it. But you have to swear to me first that you won't send me back.” Danny laughed.

Charlie smiled. “Sure,” he said. “No deposit, no return, right?”

Danny propped himself up on an elbow. Charlie's half of the bed sloped downward, from his weight. Charlie was turned away from him, on his side. “I mean it,” Danny said. “Swear it to me.”

“Let me sleep, okay?”

“Swear it.
Please.”

“Okay, okay. I swear.”

“All right,” Danny said, and he lay back down, smiling. “I know something and it's this: Dr. Fogel has over three thousand acres of land.”

TUESDAY

Today was the 1st day we were apart and even though I know he won't be home until after practice I keep going to the window and looking out for him. I'm afraid something will happen to him in the city but I don't want to telephone the school because I don't want him to see how much I worry about him.

Why I'm writing in my notebook again: 1. To help myself imagine that he's here with me. 2. To record this precious period of my life in writing.

I've been with him for 3 weeks and 6 days now and he never mentions my going anywhere else. We're together all the time: in the city, at the school, in the office, and in his car. I stayed here today because he said he might have time to stop at the Home.

What I feel: that more has happened to me during these few weeks than in my entire life up until now! Charlie can tell how happy I am. He always smiles at me and roughs up my hair and this is what he says: When you're in love, Danny, the whole world is Jewish!

A question: Is Charlie thinking about me while he's away, and if he is and he misses being with me the way I miss being with him, when he comes back will he say so, or will he be angry because I've made him become attached to me and will this make him give me back to Mr. Gitelman?

Mrs. Mittleman came up before and brought me cookies and a glass of milk. She asked me to call her Shirley but I won't. She saw my notebook and she told me not to throw away education. There was a sign in her school when she was a girl which said

While she kept talking I worked on my memorizing. Two days ago I found the saying in PIRKAY AVOS that our motto comes from but guess what?
The motto part isn't even from Maimonides!
He was quoting somebody else's saying! Here's the way the whole thing really goes:

AS THE SAGES USED TO SAY, “GIVE ME FRIENDSHIP OR GIVE ME DEATH.” AND IF A PERSON CANNOT EASILY FIND A FRIEND HE MUST STRIVE WITH ALL HIS HEART TO DO SO, EVEN IF HE HAS TO GO SO FAR AS TO COMPEL THE PERSON TO LOVE HIM, EVEN IF HE HAS TO BUY HIS LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP.

Mrs. Mittleman looked out the window and said she was worried about Charlie being knifed or mugged. I told her I was doing special work for him and needed to be left alone.

Every morning at breakfast Mr. Mittleman pinches my arm to see if I'm fattening up.

Here are some of the things Charlie does in the city:

1. He collects rents for Mr. Mittleman. Some of the rents are his but most of them belong to Mr. Mittleman and buildings he manages. Charlie gets extra money for the stores and apartments in the black and Puerto Rican sections. He calls this “combat pay.”

2. He checks to see that the buildings are running right and he calls plumbers and electricians to fix things. Sometimes he fixes things himself and shows the supers what to do.