Time to Go (15 page)

“No you haven't. I liked talking to you. And Ed does get strapped for cash, but he might buy.”

“No, you're not trying to get rid of me. You're still much too nice.” She opens the door to the street. “You know, I'm really beginning to love this little building. Everybody who's in it is great. Printers. Writers. I'm going to make it my project to stick around here and meet everybody who lives here, even if I can't get Ed to give me a hundred votes. This building's loaded with good people, to me the best on the block.”

Ed takes his keys out of his pocket and looks at them. It's around dinnertime for him. Mostly he eats in luncheonettes like the type I worked in today. Denise says goodbye, shakes my hand and goes outside.

“Mr. Turner?” she says. “Ed?” His hearing's bad so that might be the reason he doesn't look up.

I go upstairs, exercise, shower, finish reading my section of the book. About fifty pages. I'm satisfied with the way it reads and looks. Only a few minor typos and one major one where it reads “Pocked the sand in his hand” instead of “Packed,” which could make me look stupid because of all the intentional transpositions of letters and words in my stories to make double meanings and puns, and I correct it in my ten copies. I read the newspaper, shave, snack and go downstairs with one of the hardcovers to drop into my neighborhood library's drop chute with a note taped on it for the librarian. I promised her a copy when she said she had no funds to order one. Denise is sitting on the building's outside steps.

“Hiya, Will. I told you I loved this building. So far I've talked to two of your neighbors and three of their guests and a television repairman. Outside of him and a man who wouldn't identify himself who went out to walk his monkey he said, which he wouldn't show me under his coat, they've all been more than nice to me and in brains practically brilliant. Mrs. Balin from 4B gave me a hundredten votes. So you can see I'm too good at this not to win the thousand dollars. Hey, there it is again,
The Black Book
. You've decided to give me one after all.”

“I'm donating it to the library.”

“They're open this hour? Intellectual New Yorkers. But what have you been doing till now, reading your own anthology pages?”

“You must be psychic.”

“I'm more than that, Will. And you're feeling much happier now, aren't you, so you're going to give me a hundredten votes too.”

“Here, take the book instead.” I take off the note. “And now that you've cut short my destination in a way, what do you say to accompanying me for a coffee or a beer?”

“Go with you? Oh no, I don't do that. But thanks for the book.”

“It's innocent. It's getting late and I thought you might like something to drink and maybe to talk. I would.”

“You've got other things on your mind, I can tell. And I'm busy. I still have to meet all the people in your building and now I've something great to read and rub against my face while I wait. I already met one printer and writer and a restaurant manager who's also a film producer and Mrs. Balin who was a dancer and actress. Did you know that?”

“She once showed me her programs.”

“Danced in the Scandals she said. When was that? When you were a boy?”

“Way before.”

“Well she says there's nothing but real cool tenants in this building. Some younger dancers also, women, and a handsome young man who looks like a leading film star of today with a big white dog. I love dogs. She said ‘hound,' And I can tell from the ferns hanging in the third floor windows that young people live there too. The wall colors on the second floor also. One long one a bright orange, the rest an electric blue. No older person would do that.”

“Last chance to accompany me.”

“And last to give me a hundredten votes. You can afford two beers, why not a magazine? Soul over the mind, Will.”

“I'm sorry, Denise.” I touch her head with my hand.

“I'm from Ohio, you know. Think I should light up a joint?”

“Not for me.”

“I meant for myself. Is it safe here like this from the law?”

“If they come it'll be by patrol car, so I don't think they'll see you. But that's your business.”

“I think I will. It's been a long day without one and the aroma will knock a lot of the good people out of their rooms to see what's cooking. I'm only kidding. But I want to meet all your neighbors if they went in before when I was phoning down the street, or if they never left the building since I started to stay here tonight.”

“Then I'll see you.”

“Last last chance.”

I wave, take a short walk, have a quick beer, walk at a good clip back to my building, hoping Denise is still there. It's fairly late. She might have no place to stay tonight or be too far away from it to want to take the bus or train. I don't care about the consequences. I'll tell her I spent the few dollars I had on me drinking and the money for the subscription I'll take is upstairs. She'll come. I'll get her to stay. She'll probably even want to and be thinking about it when she walks with me upstairs. She's not there.

“Say Will, hold it a second,” Ed says, getting off the same parked car. “Who was that young lady you sent over to sell me books before and vote for her for president or something?”

“Magazines. I thought you might be interested. She was pretty weird, huh?”

“Magazines were they? I thought books. And I don't know if she was that weird. Times are tough. People are doing anything and working all hours for extra change. In fact, she was kind of a cute kid, physically, with a nice shape and personality. Sparkling. She would have happily bounced down the street to buy me a newspaper if I didn't insist no. I like kids that way and helpful when most seem so out of it and depressed. Though she had a line all right. Glib. She could have sold me anything if I'd had the dough. And when I came back here and sat on that car, what do you think but she was still on the steps but with a young man now and then went across the street with him to his building while I did my best not to look. I'd say they sold themselves on each other, wouldn't you?”

“Actually, she was kind of nice in many of the ways you said. But how you doing tonight?”

“Me? Great. Had a fantastic sandwich before at Philly Mignon. Boy, you should have seen all the sliced steak they put on it for two bucks—a meal and a half for me.”

“Glad you can still chew it. See you, Ed.”

“Chew it? Funny guy. That's not nice. You'll be losing all your teeth yet yourself.”

My father walks down the hall. My father stands by the door. He looks at me from the door. He's standing with one foot on the threshhold, other just a little inside the room. I'm in bed, sick, not that sick, not sick to death, not sick with an illness that'll take a couple of months to recuperate from, that'll even take a month. That's what they tell me. I'll be up in a week, at the most two. Altogether that'll make three. Can I believe them? I want to. I do. In a week, most two. I'm sick though, sick enough not to go to school. To be excused from school. To have my lessons brought home from school. Sick enough not to do them too.

My father's holding the doorjamb with one hand. With the other he waves. Smiles. I'm sitting up against two pillows, knees raised about level with my neck. I've a metal car half the size of my hand. I've played with it so much for two years that it could use a new paint job. It's parked beside me on the bed. I parked it after driving it around on the bed, up and down my covered legs, around my knees, made it jump from one knee to the other, do a few aerial stunts and then land on my chest. Sometimes I let it tide all the way down my thighs by itself. A few times when I did that its ride down was smooth. Most times it rolled over and over as if in a bad crash. Sometimes when I steered it down I rolled it over in a crash. I made noises for the car. R-r-rrr. Crash, bang, boom-m-m. So what am I saying, trying to say? Will as a boy. Father by the door. Hand on the jamb. Smiles, waves, keeps smiling, no longer waves. “So how's my little Juney-boy today?” he says.

“Fine.”

“Sure you're fine. You're always fine. You should change your name to Fine. Will Fine. I bet Will Fine says he's fine next time I ask.” I laugh. “That a boy. Will really must be fine even if he isn't a Fine if he can laugh like that. Hey, I can't come in the room because the doctor says not to. He told your mother you still might be contagious, know what that means?”

“Yes.”

“Though something you'll be getting over pretty soon.”

“I know.”

“You know everything. So why am I telling you? Your mother's allowed to come in because she's nursing you. Oh heck, I won't get sick—I'm coming in.”

He comes in. He gets about two feet from me when he stops. “I don't feel faint yet, so how contagious can you be?” Lamp on the night table's on. Only light on. My father has a tie on, stain in the middle a little below the tie clasp. Has a suit on. He's just come from his office. He usually gets home around this time. Sometimes when he's about to close up someone will come in to get a tooth fixed fast. Sometimes on his way home he drops off work at the dental lab so he can have it first thing the next day. I heard my mother say this morning “How can you go out of the house with a tie stained like that?” and he said “I'm only going back and forth on the subway. The jacket and coat cover it. In the office I wear my smock.” “At least wear the clasp over it,” and he said “I don't fasten the clasp that low.” “Well this time maybe you should try to,” and he said “Don't worry. I haven't brought shame to the family yet and I doubt I will with a single gravy stain.”

It's dark outside. It's nearly winter and around six o'clock. I'm in the boys' room. It has a double decker bed and a single bed. My oldest brother, Robert, sleeps in the single bed. He's five years older than I. My other brother Peter is three years older than I and sleeps on the top bunk of the doubledecker. He doesn't have to. He could sleep in the lower bunk, where I sleep, but he wants to sleep on top. He could have his choice because he's older. He can't sleep in the single bed so long as Robert wants to. That's the way it works in this family. But both my brothers for the last three days have been sleeping in the living room on mattresses pulled off their beds. Because I might be contagious, which today the doctor who saw me here said I still might be but he's a little less sure. I think I got that clear. So my father's in the room. Clear about who sleeps where, why my brothers aren't sleeping in the boys' room. Just two feet away from me, taking chances with his health. He says “I wish I could give you a big kiss hello, but I was told not to. Your mother said Doctor Aronoff told her to tell me not to. Oh heck, if I didn't faint when I came in here, I won't when I kiss you, and besides, I'm as healthy as a horse,” and he gets down on one knee, puts out his arms. I look at him. “Well come on,” and he shakes his arms.

“Oh, I forgot,” and I put out my arms. His are now still and I go into them. His arms go around my body and now he's hugging me. I feel good in his arms. I close my eyes. He's patting my back with both hands as he hugs me. I feel so small in his arms. My face against his cheek. Cheek to cheek, that's what we are. I've seen him dance with my mother that way. Once when Robert turned the radio on to music and my father said “Here, I'll show you kids how to cut a rug,” and he grabbed my mother's hands. She said No but they danced. If spinning around a lot and dipping as he called it till her head almost hit the floor sometimes is dancing. Cheek to cheek. She didn't close her eyes but he did. “You'll get well,” he says. “You're not so contagious and you'll get well.”

“I know.”

He releases me, then holds me by my shoulders far as his arms can reach and says “You're a good boy. Some of my patients wouldn't be as brave as you in the same situation.”

“I'm scared of dentists though.”

“No you're not.” He stands. “What you do today?”

“Played by myself. This car.” I hold it up. “Slept a lot. Drank lots of fluids because I'm supposed to.”

“That's smart. You're taking good care of yourself. Want to know what I did today? Something special.”

“What?”

“Pulled out a tooth as big as—let me see your car again.” I show him it. “Half as big as that. Even bigger than half when you include the roots. It's all in the wrist. I love pulling teeth and hope one day you will too. But you got to stay healthy so you can strengthen your wrists. And I'll look in on you after supper. Maybe read you a story.”

“I'd like that.”

“Find yourself a good book. Don't get out of bed finding it. Just think of all the books you have and when I come back tell me which one you want and I'll read as much of it as I can before I get tired. I'm not a good reader.”

“I can already think of one.”

“Keep it in your head. Don't lose it.” He kisses two fingers and presses them to my cheek. “What am I doing?” Bends over, kisses my cheek, steps back. “Don't rub it off. You do, it'll mean the kiss never took place.”

“I won't.”

He leaves. I rub it off. I don't want to. It was wet. Now I'm sorry I did. But it felt uncomfortable wet. The wet's on the back of my hand now. Maybe I should put it back on my cheek. But I don't want my cheek wet again. I know it'll dry in a little while on my hand but I don't want it there either. I wipe my hand on the covers. Now my hand's dry but I bet it smells from spit. I smell it. Spit. That smell. I'd like to wash my hand now but I'm not supposed to get out of bed. I look for the wet stain on the covers where I rubbed my hand. None there. Maybe I should rub the covers where I rubbed my hand on it against my cheek. That's silly. Why would I want to do that? No reason. Just thought of it. I pick up the car and hold it a ways in front of my face. I slowly bring it closer to my face till its front is right up against my nose. Now it looks very real. I can see through the car's windows to the other side of the room. No people in the car but so what? They're lying on the floor and I can't see them. Then how'd the car drive up to my nose? It stopped. Then they ducked down. No, nobody's inside. If the car doors opened I'd make little people out of clay and put them in all the seats. If the trunk opened I'd make little square suitcases or try to and put them in too.