and so closely spaced there was barely room for a walkway between them. Here and there someone popped out and disappeared just as quickly.
A car raced toward him, and close behind it, hugging the curb, rumbled a truck spraying stiff jets of water onto the street. He stepped back between two houses as it roared past in a misty cloud, its huge revolving, whisker-like brushes scouring the pavement beneath it. A city street cleaner, just like Gramps had described it! He stepped back out onto the wet sidewalk and watched the truck go by like some huge water beast chasing prey, leaving in its wake cool drafts of its fresh, damp breath.
At the corner of the block, he paused to let a car pass, and was about to step off the curb when he saw a sign farther down the cross street: Adelaide’s Delicatessen. He recognized it as what he called a Mom and Pop store. No big supermarkets in this day and age. He remembered too his grandpa telling him of getting the most delicious cold cuts there ever-- salami, ham, baloney, liverwurst, Not like the tasteless garbage they dish out today! And he smiled remembering his Grandma joking, That’s right, Honey, Grampa likes tasty garbage.
Stenciled across the bottom of one of the two windows flanking the doorway was an advertisement for Salada Tea. Across the bottom of the other was one for Rich’s Ice Cream. A bell tinkled when he opened the door and, except for the faint odor of saw dust, a bouquet of smells he couldn’t immediately identify wafted over him and made him a little heady.
He picked his bread and mustard off the shelves while the young girl behind the counter hefted the loaf of baloney onto the machine and set it whirring.
“Is there a drug store nearby?” he asked, watching the deliberate motion of her pale arms pushing the meat against the blade, its humming forced to a deeper pitch under the load as it guillotined in and lopped off the slices….
She worked just as fast as she spoke, wrapped his order and gave him directions. He paid, took up his package, thanked her and left.
* * * * *
And there it was, Sid’s Pharmacy, just as she said it would be. He climbed the few cracked concrete steps and went inside, where he ordered his shaving gear and passed his bad one dollar bill. Within minutes, he was on his way home.
Despite the evening air chilling down, Gary worked up a light sweat walking back to his room. Slowly, he climbed the porch steps, disappointed not to see Sarah sitting there, though he really didn’t know why he should feel that way. The air in the hallway was heavy with the smell of cabbage cooking somewhere in the house. Back in his room, he shut the door, snapped on the light and sat on the bed with his packages on his lap. When his breathing had evened out, he got up, pulled the card table close to the bed, sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the table in close. His knees fit just right beneath it. He unwrapped his food and realized he had no utensils. He dreaded having to ask the landlady but he had no choice.
Softly he knocked on her door, waited a moment or so, and knocked again. He stepped back when the door swung open and she stood glaring at him. “I heard you the first time. Don’t you have any patience?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Harmon,” he said, “I don’t mean to disturb you, but do you have a knife I could borrow?”
“A knife! What for?” She smirked. “You gonna kill somebody?”
“Just a butter knife or anything I can use to spread some mustard with.”
“You eatin’ in your room?”
“Well, I didn’t get a chance to stop at Toby’s, so I picked up some lunch meat. I figured I could make myself a sandwich.”
Her eyes narrowed on him as she considered. “If I knew you were going to be staying any length of time, I could’ve rented you a room with a little kitchen. I still got one left upstairs.” She looked him up and down. “But you don’t look like the type that can cook. And I don’t think you’d want to spend the extra money… Okay, step inside and wait.”
The apartment had a close smell of old perspiration and was filled with stuffed furniture made of a velvety material. Embroidered lamps stood on ornate end tables on each side of the couch, above which a picture of a pheasant hung. In a corner near a heavily draped window stood an empty bird cage. A thin carpet of faded colors deadened the sound of her footsteps when she came back into the parlor. She handed over the knife. “Keep it. And any garbage you make, take to the back of the house. Put it in one of the cans and make sure the cover’s on tight. I don’t want no rats or roaches running around here any place. I run a clean place here.”
“I understand,” he said, taking the knife by the handle. “Thanks very much.”
“You think you’re gonna want some ice?”
To his puzzled look she said, “For your ice box.”
“That’s probably a good idea.”
“I should think so. Your box holds twenty-five pounds. That’s fifteen cents. He’s due on Monday, the iceman, but you can pay me and I’ll pay him. I don’t intend to get stuck with nobody’s bill, not anymore.”
“Sure,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Here’s a quarter.”
“I’ll have to go get the change,” she said, her sour face contemplating the coin in her hand.
“That’s all right, you keep it.”
“Well, if you insist,” she said, softening. “You want me to let him in, or are you going to be home? He comes early, about ten o’clock.”
“I’ll be home.”
“Oh, and I can let you have a hot plate if you want it. Two-burner. A quarter a week.”
“That sounds real good, Mrs. Harmon.”
“See me tomorrow. I don’t want to be bothered hunting it up tonight.”
Back in his room, Gary made himself a sandwich and wolfed it down.
Holding the table to help himself up, he slid it back in place. Stuffing his toothpaste and new toothbrush in his pocket, he grabbed the garbage and stepped out into the dim hallway. He could see light through a glass panel in the door at the rear of the house, and headed back that way, passing the bathroom and a staircase to the upstairs on the way. Outside, he found the garbage can hidden under a little shed-like shelter, dragged it out, lifted the lid, dumped his garbage inside, and placed the lid back tight, per Mrs. Harmon’s orders. Surrounding the dirt patch that passed as a yard were crowded together two-story houses with steep roofs and narrow windows, some glowing with soft lights.
Taking a couple of deep breaths of fresh air, he stepped back inside, startling a man just emerging from the bathroom. Standing fixed for a moment, the man stared at Gary, his eyes wide beneath bushy eyebrows, as if too surprised to move, then suddenly, he bowed his head, mumbled some greeting and took the staircase up. Gary stood a moment, listening to his quick footsteps reach the landing and thump down the hallway, apparently toward the front of the house, where they faded and died behind a closing door.
Gary shrugged, took his toothpaste and toothbrush from his pocket, and went into the bathroom. Only then did he remember-- he never got his soap and towel from Mrs. Harmon. Tomorrow he’d get them, first thing in the morning. And he’d have to buy a comb for himself, too.
He forgot about the chill he’d felt when the stranger with the bushy eyebrows of old movie star Oscar Homolka stared at him….
Chapter 15
Eyelids fluttering to a baby’s urgent cry, somewhere, Gary rolled over and buried his head in his pillow to drown out the noise, but the sudden twist awakened the pain in his ribs, and he rolled back, groaning himself awake. Gradually, his eyes adjusted to the weak light seeping in between the drawn window shade and the sill. For a long moment he lay still, fighting against the images forcing