Part 20 (1/2)

”Is it supposed to be fair?” fair?” said Grandfather. ”For Chrissake!” said Grandfather. ”For Chrissake!”

”Please keep it down,” said Grandmother. For a moment there was silence, and I thought someone would come to check on whether I was still asleep, but no one did.

”Worklan could turn up missing like Lars Johnson,” said my aunt. ”Remember Johnson, the boss on the East River side?”

”I remember them all,” said Grandfather.

”They run away,” said Aunt Evelyn nervously. ”Why don't they stay? They run away and eventually they disappear. What happens if . . . ”

”I don't blame them,” said Grandfather.”Oh, why can't we just get someone to help us?” said Aunt Evelyn. She was crying. Her fretful, harsh sobs drifted through the hall into my room, where this time the door had been accidentally left ajar.

”We've been through that, too,” said Grandmother resignedly.

”We should find David's father,” said my Aunt. ”We should get David to his father.”

”He thought we were insane.”

”Please keep it down,” said Grandmother.

”Sorry,” said Grandfather in a barely audible voice. ”But Evelyn's right. It was fine as long as David was living with his mother and father, but now he's not safe with us, and we're getting too old to move again. We have to make a stand.”

”G.o.d,” said Aunt Evelyn, ”I don't know.”

”This time we'll have to wait,” said Grandfather.

”What will we tell David?” said Aunt Evelyn. There was a long silence, and during the silence I struggled to keep from yelling in terror, rus.h.i.+ng into the living room and pleading with them to tell me what was happening to us. Eventually, I fell asleep exhausted. And in my dreams they they came again from below in their tunnels- slick, pasty horrors without eyes . . . . came again from below in their tunnels- slick, pasty horrors without eyes . . . .

In the morning I watched Grandfather sitting in his chair, smoking his pipe, occasionally looking toward me where I played grimly with toy horses. His gray features were a cruel poker face. I fought with the determination of a chess player to stay calm. I was afraid to speak.

When the sun was low one day and the light glared through the front-door gla.s.s into the building's entry hall, I sat on the lower step of the staircase. Mrs. Turnbull was cleaning her apartment and had made one or two trips out the back door behind the main staircase, now carrying a grocery bag of garbage that smelled of used coffee grounds. I heard the garbage can lid rattle onto the can in the alley, and from Mrs. Turnbull's open apart ment door I could hear the soap-opera voices of Stella Dallas Stella Dallas coming from her radio. I heard the back door close, watched Mrs. Turnbull start back down the long hallway, then turn. coming from her radio. I heard the back door close, watched Mrs. Turnbull start back down the long hallway, then turn.

She suddenly walked back toward me, a hurricane of thick makeup and bright red lipstick. Her face was like a shrunken plaster cast, her pale eyes like marbles of blue and white fire. ”Your grandmother hasn't told told you anything,” she said hastily. ”They spoil you.” Her left eye twitched slightly in its cavity of dry flesh. ”You shouldn't be here. Do you think we're all going to pack up and move you anything,” she said hastily. ”They spoil you.” Her left eye twitched slightly in its cavity of dry flesh. ”You shouldn't be here. Do you think we're all going to pack up and move again? again? Tell your grandpa and grandma what I said.” She bent down, a frightened caricature. ”It doesn't matter because I'm not going to live much longer, you know what I mean? What dying is? Or,” she smiled, ”haven't they mentioned that little item to you either?” She started to say more, but saw tears in my eyes. She quickly turned, as if from the scene of a crime, and retreated toward her apartment with the soap-opera voices. Tell your grandpa and grandma what I said.” She bent down, a frightened caricature. ”It doesn't matter because I'm not going to live much longer, you know what I mean? What dying is? Or,” she smiled, ”haven't they mentioned that little item to you either?” She started to say more, but saw tears in my eyes. She quickly turned, as if from the scene of a crime, and retreated toward her apartment with the soap-opera voices.

Late that evening, I believe some kind of a meeting was held. After I heard my grandmother, grandfather, and aunt go out and shut the front door, I put on my robe, came out of my room, and went into the outside hall. There was the sound of people treading through the lower hallways and down the stairs to the first floor. There was that feeling, barely comprehensible to me then: I am inside a tomb, here are the dead people moving around. I went back into the living room and sat in Grandfather's overstuffed chair.

I didn't know how long I slept, but when I awoke, I pictured the downstairs hall in my mind, thought about the first-floor tenants and the front door gla.s.s, which must have been a tall dark rectangle at that time of night.

Aunt Evelyn had said, ”How could they come from under the ground if we're on the fourth floor?” I realized how misleading that comment had been, and I remembered Mrs. Turnbull taking out her garbage along the short pa.s.sage that went past a door that led to the bas.e.m.e.nt. Down there, our storeroom locker was packed with old furniture, boxes of bedding, tools, and other things. The bas.e.m.e.nt room with its rows of wooden foundation posts extended under the entire length of the building and included a big boiler. I had been down there once or twice with Grandfather, but never alone.

I went out into the hall. It was dark because of a burned-out light bulb, but a flood of light came up the stairwell. I went downstairs to the short hall that led to the alley. Midway along it was the cellar door. Ten feet away was the alley exit door, and through its window I could see a dim illumination of streetlight on the bricks of the old fire station.

I turned the cold bra.s.s of the cellar doork.n.o.b. A light was on in the bas.e.m.e.nt; the old stairs descended into dimly lit s.p.a.ce. Frightened but curious, I stepped down one at a time.

The underground room extended into the dark shadows among the row of foundation posts.

In this bizarre place, under a dim light bulb near the center of the bare floor, sat my grandmother. She was rocking slowly back and forth in a high-backed rocking chair. Her hands worked a pair of knitting needles, nervously starting and stopping while the chair creaked. I recognized the chair as one that had recently been put in our storage locker next to a pair of old snow tires. She had rocked me in that chair many times.

I stepped quietly down to the bottom of the stairs. Grandmother wore the brown plaid overcoat she'd used while walking with me. It was cold down here.

”Grandmother?” I whispered.

Her hands stopped knitting.

”Grandmother?”

The chair stopped, she looked up in surprise and stared in my direction.

”David?”

”It's me.”

”Why are you down here?” she said in a dry voice. She started to get up. The knitting fell from her lap onto the concrete floor. She stood up. ”Oh . . . you have to go back upstairs. How did you find your way down here?”

”I didn't know where anyone was.”

”Well, you're supposed to be in bed.” Her voice fluttered in an unnatural way. ”You'd better go now, right away.”

I turned.

”Wait,” she said. She motioned me to come to her. I walked across the cold floor, and when she sat back down I eased myself onto her lap.

”It is is a long night,” she said. ”You know, David, I love you. Sit with me for a while, like we used to do.” a long night,” she said. ”You know, David, I love you. Sit with me for a while, like we used to do.”

We sat there rocking for some time, until I could hear the floorboards creaking slightly overhead with the movement of footsteps while Grandmother looked up in silence.

”Why are you down here, Grandma?”

”Well, because it's cool down here after such a hot day. You know how hot it was today, don't you? Well, down here it's cool.”

”Are you coming upstairs now, Grandma?”

”Not yet, dear. I can't come back upstairs right away. I'm really supposed to be down here for a while. Will you do me a favor, David?”

”Yes,” I said with tearful eyes, knowing that something was wrong.

”Will you tell your grandfather that I'm all right, and that you were here?”

”Yes.”

”And remember that we love you.”

I kissed her on the cheek, and she let me off of her lap.

I went back to our apartment on the fourth floor. A pale yellow light came from the kitchen. Grandfather sat alone at the kitchen table, his elbow on the table, eyes downcast. He looked up at me when I came in and brought a handkerchief out of his deep pants pocket.

”Grandma says to tell you she's all right,” I said.Grandfather looked at me with wide eyes. He hadn't expected me to come in by the front door and didn't know I'd been gone.

He lifted me up and held me tightly on his lap. He spoke calmly and treated me as if by some remote chance, after his words changed the world forever, I would be able to cope. He proceeded slowly at first.

”You are becoming aware of certain things, David, so it's time you knew that the world isn't exactly what it appears.” He s.h.i.+fted me on his lap, trying to get more comfortable.