Fall and Rise (37 page)

“I work downtown—baking, my living. I've never had trouble or missed my stop. Just take me—”

“Here, feel my arm,” and puts the man's free hand on his arm. “Just one long-sleeved shirt. A thick cotton but not sufficient and no undershirt underneath.” Motor starts up again. Doors close except for the half-door his foot's holding open. Man inside the car says “Make your move, in or out, but let the door close.”

“In a second. I'm trying to get someone to take this man to the downtown platform here.”

“I'll get someone myself,” the blind man says and takes his arm away from Dan.

“Come with me, really. Two quick stops—Hundred-third and -tenth, and the downtown train you'd eventually get here will probably be the same one you'll get at a Hundred-tenth. If one leaves as we get there, I'll stay with you till the next one comes. You ask me, that's more than a fair compromise.”

“I'll manage.”

Conductor comes into the car.

“Have to go,” Dan says. “How about it?” Man steps farther back.

“Hey,” conductor says. Yelling man from before's right behind him.

“Watch yourself and take good—ah, said all I can say,” and steps into the car. Door shuts. Conductor and yelling man from before turn around. Dan goes to the open window as the train starts moving and shouts “Will someone please help this man get to the downtown platform? Someone—you,” to a man running downstairs. “You missed it so help that guy with the cane there get to the downtown side. He's blind, could use help. I tried—” but train enters the tunnel.

She goes to—beer? no, stops, then what? Doesn't know—to bed, that's it, for the last time, do what you said. Turns around, bedroom, bed, clothes off, here, there, heck with it, on the floor, chair, tomorrow she'll pick up, clean up, whole place, her weekly mess, also one of these weekend days, clean the stove, but before that defrost the fridge—covers back, light off, radio on? No, enough, plenty, too much, sleep now, that's what she needs. Lies back, sighs deep, feels good, covers up, pillow's not right, leave it. No, leave it and she'll never sleep tight. Light on, both pillows still up for reading not sleeping, down, plumps them, once, twice, light off, lies back, deep sigh, covers up, burrows in, pillowcase smells, tomorrow, also the laundry, or Sunday at the latest. So? So what? Go to sleep. Shuts her eyes. Thoughts pass—what a day, some day, night, whole day, part, party, parties, Dot and Sven, seeing Peter again, Arturo wasn't his name but what it should be, though what's that mean? “I don't know, I don't know.” Sounds so odd, voice in the dark. But she should, this Arturo business, be allowed to—it's night and very late so she can make as many meaningless observations and statements as she wants till she falls asleep. Make another. Can't think of any. “Hello, hello?” Still sounds odd. “Mama I'm cold.” Maybe always will sound weird while the light's out. Alone's probably why, while with another person, dark or light, he'd say “What's that you said?” and she could say “I don't know, just testing, testing, one, two, now back to head, so pretty please pay no mind,” and neither would think much of it. Pleasure of company, safety in numbers. Thinks that's right, doesn't care if it isn't. But make another meaninglessism. Abracadabrafagabrahachoo! “I love you.” Very odd, maybe the mostest. Talk shortly and marry a Swiss miss—at this age, his age, versus Ms. Rage—now she's making no sense. So what and what if she is or isn't? For good, more meaninglesspish, quicker to sweep she'll get. And this other guy. Coming by. You bet. But don't forget if he rings—no way, late sir. Goodnight or good morning but a newer knowner day. Enough, pointy, too much—stop that, in fact. What? Any thought goes, quicker to deep. But something Diana said—hole back the tide. Means Marietta, means hold, means pellucid, means lucid, about chillen, she in relation to them—as daughter? mother?—but forgets. That she should breast-feed? At least on one breast? Which one—right? left? Sure, tanks, but getting much too much late. Not to conceive but to keep from sleep. What's Bugs Bunny doing in her predreams? Scat. Where's Tom or Jerry the cat to chase him away? Never liked Bugs or that cat: too mean, tiger-toothed and wool of wiles. Opens her eyes. That usually does it and did. For when she closes them right after, people or things she doesn't want in her predreams disappear. How-do mom and dad. Stepping out of the front seat of a car, circa 1960, both doors going bang. Why? Neither can even drive. Who knows how these rings bed in here. Some conglomerate conjectural connection. What? Eléctrica, that's all. Electrolux—the best—puff puff. Sheep sleep. Folks gone. For no one or thing stays for long. Friend Cecily from golden tooth days comes on stage. Make cents? Haven't thought or seen of her in these predreams or from what I can member from regular deeper dreamers for years. Hi Cec me friend—Cecily, hi. She waves. Long brout cigarillo in her mout when she never cigaretted before. Then all of a sodden's in a big, kid's balloon skying flyward till she's gone. “Bye.” Smoke burnts to dust. Dog runs on chased by many mangy dogs. Tease the real country. Wobbly dirt road with wheel pebbles in it, tall green fluffy trees round wed apples on them on either wide of the ride, blue shy, white shouds, green operas on the trees also and yellow forwards in the hills, clear day, all day, all the dogs' tails raving, then nice sleek chased one barks. At me. Hark hark. I smile. A god, had one as a girl, but a different breed, ran away, posted rhymes up on every lamppost every day, visited all the city pounds, cried for nights, didn't want Granada, Rolph! Rolph! by now gods and countryside have disappeared. Sailing ship in empathy dark seas. Coffee brewing, moo cows, nightleak rain, and ship sinks. Now sunshiny and tree talking pigs painting a two-story mouse. Pigs with overalls on, from come comicbook or cattoon, housepainter's hats. Fuss me getting slippy. Nice we slice wheat thins the. Feels it humming on. When the cattoons come and all that sleep speak, it's only minutians away. Slap slap. Up and at. Don't go yet. Want to have some fun. Force someone on. Who you want to see? Could also force lovemaking if I hunted two and have done so in these seams with sexsex seferal times. Grandpa, that's who. Opposite of thef. Grandpa, come on Grandpa, come on looking just as he looked when she last looked him a week before he dired. Reddy face, thin freame, straight postique, thick spectators and that wonder bread smile. Daying Hiya darling, meyer darlink, my riddle sweetheart—how ya truly doing? “I'm fine, Grandpa, sleepy but mine, and you?” Knew. Disappears. Forgot what I wasn't supposed to tak long aloud in my pregleam dreams. Grandpa, bag on stage, wall in, say huddough to me again peas. Does, same suit, hat on now though. Quarter times she saw him he bore a half. Hi Grandpa—Grandpa, if knew you would do it anyruddy could, and hi. Hell me mo beautiful grandchild. Miss you, Grandpa. Me too to you, my child squeet. Miss you so much, Grandpa. Me me to too, my toot sweet. Miss you that much and am more glad I not falls into deep before I liss how much I say you, Grandpa. Me ma, ah-goo, sweet child. Wiss I had you round to isk about lots of doorbell rings. He's gone. Eyes open. Grundpepere's gone. Downstairs bother's binging. Downstairs bell's ringing. Don't answer it a night song. Only could be key. Won't let Kin in. City. Minsky. Who's he? She's too lazy. He was too late in coming. She doesn't want to see anyone now. Too sleepy, not lazy, go away awhile and maybe. Again. Downstairs buzzer's buzzing, no downstairs ring or bell. Just take the money and understand? Plenty. Or let him in or speak. Show him the courtesy, give him the couch and a wishrag and trowel and go back to sheep. Kidding? Buzzer's rebothering. Gets up, turns on the light, hasn't been in bed long, runs to the kitchen, pushes
Talk
on the intercom and says “Who is it, Dan Krin?” and he says “Yes, hi, and I know it's much later than I said but could you ring me in?—this lobby's cold.” “Listen, it's—you see, well, I'm distressingly—painfully—just plainly sleepy, so I don't think I can.” She still has her finger on the Listen button. Presses
Talk
and says “Hello?” and presses
Listen
and he says “Still here, but can you let me in?”
Talk:
“Did you find the money?”
Listen:
“Money, money—forgot all about it. Yah, it's here. I didn't need it but thanks. Is anything wrong?”
Talk:
“Take it anyway to get wherever you have to, but I really—I'm very sleepy—so if you wouldn't mind, okay?” Listen: “I promise no problem. On my hands and knees, and it's not just this lobby. I've only a shirt now, no sweater, so just to get warm. What I'm saying is—just as you've been too generous as it is—but don't leave me stranded down here. Really, it's too cold and I haven't the right clothes—so a few hours sleep anywhere in your apartment. Even, as I said on the phone—and I'm not joking—I wasn't and I'm naren't, aren't, am not now—on the rug.”
Talk:
“You through?” Listen: “Yes.” Taik: “All right, since I suppose I can't go back on what I promised. And no rug. Just come up. Ninth floor, first door to your left when you get off the elevator, which is directly ahead of you past the lobby door, but don't whatever you do get detained along the way,” and buzzes him in.

Funny girl, sounded mad, can't wait, just to get inside some place, what'll he say? aiee, aiee, at this hour the apartment can't have much heat, only don't get playful, just Hello, thanks—play it straight—Don't want to trouble you any farther—further—So just…eighth…seventh…show me the rug or couch or whatever it is I'm to rest on, and if it's still okay a shower first if you don't mind, as you can see I really need it, and a towel in any state of dampness or decay would be much appreciated, so you just go to sleep, night-night, don't worry about me, and much more than my thanks, you've been, what can I say? divine…second…first…

Bathrobe, something for underneath, just a pair of panties from here or there, like to put up her hair but hasn't time, tie the belt tight, tuck the top in, nothing needed for her feet.

Door opens as he has his finger—“Hi, heard the elevator door open,” closes.

“Hello, thank you, you startled me,” holds out his hand, “—forgot my key. I—”

“Shhh—neighbors.”

“Sorry, and no dumb, and besides, confusing that dumb remark when you also consider that I lost my own housekeys. But anyway, seriously”—her hair down, more blonde than orange now, how's that? could be the ceiling light—smooth, shiny—“I don't think I should leave my shoes here, do you? They're not wet and I wouldn't want to lose them.”

“Why, is it raining?”

Big breasts, thick thighs, small waist, under the robe, what he can detect—“No, why? Don't know why I even said it, I mean,” cute little feet. “I'll leave them on. They might be dirty, I guess that's why. Said it, I—”

“It's all right, this isn't a Japanese household. Come in.”

“Thanks.” She steps aside, he shuts the door, she locks, her back, large buttocks. “Nice place.”

“You haven't seen it.”

“The lobby downstairs, the vestibule. Which is it? The second entrance room, with all the marble. Oh, befores I forgets,” gives her the cab money in his hand.

“No, I don't want—” trying to give it back.

“Please, it's not mine—Then a dollar for the subway tomorrow, which I'll mail back,” takes a dollar bill. “But I always get those two rooms mixed up or never had them straight.” Face, smile, teeth, height, high cheeks, those sweet feet, almost oriental eyes, simple powder-blue bathrobe, paint, print, light fixture in this small room, all in good taste, tons of books shelved, don't let it get to…turn your…make you…something, what? No time.

“Lobby,” she already said. Also: “Vestibule's the first one with the nailed-down floor runner and bells.” Now: “At least I think—”

“So the door from the outside's the vestibule door and one to the lobby's the lobby door. That hold true for going out? Lobby door leading to the vestibule
still the
—
well, not important, except for a translator's zealotism, zealotry
—zeal for the exact word. I bet you thought with that last one I wasn't serious.”

“I didn't think. Anyhow—”

“Sure: no talk; sleep. I'm sorry, and by nice place downstairs—just to finish this up, so you don't think I'm altogether bats—I meant old New World New York or something or another. Handsome. Hatful. Tactful. Those aren't it, blubber blubber, so whatever words I mean.”

“You're tired.”

“Us both. I've kept you up and up. Lucky you're still talking to me.”

“I don't know how much longer I can.” Yawns. “There”—another—“see? I'm catching a yawn, and for all I know I'm dreaming in my sleep.”

“If you are, where's that leave me? Where would I be if—”

“No taxing thoughts. And maybe you should take off your shoes. How'd they get so muddy?”

“And my hands,” untying the shoelaces. “I should also probably leave them in the anteroom do you call this room? The shoe room? You have a newspaper I can put these under?”

“Leave them. I'm doing a big clean-up tomorrow. And this room is my apartment's equivalent to the downstairs lobby. Or foyer. That's what this and that one downstairs is. Foyer. No, bring your hands with you. You'll need them to pull out the couch bed. I haven't the strength for it anymore.”

Goes, follows. “Hmm, nice room. And nice couch. Don't worry about sheets or anything. All I need's a blanket or heavy coat.”

“The bed is already made. And I'd say ‘Let me take your coat,' or would have in the foyer, but you really don't have one. You didn't when you came to Diana's?”

“It was stolen. I didn't tell you about the newsstand?”

“You did. I'd ask to hear the whole story”—yawns—“as you can see,” pointing to her yawning mouth. “Mine always seem to come in twos.”