Page 79 - Where the Dream Ends ebook

Quartet

The buzzer on the door has a strident ring, like the brring,
brring of a bicycle bell, only harsher. As Harry stands by the
door waiting for Sylvia to let him in, she calls out for him to
identify himself, even though she knows who it is since she just
rang him in downstairs.

“It’s Harry,” he says, trying not to yell. A neighbor walks
past, eyeing him suspiciously. Only after his aunt is convinced
it is Harry does he hear the unclasping of locks. He can almost
feel them: one by his head, another by his chest, a third some-
where near the groin. He hears her yank the iron bar from the
police lock, and at last the door parts several inches. Harry
looks down and sees a beak with a mass of pink feathers and
two radar antennas poking out at him. Is it possible she’s even
smaller than the last time he saw her, he wonders?

Sylvia wrenches open the door and as he steps into the
apartment and she closes the door behind him, Harry feels as
if he has entered a time warp. The smells are old and musty,
mixed with the sour odor of steam pouring from radiators
whose pipes are nearly a century old. The heat is stifling, de-
spite the fact that the windows are wide open. Outside, you
can hear the screech of the wheels of the elevated train as it
rounds 232 Street, just two blocks away. Everything inside is
nd
the way it was a long time ago.
Sylvia’s husband died in the 1970s, but his clothes still hang
from a valet in the bedroom, alongside a bed stand with pho-
tos and other memorabilia. In the living room, several broken
TV consoles, dating as far back as 1949, line one wall creating
a long table topped with a nicely crocheted dresser scarf. A
new TV stands atop one of the old ones. The couch is taped
and coated with plastic, good for another 20 years.

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